#dridian

[killahronh]

Repost from @itsjasonweaver • #crookedcops #racist #tupac #2pac #think #stop #blacklivesmatter #blm #dridian #drodians #killahronh https://www.instagram.com/p/CBI4QYEnPpe/?igshid=u5hmji3acggk

[fableweaver]

Arc Of the Dwarven Warden

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

The court quieted after the king left, mainly because it was mostly empty now. Without the lords around and the winter still covering the mountains the servants had little to do. Many stayed home or had gone off with their lords to war, leaving the keep mostly empty. This seemed to suit those who remained just fine.

Darin was bored with the winter waiting. The dwarves spent most of their time in the library, learning the trade language to perfection as well as things about the kingdoms. The customs were different for each of the kingdoms, laws and history for each. They weren’t the only ones learning however, Soren was teaching Lofn, Modi, Nora, and Ingrid as well. Dwarves valued education for everyone, but Darin had gathered already that in the kingdoms of men only the nobles were truly educated. The mages seemed to be the only exception to this since Zaire had stated she was not a noble, but was clearly well educated.

During one of their breaks where a servant brought them lunch Darin decided to ask something that had been bothering him.

“I’ve noticed there are some servants that are not servants,” Darin said. “Colm had said he was a slave.”

Silence lasted a painful few heartbeats before Zaire answered him.

“Slavery is more common in the east than in the west,” Zaire said. “Kingdoms like Lir and Xin are the biggest exporters, while Regis and Dridia the biggest consumers. Slave laws vary by kingdom, only two outlaw the practice entirely, Hyria and Alda. Alda however only outlawed it after they lost the King Wars because when Alda held the High Throne they could not out law it entirely in their borders.”

“Nyrgard trades heavily in slaves,” Soren said sadly. “But we unlike the other kingdoms give the opportunity of freedom. A slave in Nyrgard can work off their debt to buy their freedom here.”

Zaire snorted with distain and Soren looked at her.

“That is a farce,” Zaire said bitterly. “I was a slave briefly and my lover was one all his life. It takes a lifetime to work off that debt, and often they are so poor when freed they will just fall into debt and slavery again. Xavier said he came close working in a Nyrgardic mine until the mine collapsed and he was sold again. It is a cruel hope as you dangle the carrot before them always keeping it just out of reach.”

Soren looked away and sighed heavily.

“I suppose it depends on the owner of the slaves Zaire,” Soren answered. “After all isn’t the chance better than none at all? In Lir there is a whole caste of people that are slaves; you are born a slave, live as a slave, and die as a slave. They are never granted their freedom, never. And is Dridia any better?”

Zaire winced and Darin saw tears in her eyes. She was shaking now and Darin reached out to her to take her hand.

“No Dridia is worse,” Zaire said darkly. “Slaves are not slaves for life, when Dridians are done with them they throw them away into Hole. It is a place of human filth and suffering. I like many ignored it all my life until I met Xavier. He… he often had nightmares from what he had to endure down there, though he never told me specifically what happened to him.”

Soren looked disturbed at this and Darin realized he had never considered what a slave went through. Modi and Lofn seemed to be thinking this over deeply, probably because Nora was sitting right next to them.

“Nora, what do you think about slavery?” Darin asked. The little girl blushed as everyone looked at her.

“I baint ken,” she answered shyly.

“Do you hate being a slave?” Soren asked. “Do you want to be free?”

“I baint ken,” she answered again. “Been this way all my life.”

“Are you happy then?” Soren asked.

“Aye now I be happy,” Nora said with a smile. “This place be much better en mine last home. There were a smelly man… he did things I baint liked.”

Darin felt his gore rise and everyone in the room was dead silent. Lofn reached out and took Nora’s hand and she smiled.

“You are my friend Nora,” Lofn said. “Not my slave. So don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Nora nodded smiling back at Lofn. Soren looked pained, his understanding of slavery obviously shaken. Darin looked at Modi and saw him looking pensive.

“And how does the young prince feel about slavery?” Darin asked and Modi looked at him. The boy looked around obviously trying to think things through.

“I don’t know,” Modi answered at last. “But… I can see that Zaire and Nora were hurt by it. But what can we do?”

“You will be king of this place one day,” Donar answered. “You decide what is to be done about this. But I believe you have already come a long way from previous kings Modi, because you understand that slavery causes pain to these people.”

Modi scowled then looking frustrated.

“That isn’t an answer,” he said. “Why do adults always do that?”

“Because we want you to learn to do things for yourself,” Soren answered. “If we did everything for you then you would never learn how to live on your own without us. We won’t be around forever Modi.”

The boy looked scared at that and looked at his hands seeming suddenly powerless. After that they continued to study until they parted ways for bed. The rest of the winter passed in study and mild boredom. Zaire continued her calculations, but she said that her predictions were still vague so she refused to voice them.

There was one day of a festival for lovers, celebrating a demi goddess of love so Zaire had told them. Darin, Donar, and Zaire avoided the festival, all of them didn’t have the heart being apart from their lovers as they were. Ronan seemed to love this festival, and got over his broken heart with a few of the servant women. Darin had noticed that Hakk had taken a liking to one of the Nyrgardic servants even though the woman was twice his height. Donar condoned it with a warning that Hakk had to be careful; Soren didn’t seem to mind at all.  

At last the weather warmed and while the snow did not melt from the northern passes, the southern became clear enough for travel. They decided on their departure a week after the spring equinox. Their leaving was much more quiet than Iounn’s had been, only Soren, Ingrid, and the children coming to see them off.

“You are sure you don’t want a contingent of guards?” Soren asked. “At least to the border?”

“We are fine really,” Donar answered as the servants finished saddling their ponies. Ronan still rode his horse, but Soren had seen a mare brought for Zaire to ride. “We are all warriors, we can see to ourselves thank you.”

“Not all of you are warriors,” Soren said looking to Zaire. She was just taking the reins of her horse looking apprehensive. She hadn’t known how to ride so they had to teach her over the winter. Iounn had seen to it that she had been provided riding clothes, sturdy cotton pants and shirt, a leather vest, new boots, and a large fur cloak.

“We will guard her,” Donar said watching Zaire.

“Why did you agree to take her?” Soren asked. “Surely she would be better here.”

“I agreed because she was right,” Donar said. “We will need her traveling through Dridia, if only because her presence will make the Dridians give us some level of respect. She is a strong person, stronger than she seems, I trust her when she says she can do this.”

“Very well,” Soren said sounding unconvinced. “Safe travels to you.”

“Thank you for your aid,” Donar said. They went to their ponies and mounted up, Ronan leading the way out of the keep, through the city, and down the mountain.

“Have you traveled this road before Ronan?” Darin asked as they rode out of Hólmsted heading south along the road.

“No, but I know the way,” Ronan answered. “We simply follow the road. You will still need me by the way, even if it is simply following a road. There are branches sometimes in the road and I know which to take even if I have never traveled the road.”

“How is that?” Darin asked.

“The Rhodin have ways of marking safe roads and unsafe roads,” Ronan answered. “I may not be Rhodin, but my father was and I spent some time with them in my youth. I learned enough of their secrets. I cannot tell you them though, the Rhodin like to keep their secrets and I will not reveal them.”

“That is alright, you are our guide Ronan,” Darin said. “There is a lot more to travel than simply knowing which way you are going.”

“That’s right,” Ronan said with a grin. “I also know the words to get into Rhodin camps if we run across any so we can seek lodging for the night.”

“Iounn made sure we had coin to travel with,” Donar said patting a pocket that held the coin they had been given. Dwarves though they valued precious stones and gold didn’t have coin like men. They worked on a system of barter or trade, an easy enough practice when everyone knew each other even in the large dwarven cities.

“I know but it helps to save coin sometimes,” Ronan said. “And the Rhodin carry news from over the kingdom. Their camps are often safer than some travelers inns we’ll come across, and cleaner too.”

“Alright,” Donar said with a grin. “You know what you’re talking about Ronan.”

“Thank you,” Ronan said as he grinned. He looked to Zaire then, her face set in a look of concentration as she sat in the saddle obviously trying to keep her seat. “Lady Zaire, have you done much traveling?”

“No, I’ve never even left Myr until recently,” Zaire answered, nervously looking up from her horse’s neck.

“Relax, the horse knows what she’s doing,” Ronan said. “Just sit back and let her do all the work.”

“Easy for you to say,” Zaire said. “You were probably born in the saddle.”

“No but my mother said I learned to ride before I learn to walk,” Ronan said grinning. “Although it was on a goat not a pony since that was all we had.”

“You said your father was Rhodin,” Zaire said looking at him. “And you traveled with him?”

“The Rhodin often travel the same roads so yes I’ve traveled with him,” Ronan answered. “He came by several times when I was a child, but since I did not have the eyes he never took me. When I was old enough however to make my own choices he did let me travel with him for a while.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Zaire asked. “That your father never really accepted you?”

“He loves me as much as any of his other children,” Ronan said. “And he has accepted me. But I am not Rhodin; I know that from traveling with them and living with them. It isn’t so much as I wasn’t fully accepted as that I didn’t feel part of them wholly. I feel like them but not part of them; the wonder lust doesn’t hold me as strongly. I like to travel and see new places more than the average Daunish shepherd or Elmerian farmer, but I could never live my entire life on the road like the Rhodin. There are times when I feel weary and seek to rest in one place for a time, the Rhodin never feel this.”

“You don’t feel sad that you have never found your place in this world?” Zaire asked.

“I feel very sad,” Ronan answered looking at her. “But I believe my place is with a certain person that will complete me. I suppose that is why I have traveled; I am looking for that person. I have fallen in love many times and had my heart broken many times.”

“This doesn’t deter you from the search?” Zaire asked.

“No if anything it makes me more determined,” Ronan answered. “It may seem callow that I flirt with one woman, profess my love, and then move on to the next, but I am sincere each time. I suppose I really just enjoy the pursuit and the search more than anything.”

“So for me am I one of those embers that dies quickly?” Zaire asked and Ronan looked at her and smiled.

“Lady Zaire I enjoy your company and your knowledge,” Ronan answered. “If you are ever interested in becoming lovers my arms are open, if not I will stand by you as a friend and companion. I can tell you don’t understand me at all when I say I am serious, but I am. Each time I love the person with my full heart, I cannot do it any other way. Yet I can love another with my heart fully and another after that.”

“No I don’t understand,” Zaire said and they sat in silence a moment. “You keep saying person not woman,” Zaire said at last and Ronan laughed again.

“I traveled through the fens of Hyria for some time,” Ronan answered. “There I found that the company of Hyrian men was often as enjoyable as women. I am not sure if I would venture with any man from another race simply because some tend to be more uptight about it. Maybe Lirian or Daunish if I met one that didn’t mind, but I am open to both genders if it means a night of pleasure. Do the Dridians not practice this?”

“Our race is dying,” Zaire said. “We cannot spare anyone to live in a match that cannot produce a child. That does not mean we do not venture that way, but the Dridian prefer that such choices be kept secret and out of the public eye. Most often it is because the person in question is married.”

“It sounds like a hard way to live,” Ronan said.

“I lived my life with a sigil inside me that prevented me from feeling any pleasure in another’s touch,” Zaire said. “Man or woman, any form of contact caused me pain. I realized long ago that there were many Dridians trapped as I was, just not in the same way. Arranged marriages are common in Dridia, painfully so. Family registries, bloodlines, and even astronomical charts of the children’s births are consulted to determine if they are a good match and that they could bear a child. Often the children are engaged before they are even old enough to walk, and married as soon as the woman enters her first blood.

“My parents had such a match, but they loved one another or grew to love one another. Some are not so lucky. I have known others who hated their spouse. Some who preferred the same gender, but were forced to lie with the other. They sneak around sleeping with slaves or other nobles or mages, always keeping it secret. It is so common everyone knows about it but they don’t say anything because it is not polite.”

“I never knew the mages lived like that,” Ronan said shocked. Zaire didn’t look at him, staring off towards the mountains to the south east where they were headed.

“It is what we have become,” Zaire said. “And still our race is dying. I am testament to that, a colored mage with so little power I can barely draw a light sigil.”

“Just because you do not have power does not mean you are not Dridian,” Darin said frowning. “You are a great mage Zaire, but who is to say that the Dridian race will die if the mages are born without the High Magic?”

“Darin what would the Phay be without the Elder Magic?” Zaire asked and Darin looked away.

“But he is right,” Ronan said. “Dridia will still exist even if all the mages were born without power.”

“Less of us are born each year,” Zaire said shaking her head. “More of us are dying than being born. Even if we were born without any of the High Magic and it would vanish from all our lines, we would still slowly die out.”

“Why not mix then with other races?” Ronan asked.

“We are selective and have been trying to preserve our power,” Zaire said. “I suppose if we gave that up and just let our people inter breed with other races we might survive. But would we still be Dridian? Like I said we are a race of mages, what are we without the High Magic?”

Darin could not answer her because he understood. While the Dwarves had very little in the ways of great power in the Elder Magic, it was still a part of them. He couldn’t imagine life without being able to see the Wild Kin. Their entire political structure was based on the chiefs as the reborn spirits of the past chiefs. If the chiefs could not recall their past lives then they could not lead as well as they could. Their king was even selected by magical means.

Darin could sympathize even more because he knew the Younger Phay left in Miread were struggling to survive with the loss of the Elder of the Phay. Their powers were dwindling like the mages and if the Phay did not march soon they Younger Phay would fade from Miread. Darin though had faith the Phay would march and things would turn to the better for him and his kin; but he could not see how the Dridians could be saved.

They rode on through the day along the road. Southern Nyrgard was heavily populated, full of farms in the valleys and terraces carven into the sides of mountains. The road was just starting to become busy as the farmers began to prepare for the spring planting. The roads were muddy, but clear now from the snows that still sat up high on the mountains around them.

It took them three days riding to reach the southern pass, camping along the road with Rhodin or at inns along the way. The southern pass was winding but wide enough to let wagons pass alongside each other. There were other travelers along the road, merchants mostly since this was a trade road into another kingdom. At the end of the pass was a post and small settlement, two guard towers standing opposite. One tower flew Sten’s wolverine; the other flew a griffin which Darin guessed to but the emblem of Dridia’s royal house.

The Nyrgardic guard tower was busy checking those coming into Nyrgard, so they joined the line of traffic traveling out. When they reached the tower they dismounted and Zaire took the lead. The man at the tower was like her, a mage with straw colored hair and brown eyes.

“Greetings,” Zaire said in the trade language.

“Greetings,” the mage answered. “May I see your papers?”

Zaire handed over the travel papers Iounn had drawn up for them. He was surprised that they needed documentation for their travels, but Ronan had said that when traveling official roads between kingdoms they would be needed to establish their identities and intentions. The mage read them over, glancing at each of them and then looking at Zaire.

He asked something in the Dridian language and Zaire answered in the same. He continued to question her, neither seemed agitated or worried but Darin felt anxious as words were exchanged. At last he nodded and stamped their papers before handing them back to Zaire. They mounted and rode off continuing down the road since there was still enough daylight left to move on.

“What was that about?” Darin asked Zaire once they were out of sight of the border crossing.

“He was inquiring about my identity,” Zaire answered lowly. “When I left Myr it was fleeing the prince. I had Iounn change my name on the papers, Zaire is a common name I just had her change my family name to Mason for a golem maker. The guard was asking why I didn’t have my family sigil or any magical identification. Those sigils are much harder to forge than these regular travel papers; of course these aren’t forgeries since Iounn drew them up herself and lied a few times on them.”

“What did you tell him?” Darin said.

“The truth: that I had been traveling to Hólmsted late in the season when the ship I was on sank,” Zaire answered. “I lost everything except my glasses. Of course I neglected to mention that I had been a slave on that ship and wanted. I told him I had joined your party seeking to return home since you were traveling in the same direction.”

“You seem skilled at lying Lady Zaire,” Ronan said and Zaire blushed.

“I’m a horrible liar,” Zaire answered. “I gave that man enough of the truth that he filled it in with his own interpretation.”

“That is skilled lying,” Ronan said.

“If he had pressed any of the issues I wouldn’t have been able to keep it up,” Zaire answered. “That is a mark of a poor liar is the inability to keep it up under scrutiny.”

“Granted,” Ronan said.

“What do our papers say?” Donar asked. “Iounn never said.”

“They are written in Nyrgardic and Dridian,” Zaire answered. “Iounn did the Nyrgardic and I did the Dridian. They state your origins as Daun and destination as Alda. The purpose of the trip is simply stated as music.”

Donar laughed at that and Darin grinned as well, they were indeed seeking a song. With Ronan along as well they could at least pass off as traveling minstrels.

“The papers state Ronan as the musician,” Zaire added. “You are hired guards that I requested from Iounn.”

“We can’t pass for Nyrgarders,” Darin said.

“We never said you were,” Zaire said. “We simply marked you as ‘mercenaries of the road’. There are many men that travel the roads acting as hired guards. Your origins are not important.”

“If you say so Zaire,” Darin said dubious.

“So how far will we be traveling through Dridia?” Donar asked.

“All the way to the Aldan border,” Ronan answered. “I must say it will be easier to get through since we have someone who speaks Dridian.”

“Most of the mages live in Myr,” Zaire answered. “The villages here are going to be mostly Elmerian.”

“Do the Elmerians have their own language?” Darin asked.

“No, they only speak the trade language or the language of the kingdom they live in,” Zaire answered.

“Actually they do have their own language,” Ronan answered and she looked at him surprised. “Not all of them speak it but some do. It has no written form and as I understand the language has not changed since the Elmerians arrived here.”

“Why have I never heard of this?” Zaire asked.

“They keep it secret,” Ronan said with a shrug. “I’ve come to learn there is a lot more to the Elmerians than the other races seem to believe.”

“We’ve heard that the cult that follows the Crippled One targets the Elmerians mostly,” Donar said. “Does it have something to do with their race?”

“I honestly don’t know enough about them,” Ronan answered. “They are a bit like the Rhodin that they keep their secrets away from outsiders. My best guess is that the Elmerians were targeted because they are uneducated farmers in isolated rural communities. It is easy to manipulate them and play on the resentment they have for the nobles. Slaves are vulnerable as well because they would do anything for their freedom.”

Darin mulled that over as they rode leaving the mountains behind. They had a spectacular view of the land for leagues before them as the mountains dropped away into the low lands. A great river wound through the hills closest to them a town nestled at it with a bridge spanning the river. Beyond the river spread southern Dridia. The land here was flat mostly and covered in farms with lines of trees beyond them. The farms spread to the horizon, disappearing in a line of blue. To the south the land rose up again into hills and a large plateau. To the north the land continued to sink towards sea level in rolling hills.

“The river ahead is the Yr River,” Ronan said. “It is the technical border between Dridia, Alda, and Nyrgard, but it is easier to have a guard post at the pass here. The village is called Stavors, it has a duke and he owns a lot of the land along the river on the Dridian side. To the south you can see the Mark, those are the highland plateau where most of the Mark’s cattle and horses are raised. To the north it becomes closer to sea level and that is where Myr lies by the Wading Bay.”

“More mages live to the north along the coast,” Zaire said. “There are more islands along the coast where they’ve set up private villas and mansions. The weaker mages live inland, the more powerful live along the coast near Myr.”

“So the more powerful mages own less land?” Ronan said surprised.

“Power in Dridia is measured by the High Magic not how much land you have,” Zaire answered. “We only have the land to grow the food we need, our wealth doesn’t come from the land but how many enchanted items one can make to trade. The more powerful mages to the north make their island villas paradises and hire other mages to live there. Those hired mages produce enchantments for the sale and wealth of the place.”

“I see,” Ronan said fascinated. “Then what about this ducal house Stavors?”

“Duke Stavors has many holdings,” Zaire answered. “I’ve heard about him, he has several island villas at the mouth of the Yr; that is where his real wealth lies. Although I’ve heard that he owns half the Yr on the Dridian side.”

“The Yr, where does it lead?” Donar asked looking to the south east.

“The Verde Sea,” Ronan answered. “The Verde Sea is actually a lake, but its size made it mistaken as a sea. Alda holds the lake but Lir lies on the other side of it. I don’t know where their borders are drawn on the waters, I expect they change a lot. Why?”

“I remember this place,” Donar answered. “I traveled along this river in my first life as Emir. Though it was on a ship along the river inland to the lake you mentioned.”

“Why?” Ronan asked.

“A meeting of our kin just as the mud men were crawling out of the mud,” Donar answered. “It was when the Aldan race was still young and making things. I was actually traveling on the first boat they ever built. We had sailed the sea and came down this river to the Verde Sea.”

“When the Daunish were just…” Ronan trailed off and Darin noticed he was staring at Donar in awe. “You can remember that long ago?”

“Only the chiefs of the dwarves can recall their past memories,” Donar answered.

“How on earth do you keep it all strait?” Zaire asked fascinated. “All those lives?”

“Well first of all we live longer than you,” Donar answered. “Probably about twice or three times as long, so I don’t have as many past lives as you. Secondly I am still me, I just on occasion get a sense that I have done something like this before. I get the sense and then all I have to do is sink into it and the memory comes. I can do it with just a bit of a kick to the memory, a name of a place or a person’s name. When I have that I can remember why I felt this as familiar.

“This can be dangerous for one of the chiefs who are not ready. Sometimes the memories overwhelm us and our mind scrambles as it struggles with the identities flowing through them. We go about the training of it slowly, and as we get older we gain more control of them. In contrast when we get too old we forget who we are in this life and start reliving our old lives. Chiefs often die when we start showing these symptoms, our hearts can’t take the confusion of the mind and spirit.”

Darin still remembered when Donar had first started to regain his past memories. For a time he had not been himself. He had often displayed different personalities, and on occasion called others by the wrong name. It had been brief however, and he had quickly adapted. Darin realized now however he had also been struggling with his memories of Runi and her past life.

As they rode closer to the village Darin saw it was bigger than it had seemed at a distance, the buildings spreading along the line of the river. The buildings were all made of gray brick and shingled with brown roofing. There were many glass windows, the buildings standing three or more stories off the ground. As they rode into town following the traffic there grew more and more people.

Darin saw mages by the plenty, some colored like Zaire but a few were completely white with red eyes. There were also Nyrgarders and Elmerians, as well as a few Rhodin. He had yet to see a town of men completely free of Rhodin. The roads were wide enough for traffic to pass along smoothly, though Darin noticed narrower alleys where foot traffic was concentrated.

They reached the bridge shortly, the other side of the river held the larger part of the village. The bridge was a flat expanse with a stone guard wall and arches as support. The river was only half a league wide, and telling by the amount of undines it was deep and swift. Across the river Darin could see the buildings get taller and more ornate, guessing that the mages liked bigger houses. He spotted a few mansions with fenced gardens on a hill over the village, and found where the wealthy lived. They rode into the village proper and kept going with the traffic.

“Look,” Zaire said as they rode past the river docks. Darin followed her finger to see a man slumped in a corner begging for alms. Darin had seen many men like this in the cities in the Kingdoms, in Hólmsted and even Dun Eald, so he wondered why Zaire pointed him out. Until Darin looked closer as they rode past and realized what she meant. The man’s spirit had been broken, a rotten smell coming from him, Darin seeing his shattered soul in the madness in his eyes.

They rode past the man without incident, but Darin looked to Zaire shocked.

“That is one of the servants of Kal Ba’el,” Zaire said. “Xavier told me how to tell who they are by the boils and rotting skin. They are lepers and so don’t feel pain, yet they enjoy causing it.”

“Why do they serve him if he does that to them?” Darin asked.

“Because he grants them power,” Donar answered. “The leprosy is a side effect of his touch on them, but the power is no doubt like a drug on their senses. Little do they know the satisfaction will be brief, tying your spirit to a soul eater will destroy your spirit as it will eventually consume it.”

“We should find an inn,” Ronan said shuddering away from the conversation of the followers of the Crippled One. “There won’t be another place to stop for a while. Do you know any Zaire?”

“No, I’ve never been here,” Zaire said looking around. “But…”

She trailed off as she put on another pair of her spectacles over the other pair she wore. She looked around and then pointed towards a turn off.

“There is an inn that way,” Zaire said.

“How do you know?” Ronan asked.

“Just as the Rhodin like to leave hidden signs so do mages,” Zaire answered. “More accurately this is an advertisement that the owner of the inn put out to attract passing mages. This way.”

She turned her horse towards the street and they followed. They followed this road down until Zaire stopped before a building with a short wall around a courtyard out front. Darin looked up at the building, it looked little different than the others around them other than the sign over the door. The sign had a sigil glowing on it that he couldn’t read. An Elmerian hurried up from the stoop and approached Ronan with a scowl as they dismounted.

“Here now this establishment is for mages only,” the man said making a shooing motion. “You’ll find plenty of lodging for your like along the river.”

“We are in the company of a mage good sir,” Ronan said indicating Zaire. “We are her escort, unless she is not welcome here either.”

The man looked at Zaire and he clearly thought she wasn’t worthy either. Darin glared at the man, he wore fine clothes and his shoes shined unlike other working people he had seen.

“Let’s find somewhere else Ronan,” Zaire said wilting under the servant’s scowl. “We don’t have the coin for this place anyways.”

“I’m not so sure about staying somewhere near the river,” Ronan objected. “Can you find another place that would be better than that?”

“No, there won’t be any in between,” Zaire said. “It is the river inns or places like this.”

“The river inn aren’t all that bad,” the servant said, obviously trying to get rid of them. “I’m sure your docky can fetch a fine price.”

Ronan punched the man before anyone could say more, the servant falling right on his ass. Sigils blazed and Darin’s ears rang as magic came to life around them lighting the courtyard. Two stone statues on the wall came to life, leaping down from the wall and charging for them. Darin shouted as he drew his sword, the other dwarves doing the same. The horses shied and backed away, unable to run as the two stone creatures blocked the exit.

Darin had little time to react before one of the statues was on him, stone talons aiming for his head. He ducked, rolled, and came up slashing, his sword causing sparks against the stone. He rolled away realizing he wasn’t going to cause any damage that way. He turned when he heard a dwarven battle cry, Hakk charging at the other statue with his ax. He leapt up and brought his pommel down on the creature’s knee, cracks spreading. The thing didn’t even make a noise as it batted him away easily.

Hakk rolled to his feet but then Darin felt someone grab him, pulling him away from the first statue which had swung out at him while he had been distracted. Darin nodded to Donar who nodded back. They ran around the stone creature, trying to distract it to get in to attack.

“Enough!” Someone shouted and the statues stopped moving. Darin turned to see a mage standing on the stoop, her skin and hair bright white. Ronan stood by the horses trying to keep them from bolting. Zaire stood by one of the sigils, her hand in the sigil as she looked up at the mage and the mage looked at her. Darin realized Zaire had summoned the mage; she had not come because of the attack.

The mage spoke to Zaire in the Dridian language and Zaire answered in the same. Once again a conversation went on, but this time Zaire didn’t seem as meek as before. The mage scowled at her but then looked to the servant.

“Did you call this woman a whore?” the mage asked her servant.

“Lady Korina,” the servant said shakily. “She is a powerless mage. I thought…”

“There is no such thing as a powerless mage,” the lady answered angrily. “And none of our kind have ever had to resort to such an occupation. Get out and go serve at the river side as one if you are so fond of them.”

“Milady please no!” the servant said groveling. The lady lashed out with a sigil, light blazing as a whip of power scored the cobble stones before the servant.

“I said get out whelp,” the lady roared. “You are lucky you are a free man or you’d be dead by now.”

The servant scrambled to his feet and ran out of the courtyard, blubbering the whole way. The lady waved her hand and the two stone statues turned and went back to their posts. Then the mage woman turned to Zaire and spoke again in Dridian. Zaire looked at her slightly surprised, but then removed her hand from the sigil she held. The light faded and the courtyard was normal once again, only a few cracked cobble stones.

Hakk and Bgrim hurried to help Ronan with the horses as Darin and Donar joined Zaire to face the mage woman.

“Put your swords away,” Zaire said. “It’s fine.”

They did so as the lady walked up to them. She wore fine white robes lined with blue sculpted patterns and silver coins. Up close her face was beautiful and cold like a marble statue.

“I am Zaire Mason,” Zaire said as she bowed to the lady. “These are my guards Donar and Darin, those by the horses are Hakk and Bgrim. The last is a Daunish minstrel by the name of Ronan.”

“I am the Lady Korina, inn keeper of this establishment and second cousin to the Duke Stavors,” the woman answered. “I apologize for my servant’s insults.”

“We apologize for assaulting him,” Donar said bowing to her. “And for causing such a disturbance. We had not known about the stone creatures.”

“Gargoyles,” Korina answered. “They were enchanted to defend the house and those who work here.” She then looked at Zaire and once again began speaking in Dridian. Darin got the impression she did this on purpose. Zaire answered in the same and this time their conversation lasted some time. Zaire handed over their papers and Korina questioned her more. Darin was beginning to worry that the mage had figured out Zaire had once been an outlaw when she smiled and handed the papers back.

“You are welcome to stay here then,” she said in the trade language. “Free of charge to apologize for my rude servant.”

“Thank you milady,” Zaire said bowing. “I will be sure to mention this spot to the king.”

Korina nodded and turned away back to the inn.

“What just happened?” Darin asked worried.

“The same thing with all nobles,” Zaire answered. “She wanted to know my standing; she wasn’t impressed with me or my power. The only reason she defended me against her servant was because I am a mage. No mage will tolerate such insults from a servant to another mage, even if that mage is colored like me. She was impressed however by our papers, and the king’s seal. Iounn thought it would be a nice touch.

“I told her I spent time in the Court of Legends and if I had met the king. A friend of any of the kings is welcome to a noble inn, especially if I promise to recommend these establishments to said king later.”

Darin nodded as he grinned, thanking Iounn silently for her forethought. A few stable hands came out and took charge of the horses, and they were able to gather their things and enter the inn. There was an entry hall with several large double doors along the sides.

“I told the lady that we would go right to our rooms,” Zaire said. “She doesn’t want us mixing with the other patrons. A meal will be brought to us.”

They went to the stairs and Zaire led the way, Darin guessing she was led by sigils again. She went down a hallway decorated with fine carpets and wallpaper. She stopped at one door and opened it, her fingers flicking over a lock sigil. Inside the room was lit by mage lights, fine carpets and satin drapes decorating the room. A table and chairs sat on one side of the room three beds on the other side. There was no grate or fire yet the room was pleasantly warm.

They set their things down just as a servant arrived with a trolley of food. She quickly set the table and left, keeping her head down. Darin looked at the spread impressed, a roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and what looked like leeks and turnips baked in cheese. They sat to eat and when they finished Zaire stood.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said and Ronan looked at her.

“Aren’t you tired?” Ronan asked. “It’ll take hours to gather the water.”

“The mages have indoor running water,” Zaire said with a grin. “And it is heated. Feel free to take advantage of it when I am done.”

Darin was used to the hot baths of the mountain springs. In the kingdoms it seemed people had difficulty gathering water and heating it for baths. His people had the convenience of the hot springs so Darin acknowledged that the technology was beyond some parts of the kingdom.

Zaire went and took her bath, coming out of the little water closet wrapped in a bath robe. They took turns, Zaire having to activate the sigils for them to operate the flow of water. The room was small and lined in blue tile, the tub barely big enough for Ronan to sit in. All the same the hot water felt good and Darin enjoyed the chance to wash the dust of the road from him. He knew they wouldn’t get another chance.

“Is this how all mages live?” Ronan asked as they sat around after their baths.

“Yes,” Zaire answered. “I honestly have taken a lot of these things for granted, after living in Nyrgard where bath water has to be fetched and lighting comes from dim candles. I understand how luxurious the mages have lived even the lowest of us, which is me. I thought my life had been hard, but compared to those who don’t even have access to enough clean water to drink let alone bathe in it was luxurious.”

“Pain can’t be compared Zaire,” Darin said. “Everyone’s lives have their own difficulties. From the highest noble to the lowest beggar, their problems are just different.”

“What about the dwarves?” Zaire asked. “Are there as many inadequacies or inequalities in your society?”

“We try to help one another as we can, but some are more important than others,” Donar said. “We all have our duties but some are harder than others. The warriors seem lazy to the miners who work nearly ten hours a day, while to the warriors the miners seem dirty and crude. But both risk their lives every day, one in the effort to gain material and the other defending our people from the Orcs. We each understand the other means something to our people, but sometimes this is forgotten in resentment for the other.

“We don’t try to make life equal for all of us, but we do make sure everyone has at least the basic needs of life. A home, food, bathing, clothes, education, and light which is important underground. But some have decided they want to live on their own, so they leave to live alone in the tunnels. They are welcome back any time, but they choose to live lives of solitary. These hermits are less common where we are from because of the Orcs who pick them off easily.”

“If the Orcs weren’t around would you say your society is perfect?” Zaire asked.

“No, there are problems of course, and the other races of the Phay had problems as well,” Donar answered. “Nor do I want our society to be perfect. Peace would be nice, but it is the problems of life that keep it interesting. If I could rise every day, fill my belly, be warm and content, and see my family happy, that would be grand but I know after just two days of nothing I would be bored and seek something to challenge me.”

“You wouldn’t get tired of the work?” Zaire asked. “Of people squabbling over stupid things?”

“Eventually I would but that’s what vacations are for,” Donar said with a grin. “It lets you clear your mind so that you can return and think clearly again.”

Darin stared at him realizing something and then laughed.

“What?” Donar asked as Darin continued to laugh.

“I think I just figured out why our kin really marched,” Darin said grinning. “A vacation.”

Donar stared at him a moment before he threw back his head and laughed as well. Bgrim and Hakk joined in Zaire and Ronan laughing as well. Their merriment died when someone began pounding on their door. Zaire hurried to answer it. She spoke with the other person on the other side of the door in Dridian for some time, Darin gathering she was apologizing. At last she closed the door, but the mood had soured.

“I take it we were making too much noise,” Donar said and Zaire nodded. “Well it’s about time we turned in anyways. We should leave before dawn to be out of this place as soon as we can.”

“I’m sorry,” Zaire said but Donar waved it off.

“It’s not your fault,” Donar said. “Let’s get some rest.”

They went to bed, two each to a bed, Hakk and Bgrim, Darin and Donar, and Zaire and Ronan. Darin glared warningly at Ronan, but he crossed his heart in promise not to touch Zaire. The mattress was extremely comfortable and Darin had no trouble falling asleep. When they woke it was dawn and they quickly set about dressing and gathering their things. They left and Zaire led the way to the stables where servants were already up tending to the horses. As they waited for the servants to gather their horses the Lady Korina appeared again.

“I see you are leaving,” Korina said sounding pleased. “I hope your stay was enjoyable.”

“It was milady it is an inn worthy of kings,” Zaire said bowing to her and Korina beamed.

“I could at least provide you some fresh bread for the road,” Korina said, waving to a servant who stepped forward with a basket. Zaire took it and bowed again.

“You are too kind milady,” Zaire said.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Donar said without a hint of sarcasm. Korina smiled again before she left, Darin glaring after her.

“Was the bowing and scrapping necessary?” Darin asked.

“She did let us stay for free,” Zaire said. “I know her hospitality was a bit cold, but for a mage she was astonishingly generous.”

Darin felt disgust that the level of hospitality they enjoyed here was considered generous by mage standards. Their horses were saddled and ready so they mounted and rode off into the waking town. Zaire handed out the bread so they could eat while they rode. They turned out to be fresh honey buns with almonds and delicious. At least the food had been good at the inn.

They left Stavors behind and traveled along the southern trade road. Dridia proved to be a tame country trapped between the highlands of the Mark and the mountains of Nyrgard. The road led to fairly populated villages, but even in these on occasion they saw Legionnaires. They avoided the servants of the Crippled One like the plague they carried.

The road was safe however, patrolled by golems or real men, occasionally mages. A week turned and they covered ground at a regular pace. Travel was always best done in a moderate pace, for the health of the horses and their riders. Zaire was the one prone to exhaustion the most, but she was becoming more resilient as they traveled.

“We are near Alda,” Ronan said one day little more than a week after they had left Stavors. Darin looked up on the horizon and saw they were once again close to the Mark. They had flirted with the river Yr on the road, occasionally seeing it and occasionally riding away from it. Darin looked east but could see only rolling hills.

“You’re sure?” Darin asked.

“The markings on the road warn o a dead end,” Ronan answered. “They say ta go east ye will have to go around. Alda has had its borders closed fer nearly twenty years now, nowt even the Rhodin get in. They’ve marked this road as leading ta Alda be a dead end.”

“How long?” Donar asked.

“Five days maybe a week dependin on the weather,” Ronan said and pointedly looked east again. A storm was brewing, Darin just seeing a storm sylph in the clouds.

“We’re riding right into the teeth of that sylph,” Darin said.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Donar said. They had camped by the side of the road last night so there wasn’t much shelter available. “Ronan?”

“An inn be ahead but I baint ken we can make it afor the storm hits,” Ronan answered.

“We’ll try for it,” Donar said frustrated.

Grimly they urged their horses on towards the gathering storm.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Masked Queen

Slumped against the side of Elrik’s throne, Lucia watched the war meeting with a dull stare, listening with little intent. Since Elrik had taken the throne he had started holding his council meetings in the great hall of the throne room rather than sitting level with the other lords in the council hall. The arguments were still the same, and Elrik was still having none of it.

“The Lirian army has started to move into Alda now majesty,” Lord Lucas said disgusted. “And we do nothing.”

“We are guarding our borders,” Elrik said crossly. “I would like details however on the Orc’s movements.”

“A majority of their forces are keeping to the shores of the Verde Sea and boarder lands of Alda and Lir,” Lucas answered pointing on the map before them on the table. “They send raiding parties into the forest pushing inwards, but beyond that we do not know their progress or toll on the Aldan.”

“Why not?” Elrik asked disappointed.

“Because the forest is too dense and you have ordered us to guard our boarders,” Lucas answered with a sour tone. “We may not even know when Alda falls and Lir could then hold the heartlands before we even know it.”

“We will know before it is too late,” Varas said calmly. “The forest is a death trap for all of Lir and these Orcs.”

“Oh?” Elrik said interested and Varas nodded.

“You are very clever majesty in letting the Orcs invade the forest,” Varas said waving to the map. “With our powers Dridia can burn all of Alda to the ground, trapping the Orcs in an inferno. They just need to get deep enough to ensure their destruction.”

“And Alda?” Lord Urtha asked.

“They have crossed me for the last time,” Elrik said crossing his arms. “They have ruled the Kingdoms poorly and should rightly fall. It is time the Nine becomes Eight.”

The lords of the other kingdoms did not take that announcement well, who else would be next then?

“This plan is unsound,” Lucas said shaking his head. Lucia knew he cared nothing for Alda, he simply knew this plan would not win the war. “It will depend on the Orcs moving entirely into Alda, which they have yet to do.”

“They will when they get more of a foothold,” Varas answered.

“How will you know this if we have such poor intelligence from the forest?” Lucas asked.

“We have mirrors watching the forest,” Varas answered.

“Really,” Elrik said interested. “May I see some of this?”

“I’m sorry majesty but the mirrors only work for mages,” Varas answered and Elrik pouted.

“This is ridiculous! You cannot guarantee they will all burn,” Lucas said. “If so why have you never employed this power before?”

“Because we never had full access to all the borders of every kingdom,” Varas answered. “Regis has allowed us access to the southern border, we hold the north, and the Mark the West. The east lies along the Verde Sea, which is a natural barrier as well. I have mages drawing a sigil around Alda that will trap everything inside it and burn it all to the ground. Since Alda has also diminished in size since the King’s Wars, it has become possible for us to do this.”

“Enough uncle,” Elrik said coldly. “I trust Varas and his magic to win this war.”

“Are you sure your majesty?” Lord Han asked mildly. Lucia was impressed the man didn’t flinch when Elrik’s gaze swung to him.

“What was that cur?” Elrik said lowly.

“Only that there are even better ways to win this war,” Han said. “I was in the Orc camps, and while they are crude creatures, their General Raigo is a creature of intelligence and cruelty. With the right offer, you could win the Orc army to you, turn them against Loe and Lir, and crush any Kingdom that stands in your path.”

Lucia saw Elrik was tempted, the High King staring at Han as he drummed his fingers on the table.

“Those creatures killed my father,” Elrik said.

“Loe’s assassin killed your father,” Han answered. “The Orcs are merely his tools, ones that you can steel.”

“And you would help me with this?” Elrik asked. “Why?”

“I want Loe dead of course,” Han answered. “By any means.”

Elrik was silent, drumming his fingers on the table as he seemed to think about Han’s offer.

“No,” Elrik said at last. “I’d rather see them all burned.”

“Very well your majesty,” Han said bowing. “It was merely suggestion.”

Lucia saw Han’s cheek twitch in irritation at having his plan ruined. It seemed Varas was the one in control here.  

“Fine,” Lucas said angrily throwing up his hands. “I am to just sit at the border in case the Orcs move on Regis then.”

“They will not,” Urtha said lowly yet all turned to him. “Why would they? They can crush one of the Nine Kingdoms because we will sit and do nothing. They hold Lir, Xin is besieged, and if rumors hold true then another army of these creatures has Daun and Nyrgard at war.”

“That still leave Regis, Dridia, Hyria, and the Mark to fight,” Elrik said with a sneer. “Though I do not think I can count on the Mark anymore can I? A crippled pathetic kingdom now.”

“No you are right,” Urtha said as he stood. “You cannot count on the Mark anymore. I will take my leave, there is no point having a voice here anymore.”

“Do you really think I will just let you leave?” Elrik asked angrily.

“Then stop me,” Urtha said, his eyes void of any emotion. “Kill me, torture me, throw me in a dungeon, it amounts to the same as if I leave. The Mark is done with this charade, we have no voice so why bother?”

Elrik sneered and seemed ready to turn and summon a guard to take Urtha away when Varas stopped him.

“Let him go majesty,” Varas said. “It is beneath you to have any more dealings with this man or his kingdom. I suggest once the threat to the east is handled we deal with the Mark. Telling by their current spirit, it should not be hard.”

“Won’t it?” Urtha said. “A badger will stay in its den sure enough, but venture in and you will see what it is capable of.”

“Why not deal with you now then?” Elrik asked snidely. “Our armies rest on the borders just waiting for blood.”

“That would not be wise majesty,” Varas said. “The Orcs are not nearly fully committed to the forest yet, until they are I would not move your forces.”

“He doesn’t have the balls either,” Urtha said and Elrik leapt to his feet drawing his sword. Varas drew a sigil before either could move, a wall of power crackling between the two.

“Leave now Lord Urtha,” Varas said. “Bring a warning to your king that Regis will raise a war whenever the High King choses. Sit in your hole and cower.”

Urtha nodded tersely before leaving, Lucia watching him go forlorn. The last of her country men was gone from the Court of Miracles, leaving her alone.

Varas let his power dissipate, and Elrik sheathed his sword.

“If I may majesty,” Borr said hesitantly. “I believe I should take my leave as well.”

“So Nyrgard neglects its duties as well,” Elrik said disgusted.

“No majesty, I am stepping down to hand my place over to another,” Borr said. “The Prince Roque is arriving in two days and has ordered that I step down from my place in the council so he may take charge.”

“But he is Prince Regent of Nyrgard!” Elrik said.

“According to Nyrgard he is not,” Han said. “I heard he left the Court of Legends abandoning his title to the Nyrgardic Prince.”

“They granted him leave, he still holds the title should he return to Hòlmsted,” Elrik said.

Han just gave a snort of desertion at that.

“I assure you majesty that Lord Roque still holds his title,” Borr said quickly. “And even if he didn’t the Prince Modi still resides in Hòlmsted to hold to the treaty signed after the King’s Wars.”

“A child,” Han said lowly.

“A child Sten would never harm and must take the throne when he is of age,” Borr said quickly. “Nyrgard has remained loyal to its word, is it our fault Lord Roque has chosen to come to Cair Leon instead?”

“No, and I will have a word with my uncle on this matter,” Elrik said. “Nyrgard is his responsibility, one he will control here for a time. By know this Borr, the threat of war is just as likely for Nyrgard as it is for the Mark should Sten chose to double cross me.”

“Yes majesty,” Borr said bowing. “I know.”

He left, Lucia feeling a cold sense of dread as the Nyrgardic lord left the room. She realized few stood for the kingdoms anymore on the council. Dubghal had left when hints of the war to the north had arisen. Roth Ai had left before him and Alda had never sent another. Varas now stood for the Dridians on the council, and Han had replaced Wu though Lucia did not know what had happened to the other Lirian lord. He had disappeared sometime when Han had arrived, and no one had questioned where. She suspected Seth had his hand in that.

Could this still be called a council of the Nine? Lucia didn’t think so.

“Well until Roque gets here the council is dismissed,” Elrik said slumping back in his throne. Grumbling the lords stood and left, filing out of the council hall all except Lord Lucas.

“What is it Uncle?” Elrik asked crossly. “We’ve gone over the war…”

“I know nephew,” Lucas said frowning. “I wished to talk to you on the matter of your wife instead.”

“I have no wife remember?” Elrik said.

“Exactly,” Lucas said. “And no heir. That is the problem I wish to address. Do you not seek a bride because of this girl here?”

“This is my pet Beast,” Elrik said his hand going to pet Lucia’s hair. “Are you suggesting I would screw an animal?”

“No majesty,” Lucas answered. “But if not that then why keep her? And why have you not gotten a new wife?”

“I will get a new wife when the right one is presented to me,” Elrik said. “I will have only the best.”

“Better than a Princess of the Mark?” Lucas asked.

“She was barren and useless,” Elrik said dismissively. “Varas assures me he can test the next woman for fertility.”

“Then might I suggest someone?” Lucas asked. “My wife’s sister has a daughter that currently is a Sect of Lun.”

“She would be my cousin,” Elrik said skeptically.

“Twice removed and only by marriage,” Lucas answered.

“Her lineage?” Elrik asked.

“She comes from a long line of Dukes and can be traced to the Drakons from her paternal grandmother,” Lucas said. “On that line she would be third cousin to you by blood. Her family have a long service to the Sect.”

Elrik tapped his fingers on the table thinking.

“I’ll consider her if I meet her,” Elrik said at last. “I assume you’ve already brought her here?”

“Yes majesty, you may meet her at dinner tonight,” Lucas said.

“Alright, go,” Elrik said waving him away. Lucas bowed and left, leaving him alone with Lucia. Elrik sat, one hand idly petting Lucia’s hair. He didn’t speak, he no longer spoke to her. Lucia tried not to flinch at his touch, but at any moment the gentle stroking could turn to a blow. Elrik stood and Lucia sat up but kept her head down and eyes on his boots. One boot raised up to strike her on the arm.

Lucia cried out as Elrik kicked her some more, wincing away as his blows connected with old bruises. She curled up and turned her back to Elrik’s stomping feet, covering her head to weather the storm. At last he stopped, breathing heavily, Lucia trembling in pain and fear. She heard him still hovering over her, but she dared not move.

“Stupid whore,” Elrik muttered before leaving the hall and her still tied to his throne. She lay still on the black bear skin simply because she could barely move. Elrik had kept her chained to the throne since he had put the mask on her, granting her only a tattered tunic to wear. A servant came three times a day with kitchen scraps, water, and a chamber pot. Lucia had lost track of the days; she was in too much pain from the many beatings. Varas gave her an occasional healing, but those did little for the pain.

She had tried to let her spirit wander like Glen had tried to teach her, but she was too grounded in her body now with her pain. The mask caused her the most agony, the burns went deep into her skin. So now she just lay in pain alone in the great hall.

She did not hear him approach, she wasn’t even sure how long he had been kneeling next to her by the time she noticed him. Seth crouched over her, setting down a cloth covered object. He uncovered the object to reveal a Reliquary, a glass and iron lantern. The iron was black as tar, wrought skulls and bones seemed to boil out of the iron. Inside the Reliquary sat a desiccated hand black with age, a fatty candle resting in its palm.

“Kal Ba’el wants you Lucia,” Seth said dully. “He will end your pain.”

She was tempted but some part of her still remembered the cost of such a thing.

“No,” Lucia said her voice a croak. “I will not give my soul to him.”

Seth simply nodded and covered the Reliquary again. Lucia knew then that he would ask again, and if he did she didn’t think she could refuse him a second time.

“Han is close to gathering enough people to overthrow Elrik,” Seth said as he hunkered down. Lucia realized he was confiding in her, though she doubted she could help in the schemes nor did she have the energy to care much. “With the merchants we’ve been able to bribe servants mostly, and some of the nobles. Decent is high given Elrik had beaten almost every servant at least once. Fear more like it but whatever we need to gain traction.

“The Sect is being troublesome; they have been smart in not even trying with Elrik. Instead they have been keeping their hold on the noble houses, having many of their children or relatives in their service makes it hard to place the bribes we need. If we could get Elrik to turn against the Sect in some way, the Sect might take it as enough of a threat to turn the other way.”

“No,” Lucia said raising her eyes to him. “That would mean turning against their gods. You cannot turn them to your side, if it means any possibility of Kal Ba’el gaining power they will not let it happen.”

“True,” Seth mused softly with a slight nod. “What to do then?”

“Make Elrik turn away the power of the Sect,” Lucia answered. “He resents anyone stepping in on his power, if the Sect tries to assert dominance over him he will lash out.”

“But they won’t,” Seth said. “They have not tried to make any play of control over Elrik.”

“They have, with Lucas,” Lucia answered. “He just made an offer of a wife to Elrik, a Sect of Lun his niece. I believe this is the Sect’s ploy and Lucas’ to assert their control once more in court.”

“So, we just have to turn Elrik against this new woman,” Seth said.

“He is meeting her tonight at dinner,” Lucia said, and Seth nodded.

“I suppose it is too much to ask you…”

“I no longer have his ear he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Varas then,” Seth said as he nodded.

“No, you just have to make sure she displays traits that Elrik does not like,” Lucia said.

“Like?”

“Will power, pride, a temper.”

“Like Jeanne?” Seth said, and Lucia felt a stab in her heart at the mention of Jeanne. “Lucas would have been sure to choose a proper Regarian lady, one Elrik would enjoy.”

“Then make her hate him,” Lucia answered. “Or more accurately fear him.”

“She would know what she is getting into,” Seth answered.

“No, she wouldn’t I will show her,” Lucia answered. If Seth felt anything at that he did not show it, but Lucia knew he didn’t.

“Very well,” Seth said. “But I will try to work Elrik as well, mutual hatred will ensure the failure.”

Lucia simply nodded, Seth watching her silently. It seemed there was no more to say, because he stood then and walked away. Lucia was too tired to stop him, she let him go without answer. She slipped off to sleep, and finally dreamt of the lines.

She quickly sought Tir Aesclinn, the shadow of the Crippled One scented her too easily on the lines and she feared he would consume her should he catch her. She reached the burning tree, no sign of the Crippled One, as if he were busy elsewhere. She didn’t care, as long as he left her alone. Once again in Tir Aesclinn she crept through the forest cautiously. Any surprise woke her from the dream, that or a Phay of great power spotting her made her spirit immediately return to her body.

Wanting to stay in this marvelous place she took her time, sitting in the dappled shade of the giant trees, watching the iridescent clouds of aether slip on through the sky. Or finding a cliff to watch the stars and clouds drift among the many moons and suns. She wondered why the Phay wished to leave, it was a place of untold beauty and marvels that would keep a soul enraptured for millennia.

She wandered paths, finding flowers she had never seen and weaving them into crowns and chains. She sat now weaving a crown, feeling tears slide from her eyes thinking of the crown she once wore of gold and jewels. This crown was just as beautiful if not more, woven of flowers much like violets and hellebores though they almost glowed with light they were so vibrant. She put it on her head and looked up to see a Phay man watching her.

She was so startled she nearly woke, but he smiled at her so kindly that she calmed. He walked over to her and sat by her side, smiling so winningly. He was handsome, his eyes a striking sky blue and hair golden as the sun. His ears were slightly pointed, and features youthful, though something made Lucia think he was far older than he seemed. He was dressed in loose colorful robes, that would have been gaudy on any other person yet on him looked elegant.

“I see the thread on you,” he said kindly his hand reaching out to lift a thread that came from her navel and led out to disappear into thin air. “My daughter has woven you to her.”

“Daughter?” Lucia said entrapped by his kind blue eyes.

“Arke the Color Weaver,” he answered. “She wove this for me,” he plucked at his robes. “She has more skill now that she resides in Astolat. Did she send you here?”

“No,” Lucia answered puzzled. “I came to escape my pain.”

“No, she did send you though you do not know it,” he answered. “Which is good, you can tell her what I need to say. I sent Ghillie Dhu after her but I doubt his loyalty to keep his word, so I’ll tell you what goes on in court incase he does not find her to tell her. I have prepared the wagons as she asked before we marched, King Oberon has grown so impatient I believe he has made a deal with the Crippled One, and the Dullahan do not wake still.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucia said afraid.

“You do not need to,” the man answered. “Go now, while you do not.”

At his command she felt her spirit shift and the world about her melted into the colorful mist of the aether. She feared she would wake so fought against the twisting folds of the mist until she at last had her feet under her. She was out again on the lines, and quickly turned to seek Tir Aesclinn again. Only the shape that appeared through the mist was not the light of the burning tree, but of a tower.

Lucia cried out as she suddenly fell into water and was forced to half swim half wade to the base of the tower. Looking up she saw it was made of neatly fitted stones without mortar, no windows or doors around its walls. Having no choice other than turning back Lucia began to climb the tower carefully. Never having been good at climbing and afraid of the fall it took her some time to reach the top. When she did she lay gasping and quivering for some time before she gathered herself to look around.

Stone trees stood over the open top of the tower, the floor a tangled mass of colorful threads in the thousands. In the center of the web sat a woman, tangled in the threads as she wove them in complicated knots, bent over something in the center of the floor. She had to have known Lucia was there but she had not turned from her task or that which she looked on. Cautiously Lucia stood and walked over to sit at her side.

The woman was beautiful, her features sweet and serine, her hair a pale blonde that even reached her delicate eyelashes. Her long ears and youthful face marked her as one of the Phay, as did her violet eyes that did not leave the floor. Lucia looked and saw a mirror, or a well so still it was a mirror.

“Welcome Masked Queen,” the woman said nodding in her direction but not taking her eyes from the mirror. “It seems I keep meeting those I chose to weave.”

“You are Arke?” Lucia asked and the woman nodded.

“The Color Weaver,” she answered. “My father sent your spirit after me along my thread. He did not need to, I already know what goes on in Tir Aesclinn through my chosen, him simply telling you was enough he did not need to send your spirit.”

“I am glad,” Lucia answered. “I do not want to wake.”

“I need you to wake,” Arke answered.

“Why?” Lucia asked. “My life is misery, I am only alive because Elrik wants to make me suffer. If I could die I would!”

“Do not make such wishes lightly in such a place,” Arke warned.

“I do not make such threat lightly, if you knew what I have been through you would understand,” Lucia said.

“I do,” Arke said. “And I do not say that lightly. My spirit is tied to yours, I feel as you do, have felt all you have been through. And I have felt more from others I have chosen. Your agony is one among others I have felt. And still I ask, wake.”

“No!” Lucia said venomously. “Why have you chosen me? For what? For the Phay is it? What do I care! Make it end, you can do it I know it!”

“I will not,” Arke answered lowly. “Please, return. More than just the fate of the Phay matters in this. I cannot tell you more, why I chose you will become clear in time. Just now please be patient.”

“Patient!” Lucia cried leaping to her feet. “I will not be your puppet of fate!”

With that cry she reached out to the thread that led from her navel, the read thread that she could see lead to Arke’s hand tied about her finger. With a violent slash of her hand the thread was severed, a force making Lucia stumble back in shock and Arke cry out in pain. She collapsed senseless to the ground, still facing her mirror. Lucia looked down to see she was free of the thread now feeling strangely elated and empty at the same time.

Shaking her head, she left the tower, trying to climb down carefully, but her foot slipped. She fell and then woke, pain returning as she woke to look around. She was strapped to a table, her arms and legs bruised and purple. She was alone, guessing that Elrik had been beating her but she had never woken up.

Groaning she tested her bonds and found that her left wrist could be slipped out of the leather thong that held it. She slipped it free and worked on freeing her other hand then her legs. Free she slid off the table and crawled over to the door. She rested there, her entire body hurting wondering what she was doing. How could she hope to escape in this condition? Even if by some miracle she escaped the castle where would she go?

The bronze mask fused to her face would always mark her, she would carry it for the rest of her life. Even if she got to the Mark what kind of life would she live? Some sort of freak to be paraded around for others to gawk at. If she returned to Warren Jeanne would take her in, but her life would then be that of a pitiful noble’s pet, Jeanne would protect her but out of guilt, not love.

Lucia realized then that Jeanne had never loved her, even before Lucia had done everything to protect her. Tears started to prick her eyes and she shook the feeling off. No matter, that was the past, now was the time that Lucia could forge her own path. She had freed herself from the Color Weaver, walked the lines, and grown in power. She could take what she wanted now, not live in fear and let others take from her. A plan formed in her mind, and now Lucia decided she would take all she could. She would take the Nine and the High throne, she would be queen of everyone.

Standing took an amount of will that now burned in Lucia like hot fire. She found the door to be open, and she left the cell. The basements were now a dungeon of misery, moans of pain echoing in the walls. Lucia didn’t care, she walked down the hall ignoring the closed doors and the victims that lay behind them. She left the dungeon, there were no guards for few could leave the place on their own two feet. She walked down the servant halls, being careful not to be spotted.

She arrived at the guest quarters, and after listening at doors discovered the one she sought. She opened the doors and slipped inside. There she found a cabal of men talking, all standing immediately. Seth was there, looking at her with his eyes dead. The Lord Han Wu sat at a table with several other merchants, Lucia not recalling their names.

“Jeanne’s double,” Han said surprised. “You’ve escaped.”

“For a time,” she said mildly and walked over to the head of the table where he sat. “Move aside, you are in my seat.”

“Excuse me?” he said shocked.

“I said, move aside,” Lucia said with more force, calling on the aether. Her voice reverberated, Han wincing as if he had been slapped. She called on more of the aether, fueling the rage she now felt, impressing her will on the Lirian lord. His face paled and he backed away from her sinking down to the floor.

“It can’t be…” He gasped.

“What witchery is this?” one of the guild masters said shocked.

“Witchery,” Lucia answered sitting in the chair and lounging back content.

“It is like Feng Loe,” Han said haunted.

“Really? Well I will be taking Feng Lo’s head then,” Lucia said.

“You are mad,” another guild man said.

“Very well, I will be the mad high queen,” Lucia answered. “Seth, some tea if you would.”

“Yes Majesty,” Seth said easily, his immediate obedience not going unmarked as he prepared tea for Lucia. The men all knew what Seth was, and now looked at Lucia with fear.

“Good, now I believe all of you were discussing your plans for a cue?” Lucia said lazily. The men shifted around like guilty boys who had been caught stealing. Han was the only one to answer, bowing before her in the Lirian fashion with his head to the floor.

“Yes, Majesty we were,” he answered.

“Han!” Several merchants shouted outraged.

“You would change masters so easily?” another said.

“Master?” Han said straightening a turning to the merchants. “Yes, I suppose Loe is my master, one that broke me by breaking my daughter. Anyone willing to take his head earns my loyalty, anything to see that monster dead.”

“Or your daughter healed,” Seth said, handing Lucia her tea. Han turned to him; his eye bright.

“Can she?” Han asked. “My wife said she met with a Sect, but the gods had turned away from her. Can her power help?”

“I might,” Lucia said. “But let us see to the business of the cue first, then I will heal her.”

Han looked pained but nodded.

“We were just setting the date,” Han answered. “We have well over half the merchant class in our pockets, along with enough rabble to hire to our cause. We have riots happening across the city already, since you had stopped venturing to see the people they have been discontent with the taxes and bullying of the nobility. When we have the date set, I have men in place to open the gates of the palace.”

Lucia nodded, more than just Elrik would die on the night they chose.

“And then what?” Lucia asked. “When you hold the palace what was Loe’s plan?”

“I would send a messenger and he would march south with a small army to hold the city,” Han answered. “The main force would stay to destroy Alda, only then will the Orcs move to take the rest of the Nine.”

“And what was Loe’s plan to hold Tir Leone?” Lucia asked. “If his main force is still in Alda what is to stop other lords of Regis from taking Tir Leone? Or the Mark or Hyria?”

“The peasants of the countryside would be my guess,” Seth answered. “The cult of the Crippled One is very strong right now, the church and lords are tied up trying to control it. When Elrik called a cease fire many lords asked to return to their holdings so they could hold their power, the Sect has been killing many to keep the word of the gods.

“The Crippled One will call his cult to rise up when Loe takes Tir Leon, to help him hold the city. Many of those we plan to take the city with are in the cult.”

“I see, so to hold Tir Leon you need the Crippled One.”

“Killing Loe will only anger the cult and the Bandaged Brothers,” Seth said musingly.

“Will it?” Lucia said. “Only if it angers the Crippled One.”

“You mean to gain the Crippled One’s favor over Loe,” Han said amazed.

“Let me see your daughter,” Lucia said then and rose.

Han hurried to lead Lucia to his bed chamber, leaving the rest of the merchants alone to talk. Inside it was dark and reeked of opium, no one else in the room. Lucia knew few could stay in here for long with the thick clouds of opium.

She walked to the bed to find a young girl laying there. She looked like a doll, her skin so pail and face so still. Lucia could see her twisted spirit, reading the intent there. The spirit was normally set in one’s skin, sensitive to touch and the other senses. The girl’s spirit was twisted so that it warped what her body felt. When the girl’s body felt pain, her spirit felt an intense pleasure that was addicting. It wouldn’t have taken long for her to become the perfect victim.

Lucia drew on the aether and put her hand on the girl’s head. She tried to twist her spirit back, but it resisted. It had been that way for too long and though Lucia drew on all she could, she could not get the spirit to budge.

“Any luck?” Seth asked at her shoulder.

“It’s been too long like this,” Lucia answered. “She is afraid to go back.”

“Then make her,” Seth said simply. Lucia rolled her eyes, she had tried and had been forceful not caring the damage she caused. Then she realized she was going about it wrong. It was like she was trying to turn something in a small space, what she needed to do was to was pull her spirit out of her then turn it and put it back in. That would mean killing the girl briefly.

“I need you to free her spirit for me,” Lucia said. Seth nodded and reached out, his hands wrapping around the girl’s throat. He began to strangle her, Han suddenly stepping forward horrified.

“We must free her spirit if we are to fix her,” Lucia answered. It was testament of Han’s desperation, or loss of his hope, that he simply nodded and let Seth strangle his daughter. It didn’t take long, Lucia sensing the girl’s spirit drift free like smoke heading for the aether. Lucia stopped it and turned it back around, feeling the corruption of the spirit as well. The spirit was dark with the touch of the Crippled One, like a stain. Lucia cleaned it, feeling the darkness seep into her own spirit. She welcomed it, feeling her spirit and power change in ways she wasn’t sure what would happen.

She moved the spirit back into the girl’s body, Seth moving to revive her but pounding on her chest. Her spirit withered in pain and Lucia tried to force it back into the body but it now shied away from the pain. Her heart did not beat, and so her spirit fled into the aether, flying away from Lucia. Seth stopped, sensing they had failed.

“She is dead,” Lucia said disappointed. Han nodded his eyes dark.

“Leave us,” Han said and Lucia hesitated.

“You will help us,” Lucia said.

“Leave,” Han answered his voice hard. Lucia glared at him about to argue when Seth stopped her.

“There’s no need Lucia, he has given up,” Seth said calmly. Lucia looked at him and realized what he meant.

“Send in my wife and daughter,” Han said. Lucia nodded and was not surprised to find the two women waiting outside the door. She did not need to send them in, both went in quickly. The merchants waited as well looking concerned.

“Go,” Lucia said. “There is death here.”

The men nodded somberly and left, little more needed to be said. Lucia let them leave, and the followed them out to start along her way down the palace halls, Seth at her heels.

“How do you mean to gain the Crippled One’s favor?” Seth asked.

“I don’t,” Lucia answered not breaking her stride or turning to Seth. “I mean to kill him.”

Seth said nothing, Lucia knowing he believed her and chose not to ask how she planned to kill a dark spirit that had grown so powerful to be considered a god to some. Lucia wasn’t quite sure how she would do it either, but she would.

“Though in the meantime I plan on killing Loe. I suspect if I become more powerful than him the Crippled One will leave him and favor me.”

“Powerful?” Seth said. “In what way?”

“In the Elder Magic,” Lucia answered. “I don’t think the Crippled One cares much about kings, except in the sense of the Phay. Their kings are different than ours, the title holds more than just sovereignty over the masses.”

“To what end will you have all this?” Seth asked and Lucia stopped. “After you accomplish taking the Court of Miracles, killing Loe and the Crippled One, and even holding the Nine, what then?”

“The Phay will march,” Lucia answered. “And I will be among their Kings and Queens as equal as High Queen of the Nine.”

“Equal? You do not want to rule them?” Seth asked.

Lucia laughed and turned to face him.

“Were that I could but doubt that, not until I become more powerful than them. No, I will learn from them, learn all the higher powers of the Elder Magic, and become as long lived as them. Maybe then centuries from now I could dream of ruling them. But for now, I will open my arms and welcome them, as will all the Nine, and they will see me as the great High Queen that tamed the hoard of barbarians that drove them to march in the first place. Then I will be immortal and reign for centuries.”

Seth nodded; Lucia pleased. He had no emotions so could think with a clear head and analytical mind, if he approved of such a plan Lucia knew it was sound.

For now, Lucia walked back to the throne room, court gathered before the High King. As she entered Lucia went back to crawling on her knees, Seth melting back in with the other servants. Lucia crawled up to the high table where Elrik sat with the Regarian Sect of Lun who was courting him. She was a fat round woman with a face much like Lun’s full moon. Telling by how Elrik ignored her he already did not like her.

“Well my Beast returns after slipping her leash,” Elrik said grinning as he leaned forward to look down at Lucia as she knelt before him. “I wanted to send my guards after you to teach you a lesson. Though I guess I could get them to teach you now.”

“Please majesty,” Lucia said, making her voice tremble with fear. “I could not escape so I thought if I came back….”

“I would be merciful?” Elrik said crossly.

“N-no, that you would be pleased,” Lucia said. “I’d do anything to please you.”

Elrik grinned and leaned back in his throne.

“I am pleased Beast,” he said. “You are far more loyal than some.”

He glared at the woman next to him who scowled at him.

“I have been nothing but loyal to you and your house majesty,” the woman said insulted.

“I never said you had not Lady Francine,” Elrik said lightly, Lucia hearing the slight edge to his voice. “Though I hear you have not been so loyal to those you’ve bedded.”

Gasps and titers went up over the court and the woman flushed angrily.

“I am a priests of Lun not some painted whore of Dione,” the Lady Francine said insulted. “And I am a daughter to a duke, I do not need to be insult and called a whore by some man who can be nearly a…”

She stopped herself in time, her eyes going wide.

“A what?” Elrik said quietly. “Go on say it.”

“I’m sorry majesty,” Francine said fearfully. “I did not mean…”

“You were going to say a bastard,” Elrik said. “That is treason and deserves a hanging.”

“No majesty please I…”

“Guards, take the Lady Francine to the dungeons,” Elrik said pleased. “I believe she mean me and the Nine harm and so should be punished justly.”

Knights moved hesitantly to take the Lady Francine away, Lucia spotting several Lords going to follow them. No doubt the Lady Francine would be saved from the dungeons, but Elrik would not be pleased with the lords that would spirit her away. Lucia looked over at Seth to see him talking to the Lord Varus, no doubt conspiring with the mage lord over their success at turning Elrik against the Lady Francine. She wondered how they had done it, Varus probably had used his magic again to convince Elrik, or simply lied about his magic. She found it interesting how Varus had done that before, pretended that his magic has said something else and everyone had simply believed him. Perhaps some magic simply needed belief.

“Lord Varus!” Elrik said and the mage left Seth to bow before Elrik. “You have proven a very wise and important counsel. Given the dissolution of the counsel of kingdoms, I believe I need more wise men like you around. I am herby naming you my grand vizier, second only to myself. With your powers I am sure you can guide me in the correct course. First of all, finding me a suitable wife.”

“Yes majesty,” Varus said. “I actually have a woman in mind already.”

“A mage?” Elrik said sound a little doubtful.

“No majesty,” Varus said. “A Xinian.”

“Tell me more,” Elrik said leaning forward. “One of the princesses of Xin?”

“Yes majesty,” Varus answered. “As you know King Akeem Nejem has four elder sisters, all of whom I can attest to being some of the most beautiful women in all of the Nine.”

“How?” Elrik said his eyes flashing as he grinned wickedly. “Did you sneak into the King of Xin’s private harem?”

“No Majesty I attended the wedding of the late King Nejem to one of his many wives, Sibylla. She is a cousin of mine, though a little distant. I still visit her as well, being family I am allowed to at least meet a few of the princesses though not in the harem itself.”

“And Akeem would be willing to marry one of his sisters to me?” Elrik asked.

“He will if I bring the suit, and maybe even promise to relieve Evalon of the siege upon it. Once Evalon is freed and the marriage complete, you will have access to Xin and its riches.”

“Indeed,” Elrik said leaning back in his throne. “It all seems so perfect, why did my father not bring the Xinian princesses to my attention before then?”

“Because your father was not me majesty,” Varus said. “I have access to the King of Xin through my cousin, your father did not have the ear the King Xin. I do, and I assure you I can convince him of this suit, and the of the beauty and obedience of the Princesses.”

“Very well,” Elrik said pleased. “Go then to Xin and bring me back a bride worthy of the High throne then.”

“Yes majesty,” Varus said as he bowed and left. More entertainment was brough forward for Elrik to watch, a few trained animals made to dance as they were poked with sharp sticks. Lucia did not watch the poor animals, instead digested what Varus was planning.

It was against their plan of a coupe that was plain, they had planned on him using his magic to aid them. Given the timing it looked as though he wanted to be away from the coupe when it happened, then why help them plan the coupe in the first place? She knew they could do it without him, his magic played a small role and one her own powers could do more effectively anyways. Had he gotten cold feet? Or was he sincere about bringing the princess of Xin here as a marriage partner.

From what Seth had told her of the Crippled One, he was using the King of Dridia to craft him an immortal body. The mages were also in league with the Bandaged Brothers and the Orcs. Maybe then so was Zar Ne Zar. If so then Varus was going to go kill the King of Xin, then another of the Nine would fall.

Eventually the night grew old and Elrik too drunk to care about court. He stumbled off to bed, the rest of court dispersing as well, leaving Lucia alone by the throne but for a few servants cleaning up after dinner. Then Seth was at her side.

“He is going to kill the King of Xin isn’t he?” Lucia said.

“I knew I did not need to tell you,” Seth said. “Apparently the nomads have rallied, Zar Ne Zar is failing the Crippled One. Killing the King is one of the things Varus is going to go do. If he really wishes to make the holy city fall however, he will have to kill the Prophet of the Sands.”

“Very well but how will we hold Xin then?” Lucia said. “With Zar Ne Zar?”

“Kill Zar Ne Zar as well,” Seth answered with a shrug. “He will not bow to you either. But I believe that can come after we hold Cair Leone.”

Lucia nodded wondering how many people they were going to have to kill to get control of the Nine. She doubted there would ever be an end to the killing. No matter, it was the path she had chosen to tread, a path wet with blood.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Bastard Mage

Traveling once more anonymously felt no different than before. Weary days on horseback, dried rations and stale water, sleeping on the ground with little more than a tent, it had been a long time since the comfort of the Court of Dreams. Xavier found his spirit lighter however now that he had faced what he had to face and have it behind him. It made him almost hopefully for the future.

Zaire seemed lighter as well, Xavier catching her staring at him with a slight smile on her face sometimes. The dwarves Donar and Darin where also proving to be fair traveling companions, despite Darin’s broken heart. Darin seemed determined to shake off his mod, concentration on their journey and making it more comfortable.

They traveled through the borderlands of Regis, Lir, and Alda, traveling by day since the Orcs seemed to travel mostly by night. Xavier would on occasion change into his bird form to keep watch from the sky, but he could not keep the shape for long. He had wished Kalyani would have come, but he was much more comfortable with Martell joining the war if Kalyani were with them. Besides it was easier to be discreet without the griffins with them.

Not that they need to be discreet, the borderlands were deserted. The pillaging Orc army had decimated the area, many people fleeing to the south. Xavier wondered how Regis was taking the influx of people, and if it was making Elrik reconsider his inaction. He doubted it, as he doubted Regis would do anything about the refugees. What was more likely was that they were being pressed into slavery, something Regis would gladly do.

He wondered what could be done after all this blew over. Thousands of people had been displaced, slavery would have torn families apart, and many more would have been killed from the Orcs. Besides the shambles that Lir must be in, it would be an even greater mess once Loe was dealt with. And Xavier was under the uncomfortable realization that it was something he was going to have to handle in the future, if not as just King of Alda but possibly High King of the Nine Kingdoms.

“What ails you?” Donar asked as they rode one day.

“The world,” Xavier answered. “And the realization that I may be the one to have to fix it after all this is over. Besides also helping the Phay adjust to Miread, I’ll also likely be High King of the Nine.”

“Will you?” Donar said mildly. “And would you be High King over the Phay as well?”

“Well…” Xavier said frowning.

“No, you won’t,” Donar said laughing. “They have their own Kings and Queens. And we dwarves have our own King as well, if she survives.”

He was looking off onto the horizon, Xavier knowing that feeling well.

“I suppose you’re right,” Xavier said. “So, I’ll just be High King over men.”

“I’m not so sure that is wise anymore,” Donar said. “Given the fragments the Kingdoms are in and will likely be in for a while I do not think they can be united again.”

“But then what?” Xavier asked. “We would not have the peace and prosperity we have now were it not for Absalom uniting the Kingdoms. And would the Phay really enjoy coming back to strife once more? Don’t they deserve the world they came from?”

“The world they came from is gone and will not come back,” Donar said. “That is a truth they chose to run away from, and it might still cost them all that they are. And you are mistaken to think they never lived in strive, many of the Phay feed off strife. They ran because they could not cope with the changes of the world, because they wished to be the most powerful players at the table.

“Whether they like it or not they have to come back and face what they had turned away from.”

“What then should we do?” Xavier asked.

“I’m not sure, but a council sounds like a much better idea than a bully of a High King.”

“But we need someone to have the ultimate authority to break standoffs and arguments. We need a peacekeeper, Absalom intended the High King to be that, and that the role would move on every few years.”

“I believe that was the mistake Absalom made,” Donar said. “He was the only one to unite the Kingdoms and the only one to hold them united. After that his line became that keystone because they were linked to him. After what has happened, I do not think even you as his decedent could unite the Kingdoms again. I do not think even Absalom himself could.”

“Then what should we do?” Xavier asked helplessly.

“I’m not sure,” Donar said. “I believe that will be something you will have to figure out.”

Xavier growled wordlessly, having hoped Donar would have all the answers. Of course, he shouldn’t have put all his hopes on him, he was right that it was something he would have to face.

They rode on for the rest of the day, villages and towns abandoned. When they stopped for the night they made camp and Xavier set a ward around the camp in Elder Magic. He found it was much faster, yet Zaire also started the work of setting a ward in High Magic with a bit of power he lent her. When that was complete Xavier and Donar sat back-to-back once more to begin the long process of searching for memories from past lives.

First, they had to meditate, clearing the mind to refocus it again on the memories. Donar had taught him how to focus on one of his own memories and use that as a catalyst of recall into one of his past lives. It had taken him a long time just to do that, often just getting lost in his own memories. The type of memory he chose would lead him to a similar experience of his past life. After he at last faced his past he was able to concentrate and summon those memories he had be seeking.

He had originally been trying traumatic memories, ones of strife or even the abuse from his grandfather. But he soon learned why these never brought anything to surface from his past memories. His past lives had been happy ones, and once he tried memories of Zaire or even his times with the Griffins he soon was reliving past lives.

Tonight he tried a memory of Zaire again, a fine memory of making love with her in her old home. It was one that easily brought him to another life. The memory changed mid-way through from the perspective of his own to that of a woman. Her lover held her close as he moved in and out of her, the names gasped had changed again.

“Rane,” the man whispered in her ear, as he nibbled at it. She gasped as she climaxed, he quickly following suit. Yet they didn’t part, holding each other in the closest embrace possible, parting just enough to stare into each other’s eyes. The man above her was Aldan, beautiful and handsome as all the Aldan were. His face was split into a huge content smile, hers the same. His hand was idly tracing the lines of her ear, sending soft shivers down her spine.

“Landyn,” she said softly. “My arm is getting pins and needles.”

“Sorry,” he said with a soft laugh as he sat up a little so she could free her arm. They rearranged themselves on their blanket so they faced the forest canopy above them to look at the summer sun through the leaves. They lay there listening to the birds sing and the trees whisper stories to each other, basking in the warmth of the sun.

“Majesty,” a soft clearing of the throat interrupting their leisure. Landyn sat up to look at the knight who had stood guard for them had come from his station down the path. “We should go now before it gets dark.”

“Before a roaming band of Markians come and kill us and ravish my wife you mean,” Landyn said wryly. “Or perhaps Regarians seeking to steal our riches?”

“Or Dridians seeking to lay curses on our heads?” Rane said joining the fun. The knight did not seem as amused, but he did not lay a word against his liege lord. “Oh, come on Landyn lets go before he has a fit.”

Landyn laughed as he helped her dress again in her fine linen dress, lacing it up for her. She did the same of his long tunic belted at the waist with a woven hemp belt. Once dressed they walked off into the trees, their guard silently following them. The memory dissolved, and Xavier woke slowly.

He opened his eyes to find Zaire sitting next to him holding his hand. He smiled at her and she smiled back, her worry evaporating.

“Well?” Darin asked.  

“Another memory of Rane,” Xavier answered, and Darin rolled his eyes and turned away. He had been having mainly memories from Rane, thus Darin’s contempt.

“It will come,” Donar said with patience. “Often you get insignificant things when remembering. In fact it is hardly done when seeking something specific, we chiefs only do it to seek out general knowledge and experience. We are never looking for a specific memory.”

“Well he needs to if we are to find the song,” Darin said. “And all he has managed is to look into Rane of the Aldan, not even Eileen!”

Donar stood and took Darin by the arm, going to give him a stern talking to telling by the look in his eyes.

“You are alright?” Zaire asked.

“Fine, it was a lovely memory that I’m not surprised stayed with Rane into her later lives,” Xavier said, and Zaire frowned a little at him and he laughed. “Come Landyn you’ll get wrinkles between your eyes if you do that too much.”

Her face went slack and he realized a second later what he had said.

“Zaire, I…”

“I know,” she said softly, “you didn’t mean to.”

It had not been the first time he had called her Landyn.

“Is there anything else I’ve been doing Zaire?” Xavier asked. “Without my knowing am I becoming someone else?”

“Not that I see,” Zaire answered. “You still have your little habits, running your hand through your hair, staring off when you’re thinking, little things.”

“I think I did things like that in my past life too,” Xavier said remembering some of the habits Rane had too. Then he also remembered a habit of her lover. “Landyn traced my ears like you do.”

“Really?” Zaire said surprised. “Could I have been Landyn?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Xavier said. “We have probably been lovers in multiple lives given you are the love Eileen first gave her immortality for.”

“Was that truly for her lover or for her child?” Zaire asked.

“I don’t know,” Xavier answered. “But I guess someday I will find out.”

Zaire smiled and they stood together to get dinner. Darin still seemed in a sour mood and said nothing over their light meal. They went to bed and the next day resumed once more.

The days turned as they rode south making good time as they traveled and were soon out of the ravaged borderlands and into the Spine Mountains. Here there was little life as well, but not because of war. The Spine Mountains were rugged stone with little in the way of forage or water. They rose quickly off the southern plains, the foothills becoming steep gorges and canyons. There were trading houses along the way, these paths used by some to bring goods from Xin. Most traders used boats however, so these paths were dangerous if taken alone. So, this road was traveled mostly by the Rhodin and some nomads of the deserts too poor to trade with the boatmen.

They had company many times on the road, and sometimes at camps along the way. The Rhodin here were quiet for the Rhodin, though a little more open to outsiders.

“Why is it the Rhodin do not wander the desert?” Xavier asked one Rhodin over the fire one night. “Your people could join the nomads of the desert surely?”

“Our people’s ways are different than those of the nomads of Xin,” the man answered unafraid of the question. “We Rhodin do not like to impose ourselves on any other creature, the nomads rely and love those that are their mounts through the desert. The Dontamen for instance even come near worship of their elephants, calling them divine spirits. We prefer to not be reliant on such creatures, our horses and mules are our friends not our lovers.

“The nomads of the desert also live very poor lives, with little to their names but what they can carry on their beasts and what they can trade. We carry everything with us because all must eventually come with us to Tir Aesclinn. When one dies they are burned with their wagon so it might come with them. If they do not have their own, or leave it to a family member, they are burned with a wheel or a part of the wagon.”

Donar leaned forward at that surprised.

“You take your wagons with you to Tir Aesclinn?” Donar asked surprised.

“Yes, we paint them such colors so they might blend in with the aether,” the man answered. “There is a dark spirit on the lines that hunts us.”

“Why must your wagons come with you?” Xavier asked. “You cannot take them back to Miread.”

“They are gifts for Enfys. Our ancestors made a promise to him before he left that we would bring wagons to him. In exchange we get to spend our time in Tir Aesclinn with his son or daughters in revelry and love.”

“Donar have you heard of this?” Xavier asked.

“No what is that mad bastard doing?” Donar said baffled. “It was the elves that sired the Aldan race not the Nymphs, so he can’t be seeking that. And they could not have any children in Tir Aesclinn.”

“And we Rhodin do not mix well with the blood of the Aldan,” the man said over the fire.

“The march,” Zaire said. “He has been gathering wagons for the march.”

“What would they need wagons for?” Donar said. “They walked originally when they first marched. And he planned this ahead of time as well before they marched.”

“Another mystery then,” Xavier said puzzled. “And one that I doubt will be solved unless you have memory of Tir Aesclinn?”

“No sir I do not,” the man said with a wry smile. “Were that I did.”

“I’m sure,” Xavier said, wishing to see Tir Aesclinn again. His wish was granted because that night he dreamed.

He walked the lines and found the marker to Tir Aesclinn, walking into the great forest and to the clearing once more. The gathering had broken up however, none were lingering around the clearing. Seeking others Xavier braved going deeper into the woods. He walked through the trees, marveling at sights that seemed to melt away from his memory much like in a dream. He wondered if it was the effect of Tir Aesclinn or if his spirit simply could not hold the wonders of the aethereal world.

Voices at last came to him, two female voices that sounded so similar he thought it was only one person talking to themselves for a moment. He turned a corner around a giant tree and came to a hidden grotto nested in the roots of the mighty trees. Here delicate flowers grew in great swaths glowing a pale blue with mushrooms growing between them which glowed a soft purple and fireflies glowing golden green.

In the center of the grotto were two Phay women, both of outstanding beauty and power that Xavier felt his spirit quail and nearly wake. It took all his will to stay there, especially as the twins turned to look at him with matching indigo eyes.

“Who are you wandering spirit?” one woman said, her voice harsh and commanding. “How dare you spy on us.”

“Wait,” the other said in a bare whisper, her hand outstretched to her twin. “Eileen?”

Xavier again had to exert his will, though this time it was from his spirit nearly leaping to the woman.

“Mother,” Xavier said feeling the word come from him and knowing it to be true. Mab smiled and started towards him when her twin Titania spoke.

“She is dead?” Titania said. “How will we march now?”

“No, she has wandered to this place,” Mab said and stopped. “My darling daughter, I would embrace you but if I did I fear it would smother your wandering spirit.”

“No, it is fine,” Xavier said feeling soothed. He had not known his mother of his current life, and so had no comparison but for the echo he felt in his spirit. “Mother, I still search for the song.”

“You have not found it yet?” Mab said worried.

“Do you know where it might be?” Xavier asked. “Or how I might find it?”

“No,” Mab answered. “We have been here for weeks, centuries in the time of Miread.”

“I see,” Xavier said mournfully.

“Where was it last?” Titania asked. “What do you know?”

“Only that it might now lay in Xin,” Xavier answered. “So we found from history and story.”

“The great desert?” Titania said. “That is where Kur fell.”

“I do not think it coincidence,” Mab said her eyes narrow. “You must go there.”

“I am,” Xavier said. “Tell me, are you ready to march?”

The two exchanged glances, their faces grim.

“The Dulhan slumber and none can wake them,” Mab said. “Without them we cannot march.”

“Is that what you need the wagons for?” Xavier asked.

“What wagons?” Mab asked frowning.

“The wagons of the Rhodin,” Xavier answered. “The King of the Rainbow asked them to burn them when they die so that they can come to Tir Aesclinn.”

“Enfys?” Titania asked. “What is he up to now?”

“Are the wagons not for the Dulhan then?” Xavier asked, gathering that Mad and Titania didn’t know what the wagons were for.

“You do not know?” Mab asked puzzled. “Darling, only the Dulhan can lead us out through the aether, without them the song does not work.”

Xavier gaped at her, shocked that only the Dulhan could hear the song.

“But how?” Xavier asked.

“We all hear the song, but only the Dulhan can tell where it comes from,” Titania said. “They are the only ones who can find their ways through the paths of the aether. They have always been the guides of the paths, leading spirits from Tir Aesclinn to Fors Wheel where she weaves aether into their spirits so they might be reborn. Without them I have heard many spirits have gotten lost, eaten by a soul eater.”

“You know of him then!” Xavier said relieved. “The Crippled One.”

“How could we not?” Titania said with a toss of her head.

“He means to eat the Phay,” Xavier said. “As he has eaten so many souls. You are in danger if you march without the song.”

“So we know,” Mab said gravely. “But we will take this to heart. My only hope is the Dulhan awaken when the song is played.”

“Without them we cannot march,” Titania said.

“What do you mean?” a new voice said ringing, shocking Xavier so much with its power his spirit fled Tir Aeclinn and he woke. He sat a moment, his mind adjusting to the dim tent he shared with Zaire.

“Xavier,” Zaire said and he turned to her. In the dim light he could just make out her shocked face.

“Sorry I woke you,” he said wearily.

“No, are you alright?” Zaire asked. “You were dreaming?”

“Yes and no,” Xavier answered. “My spirit wandered.”

He told her of the dream, dawn breaking as he told her the story. She was quiet even after he finished, seeming deep in thought.

“The stars have shifted more,” she said at last, Xavier confused.

“Weren’t the stars indicating the time of the song?” Xavier asked. “After the second resonance you’ve been tracking them to see when the third will happen.”

“Yes, and I have been studying that,” Zaire said. “As far as I can see we still have months. But it is the missing stars that don’t point towards the timeline. I told you before that the ones that are missing have just moved? Well some of those have not played into the timing of the march. Some of the missing ones are minor, but one that is missing is Tiamar, the lantern star. Along with the north star Noriel, Tiamar is used to get a better guidance. It has shifted into the Sacred River, even though it is so bright it can hardly be seen now in the river.”

“You think this has something to do with the Dullahan?” Xavier said.

“It could be why they sleep, or because they sleep the star is hidden,” Zaire said.

“Can you tell if that star will emerge from the river?” Xavier asked.

“It is difficult to track it since I can no longer find it in the sky,” Zaire said. “But I will try.”

“Thank you,” Xavier said giving her a smile and a kiss. “I know it must be hard to do this while we travel.”

“It is, but I will do it,” Zaire said smiling back at him. He kissed her again, and would have continue to more had his stomach not grumbled for food. She laughed and he sighed with a wane smile, and they left their tent to find breakfast.

They set out again, leaving behind another Rhodin camp, riding on down the little used south road. After a total of month’s travel form Alda they at last could see the Spine mountains on the horizon. At first Xavier thought them clouds on the horizon, then he realized the white was the snow of the peaks. The mountains spread like a great wall on the horizon, jagged and rugged. As they got closer, Xavier realized something irregular or rather regular about the mountains.

“Is it just me or are the mountains spaced out regularly?” Xavier asked.

“They are,” Donar said. “After all they are Kur’s spine.”

“That can’t be,” Zaire said frowning. “They are made of stone, you can see it.”

“Kurs bones are stone,” Donar answered. “And centuries of erosion has probably shaped them into the more familiar shapes.”

Zaire pursed her lips but said nothing, Xavier knowing she didn’t believe Donar but didn’t want to argue. He could hardly believe it either, the size of Kur seemed impossible. But he had walked the lines, found an isle hidden by magic, and seen great works of magic. Somehow, he could almost believe the line of mountains before them were what Donar claimed. And if so, what could the return of Kur’s kin mean for the world to come. That Xavier couldn’t imagine, living in legends didn’t seem possible.

Despite the mountains being visible it still took them another five days of travel to reach the foothills. The road lead them to the mountain pass, there a small inn had been set up, around which a village of Rhodin had sprung up. The Rhodin were cautious of them until they saw they were not Regarian or Lirian. They dismounted and handed their horses over to a stable boy before going into the inn. It was a big barn like building, many colorful trade flags hanging from the rafters.

The inn was crowded with Rhodin, and some traders come with their caravans. It seemed despite the war trade still persisted. Xavier got them drinks and dinner, roast beef carved off the huge shank on the fire, fresh bread, and roasted squash. They ate, glad of the fresh food after road rations for so long. Xavier knew this too would probably be the last good meal they had before they set out again. After two flagons of beer, Xavier started walking around the room, listening to the news and gossip.

“The pass can’t be closed,” one trader was saying to another.

“Just because you don’t want it doesn’t mean it isn’t,” the other answered.

“What I mean is that I saw a caravan enter the pass not two days ago.”

“The pass isn’t closed,” another trader said elbowing the second.

“Evalon is under siege from the Pridesmen,” the second said indignantly rubbing his bruised ribs. “How could the pass still be open?”

“Because trade still goes on regardless,” the third said rolling his eyes.

“From what I hear many are doing good business selling to the Pridesmen,” a fourth chimed in. “Though seems they’re mostly interested in slaves and meat.”

“Don’t they get enough from sacking the city?”

“They’ve been holding out well I hear. Despite it going on for months the Pridesmen haven’t even breached the outer walls.”

“They have, they’ve just been unable to hold the outer city.”

“Why?”

“The wandering tribes have united, the Dunesmen and the Zarmen have started to harass the Pridesmen, even the peaceful Dontamen have been attacking the Pridesmen.”

“What in the name of Sol’s balls could unite the tribes?”

“The Prophet of the Sands.”

“Heresy,” one man muttered.

“No, she speaks for the gods themselves, she is said to ride the wind and returned from being poisoned with snake sand.”

“Sounds more like witchcraft.”

“Or a miracle of the gods.”

Xavier left them to talk about the finer points of religion going back and wondering over this news of the Prophet of the Sands. That night he once again began to seek past memories, the shadow of the Spine Mountains on the horizon.

This time after the meditation, what came up was not a sweet pleasant memory of Rane’s. Instead he was in the dusty streets of Evalon, the slave district telling by the hovels of mud and people in chains. He himself was in chains, his limbs stick thin and burnished gold from the sun. Yet somehow he knew he was still Aldan, or at least had some Aldan blood. That much he knew from the memory, always a hint of his identity seeming through inanely. He was a slave, born to a whore, a priestess of Dione who he had known briefly before she had died in a plague when he was young. His father he knew nothing of other than the inheritance of pointed ears and violet eyes.

And he was little older than ten summers.

A whip crack and a yell made him jump to his feet, exhaustion and maize of thoughts fleeing in the fear of the bite of the whip. Others did the same, hurrying to stand and march along down the dusty streets. They walked through the holy city, seeing none of the wonders as they took the slave streets, sunken muddy walkways that hid them from sight and thankfully the over-bearing sun.

They reached a lake at last and by a ferry were taken to a great worksite where giant blocks of marble and stone lay scattered about in some sort of order. The site was crawling with people, shifting and moving great slabs of stone to place. Given no time to watch the erecting of the structure, Xavier was hurried along to a winch and strapped in to push the lever in a circle, raising and lowering a platform for workers to take along a wall.

All day he worked and into the night, until at last he was taken away, given a bowl of gruel and some water. He sat in the night staring up at the stars exhausted, when a face interrupted his view. The man looking down at him was Aldan, youthful and beautiful, eyes a deep indigo and holding mysteries like the stars above.

“Eileen,” the man said and then Xavier woke, the memory dissolving.

“Xavier,” Zaire said, he became aware of her hand holding his.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Xavier said, seeing the silent question from Zaire and Donar. “I remembered being a slave in Evalon, and then meeting an Aldan man.”

“King Ioram?” Donar asked.

“Probably,” Xavier said. “He recognized me.”

“And then what?” Donar asked.

“I woke up,” Xavier answered.

“Why?” Zaire asked. “Wouldn’t that have been the most important part of the memory? Something you would have remembered?”

“I had been working all day without rest and little food,” Xavier said. “I believe I passed out when he said Eileen.”

“So this slave is the key then,” Donar said. “Ioram found Eileen reborn then.”

“Then why not give the song to Xavier so he could play it?” Zaire asked.

“I was a child,” Xavier said. “Only ten or so, I don’t think I would have known how to play the song.”

“You would have needed to gain at least some knowledge of your past life as Eileen to play the song,” Donar said. “The flute won’t play itself. Which is something you still have to do.”

“I don’t think I can until I have the song,” Xavier said. “Which means finding out more about the slave boy.”

“Did he have a name?” Zaire asked.

“As a slave, no,” Xavier said, again knowing innately. “But by birth his name was Laricar.”

“Ti Re Laricar!” Zaire said.

“The Chain Breaker yes,” Xavier answered solemnly. “Ti Re is a title in Xinian, meaning ‘one who’. It is usually given to singular people of legend. In his life he was only called Laricar, which I believe means dreaming spirit.”

“One whose spirit dreams,” Donar said. “Your mother in that life was poetic.”

“She was a worshiper of Dione,” Xavier answered. “An Ochre Woman.”

“What does that mean?” Donar asked.

“The whores of Xin worship Dione, the Goddess of love,” Xavier answered. “And paint themselves red and wear red in her honor. My father I did not know.”

“Well now we know what life to search through at last,” Donar said.

“We already know the history of Ti Re Laricar,” Xavier said shaking his head. “He led a slave rebellion, freeing thousands. They disappeared into the dessert, never to be seen again.”

“Except by Laricar himself,” Donar said. “You need to find his memories of after they disappeared.”

Xavier nodded, wondering himself what would come of that. It was interesting in itself to learn that he might find out about the history of the Chain Breaker, and what became of all those people long ago. He hoped the truth would not break his heart.

The next day they joined a caravan entering the mountains, paying their fair to join the wagons as they made the journey through the Spine Mountains. The caravan made steady progress over the road cut through the mountains, Darin admiring the work it must have took to make the road.

“Some parts cut right through the stone,” Darin said, indicating the cut marks along the wall of the canyon they road through. “How was it done?”

“Mages so I hear,” Xavier answered. “Dridians wanted a more direct land route to Xin since it exports the gemstones, spices, and slaves they want.”

“The High Magic did this?” Darin asked.

“I don’t know the sigils for it but yes,” Xavier answered. Darin nodded, he seemed to know how hard it would have been without magic to make such a road, so the power of it impressed him.

Despite the magic however the mages that had engineered the road were not able to move mountains. Many times the road had to twist and wind its way through the mountains, taking switchbacks up and down treacherous slopes. It was the prime time of travel through the mountains however, the height of summer had melted the snow, leaving the passes clear and full of roaring streams of ice melt crystal blue and still chilling. They traveled through pastures of wild flowers, low land forests of pines that gave way to willowy aspen, and lakes so clear Xavier could see all the way to the bottom.

The caravan however moved at a steady pace, avoiding lingering because there was profit to be made to the south. The caravan seemed to be carrying Regarian goods, wheat, iron, and cattle, which would be traded for spices, fruits, and gems in Evalon. If the traders seemed worried about what they would find, they didn’t show it. They seemed convinced that no matter the lay of the world people would always be buying and selling things. Xavier wondered if they were right.

He continued to meditate and seek memories of Ti Re Laricar, but all he was able to get were times he was a slave. Even as he matured in the memories Ioram never appeared again, and Xavier worried that had been their only meeting. If that were so why? Why would Ioram give up his throne and spend years search for Eileen only to leave her be and not give her the song? He posed the question to Zaire one night as they lay together about to go to sleep.

“I don’t know,” Zaire answered frowning. “From what I understand Ioram was fond of secrets and riddles, thus his journal being a riddle.”

“Which we only gained one thing from after all the decoding and tearing it apart,” Xavier said. “Follow the rising sun.”

“Which is east not south,” Zaire said.

“Maybe east from Evalon?” Xavier said. “From what I’ve seen of maps there is nothing but salt flats to the east. No one has ever crossed them and returned.”

“A place of mystery then,” Zaire said.

“Then maybe that is where we need to go,” Xavier said. “Rather than Evalon which is under siege.”

“We still have to go to Evalon,” Zaire said. “I doubt there is anywhere else where we can get the supplies and mounts to travel the desert. Maybe it will be free by the time we get there.”

Xavier said nothing to this over optimistic statement and just pulled her closer before drifting off to sleep. The next day as they rode out he posed the question to Donar and Darin.

“I’m not sure why Ioram did not give you the song, or free you,” Donar said.

“What about Zaire?” Darin asked.

“I already asked her,” Xavier answered.

“No I mean her incarnation in that life,” Darin said. “Had you met her yet?”

“No,” Xavier answered puzzled. “I’m not sure why that would matter though.”

“Because all your other lives,” Darin said. “You met her and married her through all the other lives you’ve looked at right? Yet Ti Re Laricar you have not met her.”

“Darin’s right,” Donar said nodding. “Maybe that is the change that Ioram was waiting for. Maybe that is what is needed for you to start to unlock your memories. Even in this life you did not start to know who you were until you met Zaire right?”

Xavier frowned as he thought it over and he was right, but in his other lives even after finding Zaire he had not gained his memories. But then the song had not been sung. And there had been a slight knowledge in each past life, that as time had gone on that his spirit was something different than others. Meeting Zaire had always been the thing that turned his past lives in some way or another.

He wondered over this for the rest of the journey as they cleared the Spine Mountains and entered into the foothills and canyon lands. Here the landscape changed into one Xavier had never seen before. The steep mountains gave way to hills and then to mazes of rocks and crags that were it not for the easily marked road they would have been lost. The caravan drivers became more subdued, glancing around and often making Sol’s circle over their chest when a loud bird call or falling rock interrupted the quiet of the place.

“This is a place for the Dontamen,” one of the drivers said when Xavier asked him of the unusual quiet. “They permit us to travel through here.”

“So they could attack us as they please?” Xavier asked, his hand going to his sword but the man quickly shook his head.

“No, they never attack, it is not their way,” the man answered. “Instead all they have to do is unmark the path, then we could be lost forever.”

Xavier looked to the road and realized the man was right, the neat cut stone of the road through the mountains was gone, the only thing marking the road now were painted marks on the rocks and cairns of stone. It would be easy to remove these marks, leaving the caravans to find their own way. And Xavier had no doubt to the caravan driver’s ability to traverse this place.

They rode on through the maze guided by the marks on the rocks. They never saw the elusive Dontamen, nor any other soul other than the occasional lizard or snake. At night however the air was alive with the calls of night owls, chirps and warbles of lizards or toads, and other mysterious sounds Xavier could not give name to.

The road led them to watering holes and springs so they were never in need of water, but it was something Xavier realized they would be in dire need of once they left the main path. He thought they could just travel to the west but he realized now they would need a guide if they were to find water in the desert. And the only likely place to find a guide would be Evalon.

They left the canyon lands a few weeks after their travel through the Spine Mountains, the month of Sons starting. It was the height of the dry season in the desert, dust storms often making them stop to take shelter in their wagons. They traveled over dark tar pits and desolate land, a place where it seemed no one cared for. Just as Sons was ending they arrived at last at Evalon, the Holy City.

The city’s great red walls rose over piles of bodies and carrion, great flocks of crows and vultures feasting on what they could. The various bodies were shocking, men and women lying with bodies of Panthra, Tylidea, Hannah, Pennam, horses, and elephants. It was like a graveyard of monsters of legend surrounding the city. There was no sign of life, either on the walls or around it, Xavier afraid they had come to a city of the dead. Regardless they rode up to the gates, seeing they were closed tight. The caravan master hailed and a little head popped out from on top of the gate.

“Who goes there!” a child shouted down to them, brandishing a spear.

“Traders!” the caravan master shouted. “We bring food and goods for trade.”

“You may enter here but know you cannot leave!” the child answered. “Do you still wish to enter?”

Xavier saw the caravan master talk with his deputy and then he answered yes. The child disappeared and they waited.

“How bad must it be that children are holding the walls?” Donar asked.

“Bad,” Xavier answered.

One gate door slowly started to swing open, the caravan drivers hurrying to help what turned out to be a rag-tag bunch of children. They hurried inside but the children did not seem in a rush, so Xavier dismounted to talk to one.

The boy was Xinian, dark skin and hair, wearing leather armor too big for him and holding a spear twice his size. Xavier guessed him to be about ten.

“You do not seem worried.” Xavier said in the trade tongue.

“The Pridesmen are attacking the southern gate, they’ve been concentrating there since the Prophet of the Sands returned with the army of the wanderers,” the boy answered. It has been two weeks now since the tribes have arrived to fight. When the siege started there were enough Pridesmen to encircle the city. Now they only hold still in the south.”

“Why have they not fled then?” Xavier asked. “It sounds like they are losing.”

“They are,” the boy answered. “But Pridesmen do not leave the kill.”

“How fairs everyone else?” Xavier asked.

“Many are dead,” the boy answered. “That is all I know.”

Xavier looked into his eyes and saw the boy had aged beyond his ten years, and the sight made him sad.

“What were you before this?” Xavier asked.

“My father was a carpenter,” the boy answered. “Some here used to be well off like me, some poor, and some slaves. We are equal now.”

“Thanks to the war,” Xavier said morosely. “Death equals us all.”

“No,” the boy said, his eyes bright. “Thanks to the Prophet of the Sands.”

Xavier felt a thrill run through him, but before more could be said the boy turned away and began shouting orders to get the gates closed. If they were unconcerned Xavier decided he wouldn’t worry. All the same, he had the burning desire to go to the south of the city. The caravan was moving through the streets of the city, being led by a small street urchin. They decided to leave the caravan and make their own way through the Holy City.

War had left its mark on the Evalon, marks of fires and ruined buildings were few, but the people all bore wounds. There were fewer people than there should be in a city like Evalon, many streets deserted as they rode through it. Those they did see wore armor, some armor little more than what could be found and made into armor. They saw a child wearing a cooking pot as a helmet. Most people bore wounds of some form or another, and Xavier realized that this battle had been bloody. Most of the people they saw were children, Xavier having no doubt that most were orphans now. Telling by the women they saw they also had been fighting alongside the men, all those who could hold the walls held.

They traveled south, Xavier leading the way, through the city streets and over the bridges. Once across the Arch River they entered an area more war torn than the north. They passed more and more people, with worse and worse wounds. Many were missing limbs, other wore bandages covered in blood, and many looked like they had died on the streets alone. Zaire stared about in horror, Xavier taking her hand. Despite his hard life even he had never seen such carnage.

As they rode south the sounds of battle reached them, screams and shouts of men and women, mingling with roars of Panthra and other sounds of creatures Xavier has only seen dead on the battlefield. The crowds of people became thicker, the wounds fresher, and soon they were also passing wounded animals. A Pinnam lay with a broken leg, its master leaning over it soothing it. Several men surrounded a wounded Tylidae, the great insect bleeding blue blood and soaking the men holding it down as it writhed in its death throws.

Eventually they had to dismount and leave their horses in the shelter of an inn.

“Stay here,” Xavier said to Zaire.

“I…be careful,” Zaire said, fear in her voice. Xavier kissed her quickly, glad that her fear had kept her safe. He left, Darin and Donar following him. They drew their swords and people moved out of their way quickly.

It didn’t seem long at all until they were passing more injured people and others like them armed as they too hurried into the fray. They turned a corner into a square where ten men and women surrounded a Panthra with a rider on its back. The defenders were harassing the Panthra with spears, but the rider was also lashing out with a glaive.

Before they could do anything the Panthra lunged at three men, barreling past them towards Xavier, Donar, and Darin. Xavier reacted by drawing a shield sigil as fast as he could, causing the monster to crash against his shield stunning it. He leapt forward and stabbed down into the Panthra’s eye, his mage sword going deep into its brain. It writhed briefly then died. Xavier felt something brush against his neck and looked up to see the Panthra’s rider falling, her glaive just missing his neck, Darin’s sword thrust through her side.

“Thank you,” Xavier said.

“No time for that,” Darin said withdrawing his sword. “There will be more deaths and lives to come.”

Xavier nodded and once again they set out. The fighting was going street by street, a bloody way to wage a war without the open field of battle. In some places the defenders held well, Pinnam or the occasional Tylidae aiding in holding a street or square. In others Panthra feasted and their riders killed easily. Xavier was surprised to see so many of the Pridesmen were women, though there was no time to question how the tribe’s hierarchy of gender worked. Regardless the women of the Pridesmen fought better than many men Xavier had faced.

He had to use more and more of the High Magic, fire and power giving the air the charged smell of a storm around him. He would have used the Elder Magic, if he had ever learned how to. There was no time to ask Darin or Donar, and he doubted the Elder Magic ever had much in the way of combat.

At last night was falling and the Panthra began to withdraw until the streets were suddenly eerily clear. Xavier sighed in relief but when he saw none of the defenders seemed relieved, he pulled one aside and asked him what was wrong. The man, a tribesman dressed in plated brass armor which resembled the giant insects, looked at him seeing he was an outsider.

“The Panthra not fight in Lun’s light,” he answered in broken trade tongue. “But the hyena do.”

With that he turned back to his troop, gathering them together with them around a Tylidae. Xavier noticed many of the combatants doing the same, doors and windows being bared and blocked down the street. They hurried down the street, Xavier now lost after the tumult of battle, so they soon ended up outside a temple, the pyramid standing in the middle of a square. Xavier recognized the mark of Mercor on the temple, realizing it was the temple to the God of travelers. Before he could take in more of the crowd around the foot of the temple, movement drew his eyes.

Hyena gathered at the other end of the square, cackling and laughing, their eyes glowing bright in the moon light and torches. One slinked forward only to retreat as an arrow barely missed it. But in that glance as it had come into the light Xavier had seen darkness riding the beast.

“What was that?” Xavier asked.

“A spirit rides the beasts,” Darin answered. “The Crippled One is controlling them all.”

“Light,” Donar said. “We need light.”

Xavier nodded and hurried forward, running to the temple. There crowds of nomads had gathered, but Xavier ran past them, taking the steps two at a time. No one stopped him, Donar and Darin following as best they could. Xavier reached the top and took out some chalk he kept. Wishing he had brought Zaire he began to draw a sigil of light. The chalk would hold for now, the next day he would bring Zaire and a chisel to do a better job of it. For now raw power would have to do. He drew a simple light sigil and a sigil of power to fuel it and poured all the power he could into it.

“Cover your eyes,” Xavier said to Darin who had just arrived. He turned away and activated the sigil. Immediately the square was filled with light, the hyena wailing a fleeing the city as Xavier’s light spread over the city. There were cheers from the city as the hyena fled, leaving without taking their toll that night.

“How long will that keep?” Darin asked from the lower step, unable to look directly at the light Xavier had made.

“Most of the night,” Xavier answered. “I’ll have to keep putting power into it occasionally. I’ll get Zaire to do a better job later.”

“Impressive,” a child’s voice said, and Xavier turned to see a girl standing next to them. He had not heard her approach, her robes still stirred with a breeze, a sylph just leaving her shoulder.

“The Prophet of the Sands?” Xavier ventured and the girl nodded.

“Indeed,” she said with a humble bow. “And you I believe are the one the Galesmen spoke of, the one the Palace of Glass has appeared for.”

Xavier felt power in the name and nodded.

“My name is Xavier Lonelove,” Xavier said. “This is Donar Emir and his captain Darin.”

“I am Demi Rah Kartal,” the Prophet of Sands answered. “Welcome to the Holy City.”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Masked Queen

Market day was the one chance to see just a little of the world outside of Milton. Xinian spices, Lirian silk, Daunish wool, Nyrgardic steel, Aldan herbs, Regarian tin, Hyrian fish, and even a few Dridian enchantments. The muddy street and drab buildings seemed brighter with flocks of people passing from stall to stall.

“Lucia!” Her mother hissed as she rapped her knuckles with a stout stick. “Stop wool gatherin!”

“Yes ma’am,” Lucia said dragging her eyes away from the trader stalls back to her mother. Ingrid scowled at her daughter sourly before she handed her the heavy basket full of spindles of simple cotton thread. All were white; they would dye them when they got home. Lucia’s eyes strayed back to the stall with Daunish wool; it would be so much warmer than simple cotton.

The spring was cold still in the Mark, a miserable drizzle falling and making everything gray and dull. Lucia tugged on her tunic, wishing she had the time to fix the colorful embroidery along the collar. Her skirts were already muddy from the road, the embroidery on them worse than her tunic’s. She was grateful for her cloak even if it was made of rough burlap rather than fine Daunish wool. Her mother, dressed the same in worn homespun, was haggling for the thread with all her might.

Lucia’s feet betrayed her and she wandered over towards some of the more interesting stalls. The smell of Xinian spices drew her and she stopped to smell the strange exotic smells from the far southern desert.

“See aught?” the merchant asked. He was Markian like her, his black hair tied back out of his face. “These come from deep in the desert; they call it the Burning Sands there.”

“Do they?” Lucia asked amazed. “How do you say it in their tongue?”

“Ai you ask much,” the merchant said as he laughed. “Twists the tongue they do there. I’m just an honest merchant; I wouldn’t dare travel among those savages.”

“Lucia!” Her mother shouted and Lucia turned just in time to catch her mother’s hand across her face. “How dare you run off! Talking to a man as if you were married already. Shame!” She added one more blow for emphasis, Lucia’s face stinging with the slap. No one looked at them, in fact the only one to even notice was the merchant.

Her mother clicked her tongue and straitened the kerchief on Lucia’s hair before she dragged her back towards another stall. This one was selling wheels of cheese, the smell stronger than the spices and herbs from the south. She didn’t wander again, even when the Rhodin started to play songs on a little raised platform. She watched from the stall as they danced, a crowd gathering to watch them.

The Rhodin were the wandering people of the Kingdoms. Famous thieves and smugglers, they traveled the Kingdoms held to their own laws. They were romanticized, but no one would let one stay at their home. Lucia quickly looked away from them though she wished to watch their performance; her mother would beat her blue if she caught her daughter even watching the Rhodin.

She knew the tune they played though, a favorite of the Mark: Bonnie’s Lass. The song was about the famous Markian outlaw Whim Bonnie who stole cattle and killed many lords and men in his time. The song sang of his poor lass left behind to milk cows while he went off on adventures. It was a favorite of all Markians and no wonder why the Rhodin played it, the crowd was showering them with copper pieces.  

Her mother finished haggling for a wheel of cheese, which she made Lucia carry. They moved on to the tallow stall, where her mother bought several heavy candles. They moved on, but as they were walking a crowd drew their attention. A man was in the middle of the crowd, standing on the back of the wagon and giving a speech.

“…And low we hear the cry of the gods as the truth is sung for all to hear!” The man was saying loudly. He was a dirty Elmerian, wearing little more than rags. Lucia’s mother wandered closer out of curiosity and Lucia followed. As they got closer Lucia realized the man was wrapped in dirty bandages, and under them were weeping sores.

“For sooth we have been lied to for the world is not what it seems and the gods not what they claim to be,” the crowd began to mutter and shift about uneasily then, but some of the Elmerians present seemed to be listening. “For there is one hidden from us, one higher than the rest, the one true and only God! The King of the Deep Realms, Master of the World Beyond Worlds, Lord of All. He so named Kal Ba’el God of Gods!”

At that many of the people began leaving, including Lucia’s mother. She followed her gladly, not wanting to hear any more of that blasphemy. She wasn’t particularly religious, but Lucia knew how dangerous it could be to be associated with such words. Glancing back she saw some men throwing dung at the preacher. The preacher leapt down and hobbled off, shouts and swears following him.

Lucia wished they would go home now, they had gotten everything they needed, but her mother wandered over to a group of women. Lucia stood by bored as her mother joined in the gossip, wishing she could wander the market freely.

“So Ingrid, have you found a husband for Lucia yet?” Beatrix asked as if Lucia couldn’t hear her.

“Not your son if that is what you’re asking,” Ingrid answered. “He won’t amount to anything.”

Her son was attending a school in Dridia to learn mathematics and sciences. For what Lucia didn’t know, but she knew her mother and others discounted such skills. She had gone to school when she was younger, only getting her basic letters, numbers, and recent history. Many Markians didn’t put value on what you could learn from books.

Some of the other women tittered and Beatrix left with her back stiff with pride.

“Well have you found a husband for Lucia?” Lena asked.  “She is at that age now.”

Lucia wanted to say she was only fifteen, but of course she was expected to get married now.

“I’m waiting for the next wave of drovers,” Ingrid answered. “Maybe then we can find this fish bone of a girl a proper husband.”

Lucia shuddered at the idea of a drover for a husband. Drovers herded the cattle the Mark was famous for; a man could make good money as a drover. But the drovers spend weeks out alone in the wild, and when they returned they were like a bull in heat. Lucia’s father had once been a drover; she almost missed those weeks he would be away. Now because of an old injury he is a dairy farmer, not that he did any work.

“What of your daughter Jana?” Ingrid asked with a sneer.

“She is marrying Herbert,” Jana snapped. Her daughter had gotten pregnant; she refused to say who the father had been. The gossip continued, Lucia feeling like a child that couldn’t leave her mother’s side. It was no wonder, her brother Hart had left five years ago to be a drover and he never came back, while the rest had died when they were children. She was her mother’s only living child now and her only punching bag after her father beat her.

“Come on dear,” her mother said. “Time we should be getting back.”

Lucia followed her relieved, glad to be free of the gossiping women. They walked in silence, Lucia gazing out at the land they passed. The Mark was mostly farm lands or pastures for cows, rolling hills or flat fields. It was a rich land of farms and animals, and the largest of the Nine Kingdoms.

Their farm was small, only two pastures of milk cows and three fields of wheat. The house was a typical farm house, stone brick walls and thatched roof. Her father never repaired the house so it looked run down. Weeds grew in the garden, their few chickens wandering about the yard. Some land holders could afford to hire Elmerian servants or workers, but not her family.

Lucia saw her father by the chopping block, chewing tobacco. She knew he was supposed to be chopping wood, but of course he wasn’t.

“You’re late,” Tobias said as he spat. “You get chopping the wood,” he said to Lucia.

“Put that away first,” Ingrid said and Tobias turned on her.

“She needs to get to work,” he said. Lucia moved away quickly as they started arguing. She heard Tobias slap her mother just as she got into the farm house.

The floor was hard packed dirt, the furniture poorly carved wood. She put the cheese away in the larder, the candles in a cupboard, and the thread in the sewing chest. Lucia sighed heavily and closed the chest just as her mother stormed in.

“Go get choppin wood,” Ingrid said as she slapped Lucia. She stood and hurried out, glad to see her father was gone. He probably already headed off to the tavern even though it was only midday. Her stomach growled but she didn’t dare ask her mother for lunch.

Soon enough her empty stomach stopped growling as she chopped wood. She was used to much of the heavy labor, once her brother left her father had pushed a lot of it onto her. She was tall for her age, but very skinny because she never got enough to eat.

Lucia wasn’t sure what made her look up but she did. There was a man astride a horse, one of the highland breed telling by its short stocky build. The man was dressed in drab work clothes and a molted green gray cloak that looked like it needed patching. The man dismounted and strode over to her, pushing back his hood.

He was a handsome man, looking to be in his fifth decade. He had thick eyebrows, lines along his brow suggesting he did more frowning than smiling. His black hair, typical of all Markians, was cut shorter than common, as if he wore a helm regularly. Yet his skin was well tanned and hands calloused meaning he wasn’t a knight or noble. He carried a long bow on his back, a dagger as long as Lucia’s forearm hanging from his belt.

He looked her up and down before consulting a piece of paper. Lucia was surprised the man knew how to read, he looked like an average woodsman. He looked back at her, his hazel eyes unreadable.

“You are Lucia Holtz,” he said, his voice much different than his appearance. He spoke in a horse croak like a growl, the deep tone not expected to come from such a pleasant face.

“Yes sir,” she answered wondering what this man wanted. “And who are you?” She asked boldly. He raised an eyebrow, but he answered her.

“Taras Law,” he answered and Lucia felt her jaw drop. She nearly fell to her knees before him. He was the legendary hero of the King’s Wars, the King’s Own Ranger. The Rangers were an elite group of warriors established in the Mark during the Wars of Hills, a civil war in the Mark over two hundred years ago. The Rangers were established to be the eyes and ears of the king, as well as his hand in some cases.

“I see you at least know of me,” Taras said mildly.

“Everyone knows you,” Lucia said closing her mouth.

“I’ve done naught to earn such praise I assure you,” Taras said but Lucia found his humility false. She knew the stories well enough, the only reason the Mark hadn’t lost as much as it had in the King’s Wars was because of Taras. Some said that if the Alden had not fallen to the Regarians then Taras would have won the day for the Mark.

After the wars though and the Mark was suffering, Taras had become a regular folk hero right up there with Whim Bonnie and Daw Beck the explorer. Lucia looked at him and thought he was every bit the hero the tales and songs said.  

“How may I serve you milord,” Lucia said as she bowed to him, remembering who she was talking to.

“First don’t call me that,” Taras growled and Lucia flinched. “Second, I need to speak to your mother.”

“Yes sir,” Lucia said cowed. He may have looked every bit the hero, but he certainly didn’t act it. She led him back to the farm house and entered to find her mother kneading dough for the evening meal. Ingrid looked up and glared at Taras, obviously unaware of who he was.

“Lucia, who be this?” Ingrid asked angrily.

“Milady,” Taras said with a bow. “I am here because I wish to have your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“Really?” Ingrid said with a snort. She looked Taras up and down and obviously decided he didn’t have a penny to his name. “Well her bride price is beyond you.”

“I doubt that milady,” Taras said as he dropped a string of three silver royals on the table. Lucia and her mother gaped; Lucia had never even seen a silver royal let alone three. That was the price for a good horse. Ingrid’s astonishment only lasted a few moments before she scooped up the coins and pocketed them.

“She will be honored to have you as a husband milord,” Ingrid said as she bowed to Taras.

“I thank you,” Taras said mildly. “Go and pack your things Lucia.”

“I’m leaving with you?” Lucia asked surprised.

“To my estate,” Taras answered. Lucia looked to her mother, but she was already leaving to go and hide her new fortune. She hadn’t even asked Taras’ name or said goodbye. Swallowing the lump in her throat Lucia went to go pack her meager belongings. She slept in the loft above which was cold and drafty; there she only had a pallet and two chests. One had her regular clothes and satchel, the other was a smaller hope chest.

Lucia looked at the small hope chest sadly, opening it to look at the contents. A swaddling cloth, two towels, a tunic, and her wedding gown rested in the chest. All had been embroidered by her since she was small, but her mother hadn’t given her much in the way of supplies. It was to be her dowry when she married, but it was pathetically small. She hadn’t even finished the tunic yet, which was to be her husband’s for their wedding. She debating bringing it and decided to, closing the lid she lashed the chest closed. She doubted she was going to need it however; whatever he had in mind for her didn’t have to do with marriage.

She packed a few extra tunics and her good pair of skirts. She had a few treasures, such as a carved badger her brother had made for her. It all fit in a small satchel, Lucia surprised she had so little in life. Taras nodded in approval before leading her out to his waiting horse. Lucia noticed then that he had another mount seemingly for her.

“I-I don’t know how to ride,” Lucia said eyeing the horse warily.

“He is an old mount,” Taras said. “Familiar with beginners. His name is Patches.” He took her pack and chest and tied them to the cantle. Lucia reached out and stroked the horse’s broad head. Its liquid brown eyes fixed on her, and she scratched him between the eyes. He closed his eyes in bliss and she smiled. He helped her mount, even arranged her skirts for her. He mounted his own horse and they were off.

Lucia was relieved they were going at a slow and steady pace. They headed west, away from the village and all that she knew. After about an hour of riding, when they were well beyond the fences and farms, Lucia plucked up her courage.

“What do you want of me?” she asked Taras. “It is not marriage, I can tell that.”

He was silent for some time, staring out into the trees that lined the road. At last he spoke, but not with answers.

“What do you know of the state of the Kingdoms?”

“Little,” Lucia answered. “I only know the King of the Mark is the Lord Cyril Lonna, and the High King is Arian Drasir II. There are no wars going on right now, at least in the Mark.”

“Correct, but still very little,” Taras answered. “There are no wars right now, at least no open combat. Though I have heard there is war between the nomads of the desert, but they are always squabbling.

“Right now the High King is seeking a new queen for his heir and son the Prince Elrik. He has decided to quash any unrest in the Mark by choosing Lord Lonna’s daughter as the new soon-to-be queen. The lady Jeanne will be the Prince Elrik’s new bride.”

Lucia was silent, hardly even caring about such things. She would never meet the highborn so why was Taras telling her this? He looked back at her and shook his head when he saw her blank look of confusion.

“I was hoping you’d have a bit of brains,” Taras said with a sigh as he turned back in his saddle. “Well no matter I’ve already gathered three other girls, four will be enough.

“To answer your question I got you because the Court of Miracles is a viper’s nest. To protect the Lady Jeanne I’ve arranged for her to have a double, several doubles actually, so that she is protected. It was once a common thing in King Itheal’s time, when poisoning nobles was a fashion. So Lucia Holtz, your duty will be to die.”

Lucia felt herself grow cold and would have run then if she knew how to get down off the horse. As it was she was now trapped, she doubted she could even run from this man.

“Why me?” She asked at last, doubting she looked anything like the princess.

“You’re the right height. I needed unwed girls so you had to be around fifteen, though I would have liked older girls. And your eyes are the right shade. I looked through the census for the right girls around the same age; the rest was intel of who would be the right height which I assure you was the hardest part. Mages can see through a glamor so there is no point in employing those.”

It was just because she was tall, that was it. She was condemned to death and to be painted like a doll just because she matched another girl in height. Taras continued on as if he didn’t even notice her discomfort, maybe he didn’t or maybe he didn’t even care.

“We have about a month of training until Jeanne will be sent off; the engagement has already been set. You need to be at least aware of court manners, and you need to act like Jeanne. The Court of Miracles is dangerous and full of spies. Jeanne won’t be married until Sol’s Day. Even after that she won’t be safe until Elrik is crowned king, until then she is disposable as a princess. Maybe even after as queen she won’t be safe.”

Lucia didn’t bother to ask how long he expected her to last. He could always find other girls to take her place, he already had three. The point was to find someone who was disposable.

They rode on; passing other little hamlets just like the one Lucia grew up in. She watched others going about their chores and couldn’t help but wonder at their lives. Just a few hours ago she had been just like them, now she was trapped between life and death. She would have given anything to escape her mother and father; be careful what you wish for couldn’t be more true at that point.

When Taras suddenly stopped Lucia nearly ran into him. One of his hands was on his large dagger, Lucia looking around fearfully then. That was when the bandits leapt out of the bushes around the road. There were at least ten, armed with staffs and bows. Taras sighed and Lucia looked at him, he looked almost bored.

“Halt there friend,” the leader of the band said, stepping forward with a jaunty gait and a grin. Lucia noted he was missing several teeth; those that were left were brown and rotting. “You see this here is a toll road. Have ta pay the toll.”

“How much?” Taras said mildly.

“Two silver royals for the both of you,” the man said with a grin. “Horses cost extra my friend.”

“Or?” Taras said and the man laughed.

“Or I’m afraid we’ll have ta show your lady what real men can do,” the man answered and the bandits snickered. Lucia had to suppress a scream, knowing it would do her no good. She looked to Taras but he didn’t even seem to care about the threat.

Without even blinking, his arm moved in one swift movement. Lucia hadn’t even realized he had thrown a dagger until one of the men fell twitching. The bandits were stunned for a moment, the moment that Taras used to run through the gap he had made in their ranks. Lucia, her nerves strung so tight, followed instantly. Well more like her horse knew when to move.

They were galloping away down the road before the bandits could even gather around the dead man. Taras slowed after a mile or so, not even out of breath.

“Why didn’t you kill them all?” Lucia asked looking back over her shoulder. Nobody had followed them but then again there was no way they could.

“Believe it or not I’m not some god,” Taras said and Lucia almost laughed at that. “Ten against one is not fair odds. You’d best learn you have to hedge your bets. They surrounded us rather loosely; if they had been better trained I wouldn’t have been able to do what I had just done.”

Lucia nodded, he had taken advantage of the slightest weakness. “So it is best to run?” She asked and he looked back at her.

“You may have some hope yet,” he said. “Run when you can, never forget that. Honor means nothing when you’re dead.”

“What about those bandits?” Lucia asked. “They’ll just keep preying on other people.”

“I’ll report them when we get to Warren,” Taras said. “Let others deal with them.”

Lucia didn’t argue the point, demanding he take care of the bandits was no better than him asking someone else to do it for him. So they rode on, even after the sun was setting.

“We need to put some distance between us and those bandits,” Taras said as they rode. “Let me know when you’re about to fall out of your saddle.”

Lucia was too tired to respond. Her whole body hurt, she had thought riding would be easy; after all it was the horse that was doing all the work. Just when she was about to tell Taras that she was indeed about to fall out of her saddle, Taras pulled his horse towards the side of the road. They rode into a little grove of trees where there was a small stone cabin.

Lucia realized this was a way station, an old system devised by a king years ago, Lucia didn’t know who or how long ago. She just knew way stations were built for travelers and the Kings men so they may travel in safety. Sadly they had gone in disrepair; only half were still in good enough condition to be of any use. Looking at this one Lucia decided it was one of the few still in operation.

Though small the way station had a good supply of hay for the horses, a solid looking roof, and a small lean to for the horses.

“I’ll take care of the horses, you take care of our supper,” Taras ordered after he helped her dismount. Lucia nodded and it wasn’t long before she had a porridge boiling over a fire in the small way station. She and Taras ate their meager meal, no words passing between them. When she had finished all the little camp chores Lucia sat by the fire too unsettled to sleep. She glanced over at Taras.

He was sharpening his arrows, and Lucia noticed the arrow heads were made of Livingstone. A rare stone only found in the northern mountains of the Mark, Livingstone was a mineral that was almost alive. It could be manipulated almost like clay, it wasn’t nearly as malleable, but if damaged it could be repaired easier than normal stone. It was usually used for arrow heads or blades since it was so rare. But Lucia remembered hearing the walls of Warren, the King’s city of the Mark, had a wall of Livingstone all around it. It was the only city to have an entire wall of Livingstone.

“You’ve never seen an arrow before?” Taras said sourly and Lucia jumped a little.

“I’ve never seen Livingstone before,” Lucia said. Even though the stone could only be found in the Mark and they were the only ones who knew how to work it, it was still rare enough that it wasn’t a common sight.

“You’ve never been to Warren then,” Taras said. “The wall used to be complete until the King’s War. That’s why this marriage is good; the Regarians have agreed to let us fix the wall around Warren.”

“I see,” Lucia said a little glad that she might help a little in such a venture.

“No you don’t,” Taras said crossly as he looked at her. He held out the arrow, head first. “Touch it,” he ordered and she touched the stone arrowhead. She snatched her hand back, she wasn’t sure what it was but the stone felt as if it were alive. There was a quality to it, like warmth or a breath that made her shiver. She remembered hearing that Livingstone was said to “breathe” though she didn’t know about it until now.

“You feel the life in it,” Taras said, it wasn’t a question. “The entire wall around Warren felt like this; that is until the Dridian mages broke it at the end of the war. Now it’s like an injured animal, and been like that for nearly thirty years. Many can’t live near the breach because of this. And that we need the High King’s permission to repair it…”

He trailed off, clearly angry and full of a long rage that he must have held since the wars. Lucia couldn’t sympathize, not because she hadn’t seen the wall, but because she had never had anything to feel so passionately about. She envied him a little.

“Are you from Warren?” she dared to ask and he glared at her.

“That is none of your business,” he answered. “Get some sleep; we’ve a long ride tomorrow.”

Lucia simply nodded, feeling down that she had made him so cross. It seemed like he wasn’t the type to talk much. Lucia lay down and rolled herself in her cloak again, feeling miserable. She fell asleep and woke sore, never having slept on the ground before. Her mattress at home had been moldy straw, but it had been better than nothing.

She was seized with a sudden sense of home sickness that she didn’t want to get up. It seemed the grass on the other side wasn’t as green as she thought. Regrets were getting her nowhere. She sought refuge in the fact that while she had always hoped to be saved from her old life, Taras had basically stolen her anyways. He had never asked her if she wanted this, just bought her like a broad mare and dragged her away. She should be angry at him.

When she got up and looked around she saw he wasn’t in the cabin anymore. She unwrapped herself from her cloak, determined to give Taras a piece of her mind. She marched out of the cabin and saw him by the horses. All her anger deflated when she saw the big knife at his belt.

She stood back, unwilling to confront him now. He suddenly looked up but not at her. Lucia followed his gaze and saw a bird flying down towards them through the trees. It was an owl, though what kind Lucia didn’t know. She knew it was a messenger bird though, telling by the jesses hanging from its claws.

Taras stepped forward and held out his wrist. The owl lit on his gauntlet, it was a little gray owl. Taras took out the message one handed and read it. Lucia felt like she was eavesdropping but he read silently, still as a statue.

“Gather our things,” Taras said startling Lucia as he hadn’t even looked up from his message.    

“What does it say?” Lucia asked and he looked up at her. She flinched away from his eyes; he would kill her if she asked such a thing again. “Yes sir,” Lucia said in a small voice. She hurried to gather their things, once again ignoring the little grumbles of her stomach for food.

When she returned with the bags Taras had the horses saddled. The little owl was gone, Lucia wondering if Taras had sent it off with a reply. She didn’t speak as they rode off, wondering what the message had said. Taras had the message out and seemed to be reading it again.

“Do you know the way to Warren?” He asked at last.

“N-no,” Lucia said suddenly afraid. “I’ve never been outside of Milton.”

“If I gave you coin and directions could you find your way?” Taras asked.

“No, please don’t go,” Lucia said near tears now. “What if more bandits come? Don’t you need me to be a double?”

Taras muttered angrily, nearly crumbling the paper in his hand. “You’re right, I can’t just leave you, but your pace is too slow. It will take nearly a month to get to Warren.”

“M-maybe there is a caravan I could join?” Lucia said and Taras looked at her surprised.

“No, but you’ve the right idea,” Taras said. “Hurry we aren’t far from someone who can help.” Lucia nodded as Taras spurred his horse into a faster pace. Lucia followed, holding onto the saddle for dear life.

Taras was right about being close, they only rode for an hour before they stopped again. Lucia had expected a caravan of traders, maybe even a caravan of Rhodin. She did not expect a rundown looking cabin off the side of the road. It wasn’t a guard post or a way station, not even a hunter’s cabin or the more common drover’s nests; it looked like an abandoned cabin. Part of the roof had sunken in and the rest of the cabin was covered in honey suckle and other climbing vines.  

Taras dismounted and let out a loud ear piercing whistle. He was answered by another whistle and suddenly someone appeared out from behind the cabin. It looked to be an older man, his hair graying and back bent. One eye was nothing more than a lump of scar tissue, half his face deformed by the old injury. He was chewing garlic; Lucia could smell it from here.

“Taras, what brings you here?” the old man asked as he spat into the grass.

“Work,” Taras answered. “I’ve business in Hyria but I have to deliver this girl here to Warren. Can you see that she is delivered?”

“Aye sure enough,” the older man said. “What business have you in Hyria?”

“Following a lead,” Taras answered.

“For the lost heir?”

“Yes,” Taras said and glanced back at Lucia meaningfully.

“She isn’t a recruit?” the old man said surprised.

“No, just a part of that project I’ve been working on for the king.”

“Well if you have a lead to the heir there is no need for her.”

“There is. This lead might not pan out; even if it does it will take me weeks to even find the heir. Jeanne will be married by the time I find her. We’re not doing this for Jeanne anyways.”

“I thought you were,” the old man said with a crooked grin. “Lost your heart to a fine noble lady.”

“She’s young enough to be my daughter,” Taras answered dismissively. Lucia wondered though if he cared for Jeanne at all, it was hard to tell with him. “Will you see to Lucia getting to Warren?”

“Of course,” the old man said. “Rath and Kord can take her.”

“Good, then I’ll leave her in your care,” Taras said. He gave the old man a packet, probably with some coin and letters in it. He mounted his horse and turned to leave.

“You’re going already,” Lucia said surprised.

“Yes, watch your back,” Taras said as he rode back to the road. As soon as he reached the road he spurred his horse into a steady trot and was gone. Lucia couldn’t believe it was real for a second, and then she realized she had been left alone far from home without anyone she knew. She was tempted to cry, but held it in out of fear of rebuff. She looked back to see the old man was gone again and she was truly alone.

A noise made her look to her left and there she saw two men emerging from the woods leading highland horses. They were both dressed much like Taras had been, making her wonder if this were a gathering place for rangers. Taras hadn’t worn any badge that marked him as a ranger, and neither did these men. They both looked like the soldier type, scars marking their experience in battle. They also looked very much the same, suggesting some kind of relation to each other. Lucia could tell them apart though; one had a missing ear, while the other had a crooked nose.

“So little lady, you’re on your way to Warren?” the one with the crooked nose said.

“Yes sir,” Lucia said nervous. “Are you a ranger like Taras?”

This made both men laugh but neither explained why.

“I’m Rath,” the one missing an ear said. “And this is my cousin Kord. We’ll be escorting you to Warren.”

“Thank you,” Lucia said, not very reassured. They mounted their horses and started off onto the road. Neither were inclined to conversation even with each other so they rode in silence. Lucia rode slightly behind the two men, feeling only a little safer with them.

She examined them closely to see if they might pose some kind of threat to her. They were both armed, though only with compact bows and daggers. It took her a while to notice it, but she saw that Rath had a tattoo on the back of his neck. Squinting she realized it was black, looking like the tip of a black feather.

She nearly gasped then but managed to keep her surprise to herself. The only people she knew of that would bear such a mark were those of the Carrion Army. An underground resistance, born after the King’s Wars, the Carrion Army often sported a carrion bird as their emblem. It varied what bird was used, but most of the time the members would trade crow feathers with their messages.

Everyone knew of this army, but no one knew anyone personally. It was a rumor many knew and bantered over; none she ever met could have claimed to know if they actually existed. And before her were no doubt two members of this hidden army. And the King’s Own Ranger was in league with them. She hoped she was wrong, that her imagination was getting away from her, but in her gut she knew she was in the deepest mire of intrigue she had ever been in. There was only one way out of such a mess, death.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Bastard Mage

The crowd was shouting for blood, especially since they were already five minutes in and not one drop had been drawn yet. Xavier wasn’t willing to oblige them, yet his opponent certainly was. Hákon the Bear was already foaming at the mouth in frustration, he hadn’t landed a single blow yet. Even though he was armed with a great battle ax and Xavier only had a measly staff, blood had yet to be drawn.

The Nyrgardic man stood a head taller than Xavier and weighed twice as much all of which was muscle. He had at least ten sigils for strength, five for speed, and six for stamina. He could break stone with that much strength and the stamina would keep him going at it for days. Xavier had a more moderate amount of enhancing sigils, two for strength, one each for speed and stamina. Of course he was part Aldan, the enhancements made him nearly superhuman.

Xavier dodged another swing of the Hákon’s ax, feeling the air swoop by his head. It was taking longer than he liked to gather the power he needed for the sigil he had drawn on his right palm, but he had to do it discreetly or the mages watching would see what he was doing. High Magic always left the taste of ashes in his mouth, and he had to resist the temptation to spit to get rid of it. The crowd watched on from the gallery above, the arena an empty gallery that must have once been a ballroom. The doors were now bricked up, the only way out was by a ladder, or a body bag.

Xavier’s back hit the wall and Hákon grinned devilishly. Xavier felt one last touch of High Magic and his sigil was full. Just as Hákon raised his ax to cleave him in two, Xavier stepped forward into Hákon’s guard. His fist came up on Hákon’s chin, the power in the sigil releasing into the blow. Hákon’s head snapped back and his neck made and audible crack as it broke.

The Nyrgardic man stood a moment his ax still raised, before he fell back dead as a post. The crowd stopped howling, a stunned silence of confusion echoing louder than words. Xavier took the time to quickly wipe his hand clean of the ink he had used to draw the sigil. The judge hurried over and checked Hákon.

“The winner, Xavier the White Beast!” the judge shouted and the crowd roared again. Bets were handed over; Xavier was used to being the long shot. The ladder was lowered and Xavier climbed out of the arena to face his master. Lord Ramon was a mage like all pure blooded Dridians, his hair and skin bleached white from constant use of the High Magic. His eyes burned red with power like blood rubies. Like many mages he seemed ageless, his face unlined but thin.  

“Well done,” he said in the common language, his Dridian accent light. “Harris certainly lost a good slave.”

“Yes master,” Xavier answered.

“A very good fight,” another mage agreed as he walked up.

“Lord Vors,” Ramon said dryly. Both mages were dressed in typical mage robes, silver coins hanging from every hem and silver jewelry with moons decorated their persons. Many men thought mages worshiped Lun, but it was not the moon goddess mages worshiped. Silver helped them gather the High Magic easier, the moons simply a decoration. The only gods the mages believed in was themselves.

“You lucked out Lord Ramon,” Vors said, his thin face grim.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ramon answered. “The true value of Xavier is that he was a long shot, I earned a goodly amount on bets just now.”

“A long shot indeed,” Vors answered. “He is an Aldan.”

“Half Aldan,” Ramon answered. “No pure blood Aldan would be a slave.”

Xavier looked like a pure blooded Aldan, his skin fair, hair platinum gray, and ears long and pointed. He was tall and muscular; he was also faster and stronger than any ordinary man even without enhancing sigils. The Aldan were inherently stronger than average humans; still faced against a Nygarder armed with an ax while all he had was a staff were odds that made a betting man roll in his grave.

“Very well a half blood then,” Vors said. “Where did you get him?”

“I won him in a bet from that oaf Harris,” Ramon said. “In a game of War.”

“Harris must have been on his last copper to bet a slave like him,” Vors said. “Did he tell you where he had gotten him?”

“No, I doubt there is anyone breeding Aldan slaves Vors,” Ramon answered dryly.

“Well no but I was under the impression that Aldans took care of their own, even the half breeds,” Vors said.

“Ask him then where he is from,” Ramon answered and turned to Xavier.

“Well, where are you from slave?” Vors said sounding a little peeved that he had to talk to Xavier. Xavier felt the slave sigil around his throat tightened as he considered not answering, any disobedience would strangle him.

“South,” he answered and Ramon grinned at Vors.

“Where exactly?” Vors asked through clenched teeth.

“South of here,” Xavier answered and Ramon laughed.

“Very well keep your secrets Ramon,” Vors said crossly.

“The next fight is starting Vors,” Ramon said. “Isn’t your slave fighting?”

Vors made a sour face as he turned to the gallery. Xavier looked as well, leaning on the railing and looking down at the two figures there. This time it was two women, one Lirian and the other a Regarian. The Lirian woman was dressed in a tight silk dress slit down the sides so her bare legs were showing. She held a Lirian styled sword, curved and long. She was gorgeous, Xavier guessing she had once been a whore. Her golden eyes were dull though, she was drugged.

The Regarian was probably a half blood like him, probably some lord’s bastard. She was dressed in a long gown popular in the Regarian court now, her golden curls done up in a beehive bun. She held a rapier, her blue eyes also dull with drugs. Hákon had been dressed in a bear skin and Nyrgardic armor.

Xavier was glad to have escaped that costume foolery; he wore a plain green tunic, soft soled boots, and baggy pants. His hair was cropped short as well against Aldan fashion which was to wear it long. Ramon had yet to buy him an Aldan costume; he had wanted to test Xavier first before he spent money on him.

Xavier wasn’t surprised to see two sigils floating over the women. The sigils would be invisible to anyone but mages; Xavier could see them clearly and read what they were for. They were puppet sigils; the two women were being controlled. That explained why both were drugged, people tended to fight something else controlling their bodies.

The judge rang a bell and the women raised their blades. The Lirian moved like water, while the Regarian moved like a dancer. Both bore enhancing sigils, Xavier guessed for beauty as well as strength. The mages controlling the women were good, and they both exchanged blows with fierce accuracy. Blood began to splatter the white marble floors, both seeming unaware of pain or death.

Then the Regarian lunged forward past the Lirian’s guard. Her rapier pierced the other woman’s throat, blood drenching both women. The Lirian fell and the match was over.

“Well done,” Ramon said and Xavier turned to look at Vors. He was sweating and Xavier realized the mage had been controlling the Regarian. Vors gathered himself, obviously trying not to show weakness.

“I think so too,” Vors said mildly. “You know I could go for a bit of smoke, would you like to come along?”

“Of course,” Ramon said mildly. “A bit of entertainment would be nice though.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Your slave against mine,” Ramon said and Vors frowned.

“I’m not up for another match,” Vors said mildly.

“Not that kind of match Vors,” Ramon said blandly. Vors looked at him and grinned then. His slave came up to them, still splattered with the other woman’s blood. Xavier looked at her more closely now. She was beautiful, her form shapely and skin fair. She looked to be sixteen or so, barely even an adult. She definitely had a sigil for beauty, she drew the eye too easily.

“Drew,” Vors said mildly and an Elmerian servant appeared and bowed. “Go make sure these two get cleaned up and deliver them to my parlor.”

“At once sir,” the man said with a quick bow. He turned on his heel and led them off into the narrow halls of the servants and slaves. The Lovely Dancer was a fun house catering to the pleasures of the mages, and the torment of slaves. Xavier heard sounds from various doors they passed, moans, screams, and even laughter. The slave fights were the least of what went on in this house.

Thought they were passing through the servant halls Xavier knew this house was more like a palace, every luxury attended to. The servant, a free man Xavier could tell by the lack of a slave sigil around his throat, opened a door and motioned Xavier in. He entered to find it was a bathing room. The door closed behind him and Xavier stripped off his clothes.

The room was equipped with a shower, the running water an invention of a mage. Xavier could see the sigil that pumped the water in and even heated it. He bathed quickly and grabbed a towel, drying himself off. His clothes had been replaced with clean ones of the same variety. He wasn’t surprised; he was wearing the average slave’s garb before.

He left the bathing room to find the servant waiting for him. The man didn’t say a word as he led Xavier off again into the maze of servant halls. They could only go so far though before they had to pass through some of the common halls. They passed through several grand halls, decorated with Xinian rugs, Markian tapestries, and Aldan paintings. The mages imported mostly, they could afford it after all.

They stopped at a door and the servant let Xavier into the room. The parlor was lavish with serval couches and padded arm chairs about the room. A low table had a hookah which Ramon and Vors were busy smoking. They were smoking flavored tobacco; mages never did any inebriating drugs as it interfered with their powers. There were however a few others in the room sipping on opium potions or drinking whisky. They were Lirian or Markian lords, probably friends or business partners of Ramon and Vors.

The servant left and Xavier was left in the company of vipers.

“Well young man take a sip of this,” one of the inebriated lords said holding out a tiny glass of opium.

“I don’t think so,” Xavier said. The sigil on his neck of course didn’t react. He had to obey direct commands, but he found that ordinary people didn’t activate it.

“Don’t mind him Lord Lewis,” Ramon said mildly as he exhaled a smoke ring. “The Aldan, even a half Aldan like him, can’t partake in drinking or drugs.”

“Can’t?” Vors said intrigued.

“I can take them,” Xavier answered. “It just takes a lot more to have any effect and I often don’t have the ill effects of it afterwards.”

“And I don’t feel like paying for all those drugs to get him inebriated,” Ramon said mildly. “It’s a waste of good opium.”

“That would be why true Aldan wine is so strong then,” Vors said.

“And why we water it down,” Ramon answered. Indeed they were both drinking watered down wine, but Xavier knew they would never drink enough to get drunk. Mages were not graced with the Aldan’s disposition.

Just then the servant returned with the Regarian woman in tow. She was now dressed in a thin shift, her shapely form suggestive. Her eyes were more alert however, telling that her drugs were wearing off. She looked younger with her eyes wide and fearful.

“I don’t think you need to be told what to do now,” Ramon said hungrily, his eyes lingering over the girl. Xavier growled angrily, sure the girl was attractive but he didn’t really like having sex with a half drugged girl. “Would you prefer someone else? A young boy perhaps?”

Xavier glared at him then, only the constricting sigil on his neck preventing him from killing his master. Ramon’s tone was mocking; it was an easily deduced fact given Xavier had been a slave all his life so to speak. Of course Ramon didn’t know the whole of the story, but he was right in his deduction that Xavier had once been in the boy’s position.

“No master,” Xavier growled past the pressure on his throat. He pulled off his tunic and tossed it aside, and purposefully turned his back on Ramon and Vors.

“What is that sigil Ramon?” Vors asked surprised. Tattooed on Xavier’s back was a very large and detailed sigil, one that he had had since he was a child.

“I don’t know,” Ramon said mildly. “You can examine it later Vors, I want to see this first.”

“Alright,” Vors said and Xavier sighed. It seemed his attempt at distracting them failed. He turned to the girl who looked at him with fearful doe like eyes. He picked up a glass of the opium and held it out to her.

“Courage,” he whispered and she smiled sadly at him. She took the glass and downed the contents, but Xavier knew there would be a little time before it took effect. He pulled her against him and kissed her deeply, tasting the opium on her tongue.

“You have done this before?” she whispered as he began to kiss her neck.

“Many times,” he answered. She shuddered as his hands moved down her back to her butt, feeling the soft flesh through the thin silk of her shift. “Is this your first time?” He asked, nose to nose with her. The dark look in her eyes told him that it was not her first time, and that her experience had been less than pleasant. “I will be gentle.”

“They will not be,” she answered glancing at the men watching them. He had no answer to that so instead he kissed her again.

The preceding hours were something she would only remember as a drug hazed dream he was sure, he wished he had been so lucky. She danced naked and the men commanded all sorts of lewd things of them. Xavier had the endurance for it; the drugs others took for such things wouldn’t have any effect on him. It helped that the girl was attractive, but it he realized he didn’t even know her name. Names though meant nothing, and she would hardly remember any of this anyways.

Occasionally one of the lords would join in, but never Ramon or Vors. The mages were notorious for an aversion of coupling with any but a mage. Xavier knew the reason lay deeper than their simple arrogance; it went back to the beginning of the Dridian’s history. Before they had arrived in the Kingdoms, the Dridians had lived on an isle beyond the northern sea. The mages had lived in isolation mostly, but there were occasional raids by sea pirates. A woman of theirs was raped by the sea pirates and subsequently gave birth to a half breed mage.

This mage was called Atlas; his mother died giving birth to him. At first the mages thought he was impotent, that he had no command of the High Magic, and they were right. However Atlas proved to have another power that the mages had never seen before and never put a name to since they feared it so much. He went mad with this power and started to decimate the isle and mages, not just killing but corrupting and mutilating the mages and turning them into demonic like creatures. The mages were forced to flee their isle and the heinous creatures. One mages stayed behind. Martell, Atlas’ sister, stayed behind to battle her brother, never to be heard of again. The mages say that their isle sank in the sea so great was the power of the two siblings, and their homeland was lost forever.

The Dridians feared half mages since then, only their dwindling numbers forced them to consider coupling again with those of a non-magical race. Of course someone devised a sigil that would test a child for that tainted magic that Atlas somehow mastered. Any child that tested positive would be killed on sight before they could grow to maturity; or so it was supposed to go.

Xavier knelt in front of Vors and Ramon as two of the lords took their pleasure on the girl. She was now in a drug induced lethargy, laying like a dead thing as the men grunted and sweated over her. His back was to the two mages, Ramon keeping one eye on the show while Vors examined the sigil tattooed on Xavier’s back.

“I’ve never seen a sigil like this before,” Vors said. Xavier felt his finger trace the lines of the sigil and he suppressed a shiver. “You didn’t make it did you?”

“Of course not,” Ramon said absently. “He came with it, along with that slave sigil and enhancements, this is none of those.”

“Harris didn’t make this,” Vors said with distain. The enhancing sigils were the smallest Xavier bore, four tattooed in a line on his right bicep. Shaped more like runes the enhancing sigils called on his latent abilities of body and strengthened them. He still remembered the pain of having them applied, his Aldan blood fought against the High Magic.

“That peon couldn’t draw a light sigil,” Ramon said with equal disgust. “He failed to mention who the slave’s previous owners were.”

“Well slave who were they?” Vors asked, tapping Xavier on the shoulder.

“Carnion and Meraria of the house Grenell,” Xavier answered his slave band quiet as he answered unresisting. Meraria had taken him as a lover for some time. When Carnion learned of the affair he entered Xavier into the slave fights in hopes of killing him. Sadly Xavier had a persistent need to live, and eventually Carnion sold him to Harris.

“Carnion might have the skill for this,” Vors said. “Look at that arc there, fascinating.”

“Yes but he wouldn’t have the power for a sigil that layered or big,” Ramon answered, his attention drawing away from the gasping threesome on the ottoman. “Look you can see how the mage put two more sigils under the one that is in ink.”

Xavier had to take his word for that as he had never seen the sigil on his back. He had looked at it in a mirror, but mirrors didn’t reflect the sigils drawn only with power. Those drawn only with power were the more advanced ones, and required more power to draw them.

“Oh yes I see,” Vors said amazed. “As far as I can tell these are all seals.”

“Seals of what though?” Ramon said puzzled. “Their letters are rather obscure on that point and I’ve never seen that one.”

Xavier was relieved that neither of them had asked him what the sigil meant. His slave sigil would force him to answer, and he knew it would mean his death should they learn what the sigil did. Of course neither of them even considered that he knew what the sigil was; he shouldn’t know what it was.

“You know what we need?” Vors asked. “A codex.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Ramon answered enthused. The Regarian girl moaned loudly then and Ramon looked at the display with a bored glance. “Will your slave be alright here?”

“She’ll be fine,” Vors said absently. “Drew make sure nothing gets out of hand and see that the girl sees a healer after this. She has another fight tomorrow and it is hard to control a slave in pain.”

“Yes master,” the servant said with a smooth bow.

“Best bring the Aldan along,” Vors said. “We may need to reference the sigil again.”

“Of course,” Ramon said and Xavier grabbed his clothes. He dressed and followed the two mages out of the smoke filled room.

Mages kept strange hours but it was no wonder, with their power they had a constant source of light in light sigils. When they left the pleasure house it was late at night, maybe close to eleven. The streets were well lit with golden mage lights in street lamps, and there were many people still out on the streets. Mages could function on little sleep, and luckily so could the Aldan otherwise Xavier would be exhausted.

Myr, the City of Glass, was not the largest of the nine cities, but it was the most advanced. The city was bright and colorful, every street paved and clean. The buildings were all mage constructed, so they were large with pillars and decorative moldings. There was no building without glass windows, an expensive thing outside of Dridia. They passed through several parks with trees and bronze statues depicting mages that either built them or paid for them.

On the tops of the buildings perched gargoyles, great ugly creatures carved out of stone. Xavier could see the sigils moving under their stone skins that animated them, but most sat quiescent. Gargoyles were guards and they only attacked when someone broke into the houses they were guarding.

Xavier could see sigils everywhere, both physically carved or painted and those of invisible power. The High Magic practically hummed in the air, like the droning of bees. Only mages could hear and feel it on their skin, and Xavier wondered how they could live with it. Sigils often rotated as well, their movement dependent upon the movement of the planets and sun. The sigils weren’t just on the buildings, but also the people.

Slaves bore multiple sigils, mages often used their slaves for experiments. They bore sigils of enhancement mostly, those to make them strong or fast. Enhancing sigils could be used to enhance a person’s speed, strength, stamina, grace, healing, beauty, or senses. Some bore too many and Xavier knew they would not live long with so many sigils draining their lives.

There were also golems walking the streets, constructs made of stone or clay held together and animated with High Magic. Most took the forms of men, a few even dressed in clothes like people. They were featureless and sometimes genderless, little detail or embellishment added to them. The golems were servants or porters, doing all the heavy lifting for the mages. They had a limited intelligence and so were only given simple tasks.

Occasionally a flying carpet went by overhead, bearing a few mages or cargo. The carpets were common here, but rare anywhere else. They were not great transportation for long travel, better for getting around the city. They didn’t travel very fast either nor could they go very high. Yet only mages of fair standing could afford not only the monetary cost of a carpet but the magical cost; hence why they were walking.

The wind shifted and Xavier could almost taste the salt smell of the bay. They climbed up the hill going along a wide avenue of marble. He was surprised Ramon and Vors didn’t hire a carriage, but they weren’t far from the capitol hill in the first place. They reached the top of the hill and looked out over the city center. A round courtyard was encircled by the wings of the palace of the Myrddins.

The royal house of the mages had been their kings since the Dridians landed in the kingdoms. Many denied it but Xavier had heard, from his grandfather; that Atlas and Martell had been Myrddins.

The palace was made entirely of white marble, sparkling white under the mage lights. Grand pillars and elegant arches decorated the palace, the marble carved with gargoyles and other more flattering figures. Across the plaza stood the tallest tower in the kingdoms, the Tower of Balal was built by magic. It too was made entirely of white marble, and its top disappeared into the rolling clouds of the sky. Xavier almost laughed then, he could see water sigils in the air; the cloud was artificial to make the tower seem taller.

Still it was an impressive structure; it wouldn’t have been possible without the High Magic. Practically every stone crawled with sigils, giving the tower an ambient glow that even non-mages could see. They walked down into the plaza and towards the tower. The entrance was a wide arch carved with gargoyles. They walked under the arch and into the grand entrance hall. The entrance hall was marvelous with a soaring ceiling painted with images of the sky. Mage lights lit the room better than day light ever could.

The floor was inscribed with a star map, and in the center of the room a model of the planets and sun. It was clockwork, keeping time with the real movement of the planets. To the mages their powers were affected by the movement of the universe, so often they needed to know the position of the planets.

From the entrance hall they walked into the library itself. The center of the tower was the library itself, the core of the tower hollowed out. The library was round, each floor containing thousands of aisles of books. The center of the wide open space was occupied by a live tree, the last living tree from the old isle of the mages’ home land. It was a white aspen, but the size of an ancient oak. Magic kept it alive, Xavier able to see the enchantments that lived under its bark.

They walked towards the stairs and soon Vors and Ramon was elbow deep in tombs of sigils, looking for something similar to the sigil on Xavier’s back. He knew what his sigil did, but he didn’t know the sigils that were used in it. His grandfather had given him a fair education on the use of High Magic, but it took decades of study to fully learn all the ins and outs of the power. Xavier had only his childhood to rely on, most of which he forced himself to forget except a few useful sigils.

Neither mage noticed when he wandered away, his fingers tingling with curiosity. He walked carefully though, despite the hour there were still many mages in the library. Not to mention the gargoyles that rested in the high ceilings and little corners. He probably couldn’t take down any of the books of sigils and the High Magic, so instead he wandered to safer sections of the library. The library held books from every culture, from the scrolls of Lir, to the clay tablets of Daun. Of course it may not hold everything from each, Hyria often kept their secrets. Hyrian books were flattened reeds of bamboo bound into a flat sheet and folded, the words written out horizontal on the reed. It was an odd way to make a book, but reeds and bamboo were in ready supply in the river lands.

The library was a little more than a place full of books; it was more like a museum as well. There was art, musical instruments, historical objects, taxidermy animals, and much else preserved in glass cases. He went deeper in to the darker corners of the library, going down the steps below ground level. The higher one went the more the books were related to magic and the more dangerous the library was for an errant slave.

The lower levels however were for more mundane knowledge it seemed. The mages loved collecting knowledge, but doing nothing with it. The lower levels held books mainly from Hyria, Alda, Daun, Xin, and Lir, the peoples that had been of this land before outsiders came. Most of the mages considered this section fiction because most of the books here mentioned the Phay. The mages had only heard stories of the Phay as they hadn’t been here when the mages arrived. Only hearing stories they thought the Phay were nothing but myth.

Here the aisles of books were dark; there weren’t many lights in this section. He wandered idly, his fingers trailing through the dust on the shelves. He pulled down one book at random, it was an Aldan tomb. It was old, but had to be a copy of an older book; there was no way parchment could survive the years since the legends of the Phay.

It was before the Kingdoms had even been formed, well over a thousand years ago. The current year was 682 in the Era of the Kingdoms, the age before was known as the Cursed Age. Absalom of the Deep Woods had been the one to unite the Nine Kingdoms by calling a moot of all the Kings. It had taken him ten years to sort out the laws, trade agreements, and treaties that made the Kingdoms. He had the longest reign of any of the High Kings of seventy-seven years, his long Aldan lifespan prolonging his reign. His reign only ended because he suddenly just left one day, never to be seen again.

He opened the book and flipped through it idly, it was a journal it seemed. The illustrations were wonderful, a copy of the original using a sigil so they were entirely accurate. The Sect would probably like most of these books burned, if the mages weren’t so powerful they probably would be. Xavier stopped on one page, reading the ancient Aldan with the aid of the sigil inscribed in the book to translate the old text.

It read: “Long we have mourned the departure of our kin. Much of our ancient lands have been lost to the outlanders, but we hold the woods firm. My brother Rena fears that the outlanders will steal the song. Long we have guarded the treasure of our family, passed onto us by our ancestor a true blooded Phay. Eileen charged us with the protection of the song, and Rena worries much over the safety of our treasure.

“He has decided to take it to the last of the Phay still here in Miread. He has set off to the northern mountains where our distant kin They Who Delve Deep reside. I pray for his safe return and hope he is safe. I worry for my brother but it is more than that. The Phay cannot march without the song; if it is lost our kin will be lost to us as well.”

Xavier flipped through the journal, but there was no mention of the woman’s brother returning. He looked at the name of the author, Rane She that Breathes Deep. The name meant little to him, until he read a footnote by the transcriber. It read: Rane could be Absalom’s grandmother, but the histories of the time are vague and the Aldan were not deep in recording the familial lines of their houses. The Aldan did not use house names until after the founding of the kingdom. However guessing by her full name it is suggested that there is relation with the word ‘Deep’ a rare word in the Aldan tongue.

So the author could have been an ancestor of the old Aldan Kings. One of his ancestors.

He really should read more, but his mind kept wandering over that passage and mention of a song. He had a dream a few nights ago that he couldn’t remember, but he knew there had been a song in it. He had shaken it off, but now… He shook his head and returned the book to the shelf. He wandered down the aisle more, deeper into the dark of the library.

Past the texts of the Cursed Age were the texts of the Dynasty of the Phay. Xavier stopped at one shelf and pulled down a dusty tomb. He blew the dust off and saw a single name inscribed on the cover, Lailoken. Xavier knew that name well, most of his tales were still told today as little children’s rhymes and stories.

Lailoken the Sage of the Clear Sky, a seer and story teller, but little was actually known about him, his origins, and even what time he lived other than living around the Dynasty of the Phay. He was a blind prophet, wandering the land and telling stories that many claimed were prophecies of the future. There were many stories attributed to him, but it was never clear if any of those were prophetic or not. His stories were always popular though, and many were told today, or many were based on his tales.

Xavier put the book back, not in the mood for fiction. He had read many of Lailoken’s tales as a child, but didn’t care much for them. He gave one last look at the dusty shelves and decided he had enough browsing for one day. He walked back to where Vors and Ramon were; knowing they would be missing him soon.

He found the two mages just standing up, looking weary.

“Ah, wandered off have we?” Ramon said mildly.

“Just looking for some reading,” Xavier answered.

“You can read?” Vors said as he laughed.

“Only a little, it’s the pictures that are nicer,” Xavier answered, realizing how close he just came to revealing his true colors. Both mages seemed to shake this off, more preoccupied with their research than Xavier as a person.

“I think I’m calling it a night,” Ramon said mildly. “Time to get some sleep.”

“Shall we meet here in the morning and continue?” Vors asked.

“You may,” Ramon said mildly. “I have plans.”

Vors glared at them as Ramon left without a farewell. Xavier knew enough about mages to know Ramon had just snuffed Vors. Why however made him wonder. Either he had lost interest in Xavier’s sigil, or he had found something and didn’t want Vors in on it. Xavier doubted it was the former, he knew mages too well. He walked behind Vors through the night streets, feeling like he was following a lion.

They walked along the top of the hill that led into the mage’s district. The cliff stood over the bay, crested by the houses of the mage lords. Every major lord had a house in the city, but only those who could afford it. From what Xavier knew of Ramon, he was not one of those mages. The house they came to was certainly luxurious, but it was the start of the court season. Some mages were here in Myr for the Court of Wonders, others were away in Cair Leone for the Court of Miracles.

They entered a side gate of one of the huge houses, Xavier noting the name on the gate was Deluce. When he had been bought papers had been signed, and he had read Ramon’s full name and rank. He was the cousin of the Count Deluce, Ramon had a few meaningless titles. He guessed that his cousin was letting Ramon stay here. Telling by the dark windows, a few servant quarters were lit, Ramon was probably house-sitting for his cousin. Deluce was probably off in Cair Leone or Shin-Ra, rubbing elbows with foreign nobles.

They entered through the parlor and Ramon dropped his coat by the door. Xavier noticed a small golem, little bigger than a toddler, hurry and pick up the garment. It had been a while since he had been in a powerful mage’s house, amazed again by all the luxuries that peppered their lives. There were many conveniences, to motion activated mage lights, to heated rooms and halls.

Ramon must have activated a summoning sigil because a servant hurried over to them as they entered the parlor.

“Show Xavier to his rooms and see that a bath and dinner are prepared for me,” Ramon said before walking off into the house.

“This way,” the servant was once again a free Elmerian, his nose a little too big for his face. Xavier followed him to the servant and slave quarters. As such things went the servants’ quarters were homely and simple; none of the luxury but all of the convenience. Xavier was given a room of his own with a small bathing room off to one side. He had a bed, dresser, and a few comfortable chairs.

“Feel free to raid the pantry,” the servant said with a wry grin. “I expect Lord Ramon will have leftovers.”

“Thanks,” Xavier said. It had been a while since he last ate, but he wasn’t that hungry. Instead he lay on the bed while the servant stepped out to leave him alone. He fell asleep, and once again he dreamed.

He walked through a fog of color, the mist seeming to reflect hidden tones that he could not see. He kept walking, not knowing why or where he was going. Light drew his eye and he followed it towards a burning cedar tree. One half of the tree was on fire, but the other half still seemed green and alive. He walked on past the tree towards the shadows he could see in the mist.

Shapes started to emerge out of the mist, trees telling by the tall singular shapes before him. Only these trees were huge, he soon realized. He was in a forest of giant trees, too large to be real. Green now dominated the colors around him, Xavier surprised to smell the earthy moist smell of a forest.

He even heard the laughter of water, and followed it to a stream. He followed the stream to a cliff side, and looked out at the world before him in utter disbelief. The sky, or the void beyond him, was full of stars, suns, and moons, so many planetary bodies he couldn’t imagine how something so full could seem so vast. Closer floated islands of rocks still covered in forest, bound together with the roots of the trees.

Before Xavier could even deny the world before him a sound, a shout drew him out of his dream. Xavier woke disoriented, wondering where he was before he remembered. He hurried out of bed; he could hear shouts and even screams outside his door. He was already dressed, an old habit from living in the mines.

Once outside his door he followed the shouts and screams into the entry hall where he saw a scene of carnage and disaster he had not expected. Several bodies of servants or slaves lay like broken toys on the marble floor, their bodies horribly twisted. Several maids were screaming in a far corner as the five men of the household surrounded a large golem. They had ropes about it, obviously trying to hold it in place, but Xavier knew they were doing little for such a task.

Xavier didn’t need the shouts of them men to warn him the golem had gone mad, he could see it. The sigils that gave it a mind were in tatters, revolving around its head like a broken wheel. It was a common enough thing for a golem to go mad, usually because it had been poorly made. Unfortunately it was usually the servants that died when they did.

“My lord!” one of the servants shouted as Ramon came striding into the room.

“Have you sent for anyone?” Ramon asked and Xavier knew why. He could tell Ramon was not strong enough to handle a broken golem, his cousin could have but he couldn’t.

“No milord!” the man answered shocked.

“Send for someone now!” Ramon shouted. The golem suddenly grabbed one of the men, catching him by surprise. The man shouted as the golem threw him with bone breaking force at the wall. He slid down in a heap of broken bones, Xavier shivering at the sound he had made.

“Milord can you not stop it?” the servant pleaded and the other servants shouted for Ramon. For a moment Xavier thought the mage would actually try since he did not answer.

“It is beyond my power,” Ramon said past clenched teeth and Xavier realized he had just been struggling to admit it. Another man shouted, actually getting the word ‘help’ out as the golem grabbed him. It tore his arm out of the socket before throwing him at the wall in a bloody mass. Xavier could watch no more of it and he walked towards the golem.

“Stop you fool!” Ramon shouted. “You’re too valuable to just toss away.”

Xavier ignored Ramon and kept walking towards the golem. It still had the poor man’s arm in its oversized fist, standing with its featureless head lolling to one side. Xavier held out his hands as if he were approaching a wounded animal, in a way he was. The thing stood still for a moment and then lashed out with one great fist. Xavier dodged the blow by luck he never knew he had. It was different than fighting a living opponent; he couldn’t read any intention or action from the golem.

He moved as fast as he could to get into the golem’s guard. He needed to touch the thing unfortunately to work its sigils; he wasn’t skilled enough to do it from a distance. He was powerful enough though to do what needed to be done. The golem was a head taller than Xavier but he could easily reach the life sigil drawn on its head. He didn’t have time to be subtle; the golem was already raising a fist over his head.

He sent a lance of his power at the thing’s life sigil. The golem shivered, and issued a noise much like the gasp a child makes just before it’s about to cry. The life sigil broke and the golem shattered into little pieces of dry clay, making a pile at Xavier’s feet. Making a sigil was one thing, but breaking it was another level of insanity. The backlash of the broken sigil echoed through the room like a bomb, knocking Xavier on his back.

His ears ringing, he lay there confused and dazed. Adrenaline made him sit up and crouch, looking around at the devastation he unleashed. A life sigil was one of the most powerful sigils to mages, and breaking one as Xavier had done, unleashed all that power. The entry corridor lay in ruin, walls blown apart, stairs collapsed; even the marble floor had cracked. His ears were ringing, a strange silence echoing around him.

Xavier looked around at the bodies on the floor and realized they were dead; even Ramon was motionless. He could just tell there was a quality of finality to their motionless forms that told him they were dead. The sigil’s power was more than he had thought, and he knew the only reason he had survived was because he had been in the epicenter.

He came to the realization as well that with his current master dead the slave sigil was useless. He had a limited time of freedom, until another mage would take his leash. Worst of all there was evidence here of his powers, he had to leave or else be revealed as a half breed mage.

He stood, swaying on his feet. He may have survived, but he knew he suffered at worst a concussion. He had the strength to run, and run he did. He ran out of the building, hearing gargoyles crying out in alarm. None stopped him; they were spelled to prevent break-ins not break-outs.

Xavier used a servant’s exit rather than the main gate. Putting his hands in his pockets he walked quickly, like a slave sent on an errand. Shouts rang out when he was a few blocks away. It was midmorning he realized, a busy hour for servants and slaves, but many mages would be lounging about right now. He wondered sometimes that a mage’s nocturnal nature was due to their dependence on the stars and planets.

He was out of the mage district in an hour, on foot he covered a few miles through the city. He stopped in an alley to take stock of himself. He only had the clothes on his back, and he realized he should have at least grabbed a few coins when he left. His head was throbbing, but he realized he probably didn’t have a concussion. His body was already healing whatever damage he suffered, his hearing returning to normal.

The exhilaration of being free was tempered by the guilt and regret of killing the servants he had tried to save. Caution was also a weight on his shoulders, he knew no one in the city that could help him a runaway branded slave. He decided to keep moving for now, and avoid places where he would be noticed. That meant going into the meaner parts of the city.

Bright and beautifully modern Myr was only what the mages saw. A majority of the city were the slums of the slaves. These however were not in plain sight, not even along the outskirts of the city. Any squatter that set up their tent in plain sight was quickly rousted by the guards, who were preferable to the heartless gargoyles. No, instead the homeless and destitute were hidden underground, literally.

The mages had chosen to build their city on sea cliffs hollowed by the eons of waves. The hidden caves housed the underworld of the sparkling city. There were entrances all over the city, and it wasn’t hard for Xavier to find one under an old foot bridge. This was a place no mage dared venture, making it only slightly safer for Xavier. Many called it Hole, for many reasons other than the simplicity of it.

He walked the dark tunnels confidently, able to see in the dark thanks to his blood. The smell nearly drove him back; this was where the entire city’s sewage ended up, the putrid waste mixing with the briny waters of the bay. The tunnel was dripping water, hopefully seawater. It narrowed and soon was twisting and turning through the earth. Then Xavier smelled smoke mixed with the general sewer smell.

He came to a fork and followed the smoke smell. He couldn’t avoid people, there would be no way in these tunnels, and he would need food and protection in numbers. He came out of the tunnel into a vast natural cavern and a village of tents. Their occupants all went about their business with one hand on a knife.

They were the derelict, the decrepit, and the diseased. If a foreign slave was brought to port and found too sick they were thrown down here to die; maybe to pass on what they had and clear away some of the rabble. All the broken and unwanted ended up here, from many of the kingdoms. Xavier noted that a majority were Elmerian, probably because that race was the most numerous.

He passed beggars, cut throats, lepers, and the dying or those already passed. Hungry eyes turned on him and he realized some would kill him just for the tunic off his back. Xavier shivered, he had chosen a dark path indeed; stolen freedom always was.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

The library room was deserted once more with only Zaire and Darin working in the morning. Darin was staring blankly at the Nyrgardic writing, unable to read the letters. Zaire was busy scratching out numbers and letters, drawing sigils with many different characters that were nothing like Nyrgardic.

“Why is it there are no writings in the trade tongue?” Darin asked as he pushed the book away frustrated.

“Because the trade tongue was invented by the Rhodin developed in the Cursed Age,” Zaire answered, her eyes never leaving her page. “The Rhodin do not write, it is in their nature to be secretive. In the Cursed Age the Rhodin were about the only people to move between all the kingdoms. Those that learned the language they traded in soon found they could talk to others of the other kingdoms. When Absalom became High King he chose it as the trade tongue and required the kingdoms to teach it so there would be better communication between kingdoms.”

“But if it was the language of uniting why not develop a written form?” Darin asked.

“No one could agree on the lettering,” Zaire answered. “The trade tongue if you notice is almost a Pidgeon Language between all the Nine Kingdoms, so which letters should you use? The Nine all have very different form of letters. The Daunish only have about twenty runes in their alphabet, but Lir has over a thousand different characters. Dridian is probably the most complex because our sigils are written in Dridian. The use of the High Magic means being fluent in all the characters used in the sigils, and there are thousands of those.”

Darin looked at the drawings and equations Zaire had out before her and shuddered. All of it looked extremely complicated, and he was glad the Elder Magic wasn’t so complicated. It looked like it took decades to learn all that.

“So then how are messages sent?” Darin asked.

“Well since messages are usually sent by bird and the size of a message tube is small, a written language was developed for those purposes,” Zaire answered. “After the kingdoms were formed an Aldan named Fulton started training birds to carry messages. The Aldan always had this tradition, but Fulton brought it to other kingdoms. He developed the writing system as well and taught it along with how to raise and train the birds. Now all messengers know this writing so often even horse messengers use it.”

“So if I wanted to send a message, I’d go to one of these bird trainers, tell them the message and they would write it down?”

“Right,” Zaire said as she nodded looking at Darin now. “It isn’t used all the time though. The Kingdoms have posts and you can send packages and letters over ground, most of the time the person you are sending to reads the same language you do. Those that can read and write in multiple languages have a high chance of getting hired to a merchant house for trading. Treaties and documents of legality are often written in two languages of those that they are dealing with. The treaty that formed the Nine Kingdoms is written in all nine languages.”

“Sounds complicated,” Darin said shaking his head.

“What of dwarves?” Zaire asked. “Do you have writings?”

“Yes, but the Phay all speak the same language,” Darin said. “Or more accurately we speak and our kin understand us. For all I know the different races of the Phay speak different languages, but because we were once all one being when we speak to each other there is innate understanding that passes. Those with Elder Magic experience the same thing. When I met Pepper we understood each other immediately, even though she wasn’t speaking in Dwarvish. I don’t know if this translation works for writing but I would guess it does.”

“We mages have sigils that accomplish the same thing,” Zaire said. “It translates written or spoken word immediately, though you have to be a mage to use it. No one has developed an enchanted item that translates for someone who cannot use the High Magic.”

“Why not?” Darin asked. “Can it not be done?”

“No I’m sure it can be done,” Zaire said shaking her head. “If anything there are a great many things mages could make that could be adapted so anyone could use them. But right here is a prime example of why we do not do so.”

She held up the enchanted horn she was working on.

“This was a gift to the Nyrgarders from Dridia. The Nyrgardic Kings refused to let a mage into their court so these gifts went unused. If the mages gave gifts that worked without a mage there would be no need for mages. These objects give mages power more than magical might; it gives other kingdoms a reason to keep us around.”

“But you have the power to use these things?” Darin said.

“Yes, but only because they are already enchanted,” Zaire said putting the horn down again. “I have the power to activate and alter sigils, but not the power to draw one fresh. Hence all this, I’m working out how to alter the sigil on this horn to fit my needs. If I had the power I could just strip the old sigil and draw a new one, this would be much easier. I don’t have the power though so I have to work out how I can alter the sigil so that it does what I need.”

“It may take you longer and be more difficult but it sounds like your way takes a lot more skill and thought than simply redoing the sigil,” Darin said and Zaire blushed, turning back to her work. “Are you close though?”

“Very close,” Zaire said.

“I’ll let you work then,” Darin said about to leave but Zaire stopped him.

“You can stay,” Zaire said. “I’d like the company.”

Darin nodded and sat back down, though he was becoming bored of just sitting around. He wanted to do something if only to feel like he was accomplishing something. He also wanted to avoid the story Hors had told them. The origins of the Crippled One had set a seed of fear with in him, not because of how grizzly the Crippled One’s birth had been, but because of the shame Hors had felt over it. He had felt responsible for Lyl’s death Darin could see it, and this doubt ate at Hors. If Hors, the dragon king, doubted himself how could Darin have confidence in his own power?

To get his mind away from those fears he began writing notes of things he had learned in his travels. He lost track of time almost until he saw Zaire finally lay down her pen and stretch.

“Finished,” Zaire sighed satisfied. “I’m not sure it will work but it is worth a try.”

“How did you do it?” Darin asked.

“You may not understand all of it, but basically the horn uses a sigil to amplify sound. So I changed it so it amplified power instead, the power that is channeled through it. This sounds simple but it was a lot harder to change than simply changing the character for sound to that of power. I think the hardest part is the fact there is no character for the Elder Magic in Dridian, no identifying marker, so I had to arrange the sigil so that it will amplify whatever is channeled through it.”

“I won’t pretend to understand how you did it Zaire,” Darin said. “The fact that you did is impressive enough.”

“Don’t be impressed yet,” Zaire said wearily. “I have to change the sigil first.”

She sat up and took the horn in her hands, one hand going down into the horn and the other cupped the mouth piece. Darin watched and waited, but saw nothing. He did get a slight ringing in his ears, but other than that he could not perceived the High Magic at work.

“There,” Zaire said sounded exhausted and she put the horn down. “I’d like to test it, but I don���t think that is a good idea indoors.”

“Are you the only one that can use that?” Darin asked.

“No, anyone that can gather the Elder Magic can,” Zaire said. “Actually I think I might not be able to use it anyways as I’ve never channeled the Elder Magic.”

“We’ll give it a shot outside,” Darin said and then a thought occurred to him. “This won’t make the Phay March will it? I mean you’ll be playing the song on it and it will amplify the song.”

“I doubt it,” Zaire said. “I have no idea how this stone flute Hors talked about works but it sounds like it is a lot more powerful than what I just made. Besides this horn only has a few notes, depending on how you blow on it. It will be a much simpler version of the song when we play it.”

“Then we should go get Hors,” Darin said as he stood. Zaire gathered the horn and a few papers, hurrying to follow him. They left the library and out towards the gardens. Despite the winter chill the children were still out playing in the snow. Ingrid sat with Soren still learning both the art of the bard and to love again. Iounn stood far enough away that she did not disturb them, but she still kept her eye on them. Donar stood with her and they were both talking, but stopped at Zaire and Darin approached.

“You two seem to spend a lot of time together,” Donar observed as they walked up. Zaire stopped startled and looked at Darin who shrugged. He had only been hanging around Zaire because she was the most interesting person here. It helped distract him from thinking about Pepper and how she might be forced into marriage. Darin wasn’t as much jealous as worried. He knew Pepper would hate such a match, but part of him still hurt at the idea of her in another man’s arms.

“There isn’t much to do here Donar,” Darin answered. “Zaire seems to be the most interesting person here.”

Zaire blushed under the compliment and Donar laughed.

“Relax Darin I know you’re bored,” Donar said. “Hakk seems to be the only one that has gotten any fun from this place.”

Darin has seen Hakk had made himself a legend in the Nyrgardic court, beating every man he came up against even those that were twice his height. Apparently Iounn was the only one to have bested him though she pointed out she had caught him by surprise.

“We’re here because Zaire finished the horn,” Darin said. “We’re ready to wake the giant.”

“I’m not sure that is wise now,” Hors said peeking his head out of Iounn’s hair. “Cael’s Day is past; the solstice was two days ago. It would have been a good time to wake the giant; the aether is closer on days like that.”

“It is still close,” Zaire said and they looked at her surprised. “I’m not sure I know much about the Elder Magic but are full moons not important to the Elder Magic? Tonight is a full moon.”

Hors laughed and nodded.

“Then we should go seek a giant,” Hors said.

“I think I have a way to speed that up,” Zaire said as she reached into her pocket and took out a sapphire. It was gem of high quality, but seemed even more beautiful than normal. “I changed the enchantments on this to make it a divination talisman.”

“Impressive,” Hors said, his ears perking up. “Zaire I believe you are proving yourself a very powerful mage.”

Zaire only blushed and they turned to leave, Colm once again taking over watching the children. Zaire swung the sapphire and it began to glow slightly before hovering before her like a bee on a string. As they left they collected Bgrim and Hakk from the tourney fields where they had been sparing together, none of the Nyrgarders were early risers. She led the way out of the keep and into the city. The city was quiet after Cael’s Day celebrations, everyone seeking rest in the early winter morning.

The sapphire led them thought the city streets and to the switchback down the mountain side. The path was well maintained and free of the ice and snow that had coated the ground of the mountains. They were not the only ones braving the path; many were coming down from the mountain to seek services of the lower city. They reached the Thunder gate and the guards let them pass without comment. With Iounn with them they didn’t have to worry about re-entry.

They walked on through the winding streets and ramshackle warehouses and huts that made up the lower city. Unlike the upper city the lower was already bustling with activity in the morning, laborers and merchants were early risers. Darin noticed a great collection of the colorful wagons of the Rhodin, surprised to see such numbers in one place.

Zaire’s mind seemed bent on her sapphire and she nearly ran into a few people had Iounn not steered her clear. Then someone leapt before her and snatched the sapphire from her hand. Zaire cried out as the thief fled down a side ally and Darin dashed after him. The man was lithe and agile, running through the narrow space with easy. Had Darin been a Nyrgarder or even a Daunish man he would have had trouble following. But while Darin was short he was not bulky, unlike Hakk.

He wove between the allies and carts of traffic, never losing his prey. Darin had spent a life time fighting in tunnels and chasing Orcs through them, he kept pace easily. He was surprised when the man made a wide circuit and ended up in the Rhodin camp. As soon as Darin ran into the wagon area two Rhodin stepped out blocking his path. One opened his mouth to speak but Darin just rolled through his legs and continued to the chase. Shouts followed him and now Darin was both the hunter and hunted.

Darin caught up with the thief in a clearing where several lines of laundry were hanging out to dry. He caught the thief by the back of the shirt and before he could wiggle free Darin wrenched his arm behind his back. The thief cried out and Darin realized then that it was a youth he held, a young boy no older than ten.

“Give it back,” Darin growled in the trade tongue, twisting the boy’s wrist. The boy cried out again and Darin heard pounding feet. Not releasing his vice like grip on the boy’s wrist he drew his sword and pointed it towards the two men that were advancing on him. He watched them from the corner of his eye, but watched the boy he held as well.

“Come any closer and you will taste my blade,” Darin growled. “Now give it back boy.”

He added another twist and the boy whimpered.

“Alright,” the boy said and held out the sapphire. Darin let go of his wrist and snatched the sapphire back, pocketing it. The boy scrambled away and Darin looked to the two men. Both had daggers drawn, but neither had a sword. Darin was just about to try and back away when more footfalls sounded and he turned to see two more men with daggers at his back. The men were grinning now, Darin could hear the boy laughing somewhere off in the wagons.

Other Rhodin had gathered as well, watching from the safety of the wagons. The four men spread out surrounding him and Darin waited for one to strike, it was all he could do. The first one to strike was the one behind him who tried a low stab aiming for Darin’s back. One thing that always seemed to happen to those of superior height against a shorter opponent was they often had to aim lower to score a vital hit. This often made them off balance.

Darin ducked the blow, grabbed the man’s arm, and using his momentum threw him over his head flipping him onto his back. A swift kick to the face left the man howling in pain from a broken nose. Darin sidestepped the second man’s dagger thrust; these men at least knew how to work as a team. But Darin had the superior reach with his sword.

He cut the man’s calf, a minor flesh wound but sufficient to make the man stumble back. A third tried to come up behind him but Darin saw his shadow, lashing out with the pommel of his sword he hit the third man right in the balls. The other two were still standing, the injured one warry but not out for the fight. Darin was ready to wait again when movement at the edge of the gathered crowd drew his eye.

“What do you buffoons think you’re doing?” a Rhodin woman said. She was shapely and sensuously beautiful, her indigo eyes flashing with anger. She wasn’t like the other Rhodin, while her eyes did have the vertical pupils she also had elven like features and pointed ears. Darin realized she had Aldan blood.

“We’re catching an intruder Kree,” the injured man answered.

“And I was catching a thief,” Darin growled. The men glared at him, the uninjured one advancing.

“That is a dwarf you moron,” Kree said and the man stopped dead.

“What?” the injured man said incredulously.

“A dwarf, men of the mountains, one of the pure races of the Younger Phay still residing in Miread,” Kree answered speaking slowly as if to a child.

“You’re sure he’s not just some short man?” the injured one said lamely. Kree’s glare would have made kindling burst into fire.

“Are you suggesting I am wrong about someone’s aura?” Kree asked softly and the injured man withered.

“No Kree,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Good, now get out of here,” Kree said. The men walked away with their tails between their legs, a few other women going to help the other two men limp away. When they were gone Kree turned to him and bowed.

“I am sorry that you were attacked,” Kree said with appropriate levity.

“No problem,” Darin said sheathing his sword. “What if I may ask makes the Rhodin so humble to the Phay? As I recall your kind were always aloof to ours.”

“Our blood does not mix well so breeding was never fruitful,” Kree said. “I myself am sterile and that is from simply and Aldan parent not even one of the Younger Phay.”

“The Aldan are Younger Phay,” Darin said. “The other Phay have always accepted them as kin, which makes us kin.”

“Oh,” Kree said in a soft almost hurt voice. She shook it off and nodded. “I did not know. Well all the same while the Rhodin held apart from the Phay we still respect them for the power and might they hold as ancient beings of this world. We were sad when the Phay chose to march and leave Miread; it has been a much less interesting and painful place because of it.”

“Agreed,” Darin said. “My name is Darin of the Emir Clan, captain to Chief Donar.”

“Kree. What brings the men of the mountains here?”

“It is a long story, but I have to get back to my companions,” Darin said.  

“Your companions?” Kree said interested, a spark in her eye. “You wouldn’t happen to be speaking of the Lady Iounn would you?”

“She is one yes,” Darin said surprised. “You know her?”

“Yes, and her cat,” Kree said with a grin and Darin looked at her surprised.

“Then by all means come,” Darin said. “If you are a friend of Iounn then you are welcome.”

Kree nodded and followed him from the Rhodin camp. It wasn’t hard to find the others, they were still where Darin had left them and this time he didn’t have to take such a circular route. He was surprised however to find Zaire had collapsed, Iounn taking her to a nearby stoop to sit.

“Did you get it back?” Donar said as Darin approached, looking at Kree in inquiry.

“Yes, Lady Kree helped me,” Darin said. “What is wrong with Zaire?”

“From what we guess backlash from her sigil being broken,” Donar said. “Hopefully the sapphire will restore her.”

Darin nodded and stepped forward with the gem. He placed it in her palm and for a moment nothing happened, Darin worried that Zaire was hurt. Then she shuddered and opened her eyes, color returning to her face.

“Thank you, I lost connection with my body when the sapphire was stolen,” Zaire said weakly. “Let us rest here a moment, I need to recover.”

“Take your time,” Iounn said and then she looked up noticing Kree. “What are you doing here?” Iounn asked, her face turning bright red.

“I helped Sir Donar out of a tight spot and he mentioned you,” Kree said. “I am interested in what you are doing with four dwarves and a mage milady.”

Iounn looked for all the world like an embarrassed girl, her face bright red and eyes wide.

“She said she knew you and Hors,” Darin said worried. “Should I have not brought her?”

“No,” Iounn said recovering. “It’s fine, I was just startled.”

“How do you two know one another then?” Darin asked, and Iounn looked away covering her face.

“We’re old friends,” Kree answered. Darin looked at her to see she was smiling slightly, yet a glint of either disappointment or pain was in her eyes. “So what brings you to the lower city once again?”

Darin and Donar informed her of their mission, quietly so as not attract attention. At last Zaire seemed ready to go, her mind once more bent on the jewel. They walked on and eventually the sapphire led them out of the city. Darin expected it to lead them into the mountains, but instead it led them towards the coast of the bay. Thorrak Bay was gray and dark, the waves roaring against the sea rocks. Here the beach was ragged rocks and hazardous tide pools; the only safe port was in Hólmsted.

They walked along the sea rocks with Hólmsted to their backs, making slow progress over the jagged rocks and tide pools. The waves crashed on the rocks and they had to keep well back to keep free of the salty spray. They walked for hours, the sun getting high in the sky.  

At last the stone stopped and turned, pointing out into the bay.

“Is it broken?” Darin asked worried but Hors then emerged from Iounn’s hood.

“No, look,” Hors said, pointing with his wing. Stranded in the middle of the swirling tide was a colossus of a rock. It stood like a pillar surrounded by crashing waves, and in the rocky shape Darin realized he could see a humanoid shape slumped.

“How did it get out there?” Zaire said startled.

“The giant probably fell asleep close to the shore,” Hors answered. “The tide and water eroded the rock around it.”

“So how are we going to get there?” Iounn asked looking down at the treacherous waters below.

“We can wake it from here and it can leap ashore,” Hors said and turned to Zaire. “Go ahead.”

“I cannot sound the horn,” Zaire said surprised. “I don’t have enough Elder Magic, I don’t even know how to feel it. Nor do I know the tune of the song.”

“Then who can?” Hors asked surprised. “None of us have the power.”

“I do,” Darin said. “I’ve managed to command the Wild Kin, I think I have the power to do this. Just remind me how the song goes, I never heard it.”

“I can’t sing it, in my current form I might shed my skin if I did,” Hors answered. “Iounn.”

“I’ll hum it,” Iounn said. She hummed the tune and at the sound of the first note Darin felt a thrill through him. It was a tune so familiar and arousing to him he could almost hum with Iounn though it was the first time he had heard it. When Iounn finished Darin looked to Donar, Bgrim, and Hakk to see the song had the same effect on them, tears streaming down Hakk’s face. No one said anything about their reactions so Darin held out a hand to Zaire.

She put away the sapphire and drew out the horn, placing it in his hand. Darin sighed as he stepped up to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the colossus out in the swirling surf. He took several more deep breaths, making the next just a bit deeper than the last. He planted his feet, feeling the natural power of the rock and waves around him, and put the horn to his lips.

With all his breath he sounded the horn, following the beat of the song. A bass like call echoed out over the bay, gulls crying out in surprise and taking flight. It beat like a drum until Darin ran out of breath and let the horn fall. The giant had not moved, so taking a few more breaths he sounded it again, trying to keep to the beat of the song. He played for as long as he had breath before at last he had to stop and gasp for air.

He looked out at the pinnacle when he caught his breath. The Giant sat as it had, Darin disappointed for a moment, before he saw it move. It moved slowly, little more than a twitch, but then it moved again. Slowly it began to twitch and move, sea rock crumbling off it as it moved.

“It could take some time to fully wake,” Hors said.

“Should I keep playing?” Darin asked.

“No, let’s wait and see how this progresses,” Hors said. “And I think you need to rest.”

Darin could only nod and felt a hand on his arm helping to support him. He turned to see Donar and felt a wash of gratitude to his chief. Donar helped him over to a rock to sit down, Darin putting his head down and concentrated on his breathing. Donar rubbed his back, both comforting and making sure Darin was breathing right.

“Did that take a lot of power?” Donar asked when Darin got his breath back.

“I can’t really tell,” Darin answered. “I don’t think I’m very in tune with the Elder Magic, I can just make things happen occasionally.”

“We couldn’t have done this without you Darin,” Donar said, the pride in his voice making Darin feel almost overwhelmed with emotion. “Be proud of your power, I am.”

“Do… do you think that the only reason I have this power is because of Pepper?” Darin asked miserably. “Because of that oath I made? Because I laid with her?”

“No,” Hors said and Darin looked up to see Iounn standing over him with the dragon child on her shoulder. “Lying with a witch would never give you the amount of power you have. I think you have a natural talent that Pepper’s presence awoke.”

“I thought it wasn’t common in men,” Darin said.

“It isn’t but that doesn’t mean impossible,” Hors said. “It is extremely rare in male humans, but male Younger Phay do carry it on occasion. Just because it isn’t likely doesn’t mean it is impossible.”

Darin didn’t answer because he started to wonder if the only reason Pepper found him attractive was because he had Elder Magic. And he wondered if it was really a bad thing. Iounn walked off to leave Darin to recover, Donar silent but supportive at his side.

“Do you miss Runi?” Darin asked after some time.

“Painfully so,” Donar answered.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Darin said. “You haven’t spoken of her for a while.”

“Because I keep myself busy to keep myself sane,” Donar answered. “You do the same.”

Darin nodded, slipping into silence again. He dared not look up at the giant, afraid to see his efforts fail or just too tired to bring himself to care. At last however Zaire came over to them after several hours of waiting.

“The giant is awake,” Zaire said. Darin stood and they walked over to where Bgrim stood staring out at the giant. The giant now stood on the sea rock looking like a colossus. It was as big as one of the keep towers at least ten times the height of a man, probably around sixty spans tall. Its limbs were thick, the joints seeming less defined like a human’s and its hands had only three thick fingers rather than five. It belly hung out and low and its limbs were thick. Its skin was gray and wrinkled like an elephant’s, yet white markings like tattoos covered it. Rocks and earth were still lodged in its skin, pebbling it over its back and shoulders almost like a tortoise shell. Its long hair was brown and wiry, hanging in its face and growing in a beard that hung past its chest. All that could be seen of its features was a great big bulbous nose and tiny ears that looked droopy and pointed. A horn jutted out of its forehead; blunt and curved it was white like bone.

Slowly the giant raised its arms and crouched down; moving like it was in honey. It leapt off the rock and they scrambled back as it landed before them with a rock shattering landing. It slowly rose up to its feet looking down at them.

“Who has woken me?” the giant spoke in slow deliberate words, each syllable coming out like a pit from a peach.

“What did it say?” Zaire said afraid.

“He is speaking the Phay tongue,” Darin answered lowly before stepping forward and looking up at the giant. “I woke you Greatling.”

“One of They Who Delve Deep,” the giant said in his slow deliberate manor.

“Yes, my name is Darin Captain to Donar chief of the Emir clan,” Darin answered. “These are my kinsmen Bgrim and Hakk, the mage Zaire, the Rhodin Kree, the Baroness of Stóstund Iounn, and the dragon king Hors.”

The giant’s beady eyes followed each person as they were named, Hors standing out on Iounn’s arm so he was visible. Then the giant nodded slowly as he absorbed all this information.

“I am Liath,” the giant answered. “How long have I slept?”

“Centuries,” Hors answered. “The song has been sung and the Phay mean to march, however a dark spirit threatens this endeavor and means our kin harm.”

“War has come to the Weir mountains,” Donar said. “Creatures of darkness known as Orcs wage war with our kind to the north.”

“And the song is lost to us as is Eileen who can play it,” Darin said.

Liath stood and his head lolled from side to side, Darin worried his mind had been damaged in his long sleep.

“We dreamed,” Liath said at last and Hors’ ears stood up.

“You dreamed?” Hors said startled. “What did you dream?”

“I cannot remember,” Liath answered. “The others still dream. Long Be their Shadows were with us.”

“The Dullahan were with you dreaming?” Hors said flaring his wings. “How? They should be in Tir Aesclinn they cannot dream there.”

“I do not know,” Liath said his head bobbing. “I grow hungry.”

“We will talk more later,” Hors said sounding disappointed. “Come, rest and eat so you can recover.”

Liath nodded and slowly he began to walk over to a stand of rocks nearby.

“What is happening?” Zaire asked. Darin quickly told her, Iounn, and Kree what had been said, Zaire looking confused, Iounn pensive, and Kree puzzled. “What is so important about dreaming?”

“The Phay dream our races into being, and dreams in general hold power for us,” Hors answered. “Since the march the Dullahan, Long Be their Shadows, slipped into a sleep they cannot wake from. We don’t know why, and Liath stating that the giants shared dreams with them only thickens this mystery.”

“What is he doing?” Iounn said shocked and they all turned to Liath. He had begun tearing up the rocks and boulders nearby, a great cloud of dirt rising from his excavations.

“Looking for a meal,” Hors answered.

“He won’t find much in the tide pools not like that,” Iounn said and Hors laughed.

“Iounn, giants don’t eat living things, they eat stone,” Hors said. “They prefer certain types, Liath is looking for suitable earth to eat.”

Iounn looked utterly shocked and looked back to Liath. He seemed to have found a rock to his liking because he sat down with a heavy thump and began munching on a boulder. The sound was much like what one would expect, rocks grinding together in a din of epic proportions. The stood covering their ears as Liath had his meal, the sound deafening and Darin was used to the sound of miners digging through solid rock.  

At last Liath finished his meal, sitting content in the rubble he had caused. They walked over and Liath turned to them nodding.

“I will eat more later,” Liath said. “I must be careful.”

“Of course,” Hors said. “Would you like to sleep or shall we tell you what you’ve missed?”

“I have slept enough,” Liath said a glint in his beady eyes. “Speak.”

Hors told him about the march, the Crippled One, the search for the song and Eileen, and the army of Orcs to the north. Liath listened without questions, his head lolling from side-to-side like before. Hors told him why he was woken and his plans to do battle with the Orcs.

“So will you help us?” Hors asked. Liath considered his question a long time, sitting so still Darin wondered if he had fallen asleep again.

“The men from ships,” Liath said at last. “I must help them?”

“No,” Darin said noticing the problem at once. “It is the mud men that need our aid, the Nyrgarders are simply helping as well.”

“But we will do battle together,” Liath said lowly. Then Iounn stepped forward and put her hand on Liath’s giant paw. She seemed to sense what was being said though she could not understand it.

“My people have caused yours great pain centuries ago. Though all those who had done so are long dead, they are my ancestors. I apologize from the depths of my heart for the pain we have caused you. But as a warrior from a race of warriors, to another race of warriors, I ask you will you do battle with us? Only this time we will stand shoulder-to-shoulder to face those that dare call us enemies.”

Hors translated her words and Liath sat a moment without reaction, before a great big grin spread across his face. His teeth were a shocking sight, each tooth looked as big as Darin’s head shaped like tomb stones.

“That I will,” Liath said nodding to Iounn. “And be honored to call you my comrade.”

“Thank you Liath,” Iounn said with a winning smile after Hors translated again.

“I’m starting to think there is no male she cannot sway with her words a smile alone,” Donar said lowly.

“Then we should be glad she is on our side,” Darin answered. Donar nodded soberly as Iounn stepped back from Liath.

“Can you tell us Liath about your dreams?” Hors asked. “About how you came to slumber or why the Dullahan were with you in the dreams?”

“I cannot tell any more than I have for I have no knowledge of it,” Liath answered. “The last I remember I was walking along the coast when struck with the command from our dying king to sleep. Now that I am awake I cannot remember anything more of what I dreamed, not even the Dullahan. I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” Hors said disappointed.

“Hors, you said before that the giant’s sleep was commanded by their king,” Darin said thinking it over. “If so then why would their dreams be shared with the Dullahan?”

“I don’t know,” Hors said frustrated. “That is what makes this so confusing. And why would the Dullahan be the only ones to dream?”

Hors just shook his head in frustration and confusion, his tail lashing in irritation.

“For now let us solve another problem,” Donar said in the trade tongue. “Introducing Liath to the Nyrgarders.”

A dead silence rang between them broken by Iounn who sighed heavily.

“That is not something I was not looking forward to,” Iounn said. “But I knew we would have to. I will go back and bring Sten and Roland here so they can meet him first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Kree said and Iounn looked at her shocked.

“There is no need really,” Iounn said and Kree looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You do not know the Rhodin well Iounn,” Kree said with a wicked grin. “We go where we please, even into a king’s court if we so choose. And I have something to discuss with your king.”

“What?” Iounn asked worried. Darin realized of all the time he had known Iounn she had never seemed flustered or off balance until Kree came into the mix.

“An offer to assist in the war efforts,” Kree said and everyone stared at her surprised.

“Do you have the power to pledge that?” Donar asked.

“The Rhodin do not have kings,” Kree said. “I know what the power of kings and queens are to the Phay, and what they are to men. But the Rhodin never needed a king or queen. But we do hold council and I am a Rhodin of standing. I can at least promise the aid of the Rhodin camped in Hólmsted. And I will send out a missive to the other Rhodin over the kingdoms to rally. Whether or not this call is taken up is another matter.”

“We thank you for what you can contribute,” Donar said and Kree looked at pensively.

“I must say I am impressed by you Donar,” Kree said. “You are unlike other kings and queens.”

“I am neither,” Donar said. “I thought I was meant to be, but I realize now that I was only meant to be the partner to one.”

“Partner?” Iounn said shocked. “So then, you’ve lain with men?”

Donar looked at her surprised as well but not offended and then laughed.

“No, Runi is female though in many of her past lives she was male,” Donar said. “Our past lives play no part in our current love however. She bears the title of King because the dwarves always have a king never a queen; that is a different duty to the Phay. Gender has nothing to do with the role they bear.”

“King and Queen maybe a title but the duties for each are different for the Phay,” Hors said. “For instance Clíodhna is the Queen of the Banshee but there is no king of the Banshee. Were a male to take her place he would still be called queen. Kur was the king of the dragons not the queen though she was female.”

“How then is a king different from a queen if not by gender?” Iounn asked. “What are the roles of the kings and queens if they are not always the creators of that race?”

“As I understand it the king or queen of a kingdom here is in essence the ruler, the highest authority of the land,” Hors said. “A king is a male ruler and a queen a female ruler. Some of the problem in this misunderstanding is translation. I am using the words ‘king’ and ‘queen’ only because those are the only words that match what the roles I’m talking about are.

“The highest authority and ruler of a race of the Phay is the King or Queen. Both have absolute authority and power, even having stronger powers in the Elder Magic due to their role. The difference is how involved they are with their race. A king in the Phay divides his or her duties, they usually have a council or chiefs like the Dwarves do. A Queen however rules her people directly laying down the law and overseeing disputes themselves.”

“It sounds like then a Queen has a lot more work and power,” Iounn said surprised.

“Yes and no,” Hors answered. “Both a King and Queen’s law is absolute, so they have the same amount of power over their people. A Queen may have more direct contact with their subjects than a King but they don’t have to settle every problem. I’ve seen the fairies work out problems on their own without ever bringing it to Mab or Titania’s attention. Those of the Phay who only have a Queen tend to be self-sufficient while those with a King dole out responsibilities to certain individuals. Both work, it is just hard to find words in your language that fit this complicated position that our leaders take. Why I fell on those words I don’t really know, I just felt they fit.”

“I see,” Iounn said nodding. “Mab and Titania? There are two Queens of the fairies?”

“They are twins and dreamed the races of the fairies, sprites, and pixies together,” Hors answered. “Some of the races were dreamed by more than one Phay. Mab and Titania rule their people jointly, just as Enfys the King of the Rainbow and Thallo the Queen of the Flowers rule the nymphs jointly.”

Iounn nodded and Darin watched her carefully. She had seemed disturbed by the idea that Donar could have lain with another male. Darin wondered what disturbed her so much. He realized Hors had directed the conversation away from Iounn, to protect her he could tell but he couldn’t understand from what or why.

“So the Kings and Queens of the Phay are not like those of men,” Kree said with a wry grin. “I am glad to hear that since they are seeking to return. The last thing we Rhodin want is another ruler whose head is far too big for the crown they wear.”

“I cannot promise you that,” Hors said with a similar grin. “I can think of several Kings or Queens who think far too much of themselves. But let us go and fetch the current king of Nyrgard and his son so we can humble them in the presence of a giant.”

“Lets,” Kree said with a grin. Iounn only sighed as she and Kree walked away back towards the city.

“It will be several hours until they return,” Donar said. “Liath, you might want to take some rest or eat while they are gone.”

“Please rest,” Zaire said lowly. “I don’t think my ears can take another boulder meal.”

Darin suppressed a laugh at that as Liath nodded slowly.

“I will rest a little,” Liath said. Darin thought he would lie down, but instead he simply closed his eyes and sat like a statue. They sat as well, Hakk going off to get some brush to make a fire. The fire helped keep the chill off, and they sat in the protective shadow of Liath out of the wind. Darin looked over at Zaire huddled in her great fur cloak wondering if she would be up for the challenge of travel despite her claims. He didn’t doubt her will; it was her body and strength he doubted.

As always though his mind eventually returned to Pepper, thinking on where she might be or what she might have been doing. Staring into the smoke of the fire Darin felt his eyes water and vision blur. For a moment he saw something in the smoke, Pepper appearing in the smoke. She was sitting in a forest in a ring of mushrooms; next to her was a woman that looked exactly like her. It must have been Bailey. Across from them sat an old Aldan man, a black and white dog at his side. The vision passed and Darin rubbed his eyes, attributing it to a long day and the desire to see Pepper again.

The King and Roland arrived just at twilight, riding out with a contingent of guards and Iounn with Kree on horseback. They stopped and Sten dismounted, Roland following him. Iounn dismounted, Kree following, and they walked over leaving the guards to hold the horses some distance back. The horses seemed skittish, probably sensing Liath nearby.  

“Well Iounn what is it you and Chief Donar have to show us?” Sten asked when they reached the fireside. Darin looked up at Liath but realized that in the twilight since he sat so still the King had not realized what he was.

“Just this majesty,” Donar answered as he stood and waved at Liath.

“A big rock?” Roland asked. Darin sighed and stood, walking over to Liath and placing his hand on the giant’s arm. His skin felt dry and covered in dirt, thick and wrinkly it hardly felt like a living creature. Liath however felt Darin’s touch and woke, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Sten and Roland.

Both lords gaped in astonishment to see the giant move, Roland reaching for his sword. Iounn stopped him, her hand on his wrist.

“Milords the legends are true in many ways,” Iounn said and Hors stepped out from inside her hair. “There are such things as giants, dwarves, and dragons, and they stand here before you.”

“We came seeking your aid and that has not changed,” Donar said. “Not just for our people but for Daun.”

“Only the costs of this war are far more than you can imagine,” Darin said gravely. “It will be for the fate of all of Miread, the afterlife, and anything beyond even that.”

“An age is coming to an end milords,” Iounn said. “And a new one is beginning.”

“And we need your help to see it begin,” Hors said and both men stared at him to hear him speak. “What say you?”

For a moment Darin feared both men would turn and run for their horses the look of shock on their faces was so compelling. Then Roland recovered, shaking his head. He freed his hand form Iounn’s grip and let go of his sword. He stepped forward and stood before Liath, looking up into the giant’s face.

“When…When I was a lad I always dreamed of fighting your kind,” Roland said hesitantly. Darin translated the words for Liath, Roland nodding to him in thanks. “But I think it even better to have a giant fight for you.”

Liath listened, his head tipping from side-to-side before he answered.

“I will serve my kith and kin,” Liath said darkly. “I do not serve you. We will fight together today, but do not think we will fight together always.”

Darin felt a chill at those words and looked up to see Liath’s eyes glinting with a bit of anger. Darin looked back at Roland to see him looking to Darin for a translation, oblivious of what was said. Darin glanced at Donar who gave the slightest shake of his head. Darin sighed, knowing what he was about to do would one day come to a bad end.

“He says he is honored to fight alongside the men of Nyrgard,” Darin said and Roland beamed. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but Darin knew if they were to have cooperation for the coming war some lies were going to need to be told. He only wished those lies did not result in more battles to come.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Masked Queen

Arc of the Masked Queen

“Five hundred more are moving from the south,” Lucas said as he moved a piece on the map towards the Lirian border. Lucia sat at the side of the great table where a replica of the kingdoms had been set up over a table in the meeting hall of the council of the Kingdoms.

After Varas had left another mage had taken his place as the Dridian representative, Lord Markos Count of Stavros. Two other lords seemed to be missing for this meeting, the Duke of Dubghal and the Duke of the Sleeping Woods. No one seemed concerned, but Lucia hadn’t heard why they were absent. Everyone seemed intent on the map and the numbers the little figures stood for.

“That makes ten thousand marching for the border,” Arian said approvingly. “The supply lines?”

“Are strong majesty,” Lucas said. “We have plenty of winter stores to draw from among the local populace.”

Which was probably their only food and was going to cause a famine this winter, but Lucia did not say this.

“What do the scouts say as they ride the borders?” Arian asked.

“There is no resistance,” Lucas answered. “So far there is no sign of Feng Loe sending out any force against us to defend the borders.”

“There might not be until we march on Shin-Ra,” Arian said. “We have to visit each lord’s castle as we move towards Shin-Ra. Have them hold those places so the Lirian Lords know we are on their side.”

“Yes majesty,” Lucas said. He looked ready to say more when the doors to the meeting hall burst open, banging against the walls with a loud clap. Marching in, flanked by several clerics, was a heavy set Regarian man. He was ageing, his head balding, and he wore travel stained robes of Sol and a chain of the Gold Order. He swept into the room and marched up to the table, slamming his fist down onto the representation of Daun on the map.

“I demand we march on Daun!” the Cleric bellowed, his face bright red.

“Grand Sect Elisha, dear uncle,” Arian said mildly. “What brings you home?”

“Shut up Arian!” Elisha shouted angrily. “I don’t want to beat around the bush with little platitudes. I want blood for this insult upon my person!”

“Explain yourself Elisha,” Arian said calmly. “What insult?”

“That cur that Daun calls a king has banished me from his kingdom,” Elisha said. “This is a direct violation of their treaty and a personal insult to the royal family. I want blood for this insult Arian.”

“When did he banish you?” Arian asked.

“On Isra’s Night,” Elisha answered hotly.

“You must have flogged ten horses to death to get here through winter in three weeks,” Arian said impressed. Elisha’s eyes flashed and Lucia guessed he probably had done just that. “Since you were in such a rush, I take it you have not heard the news.”

“What news?” Elisha asked his eyes glancing down at the table before them.

“Feng Loe has killed Son Rue and lain claim on the Lirian throne,” Arian answered. “He has declared his intent to claim all dominion over the kingdoms. Since my nephew is in line for the Lirian throne I must see to it he is put in his proper place.”

Elisha’s eyes bulged and his face flushed with anger, Lucia thought he looked ready to explode.

“Daun has insulted you Arian by throwing me out,” Elisha said past clenched teeth. “You must answer this insult with force.”

“Daun is a poor kingdom far to the north with little more than measly farmers for warriors. They live spread out in the moors gathering their sheep and staring at the clouds. They are not a threat and we would gain little by crushing them. We share a border with Lir, this threat is far more important than some pathetic farmers to the north.”

“They are in their own corner, if you give them time they will raise an army!” Elisha argued. “The king spoke of it as I left, he means to march south on you. And I heard whispers of discontent from Nyrgard and the Mark as I rode south, the north will unite again against you.”

“The Mark’s fangs have been pulled and I hold a valuable pawn of theirs,” Arian said, and everyone looked at Lucia. Of all the eyes on her the coldest were those of Urtha who looked at her like she was a traitor. She ignored him staring off at the map as if unaware of the eyes upon her.  

“As for Nyrgard they are snowed in until spring, and even then, it would take months for them to gather an army,” Arian said. “I have heard the reports of Sten’s movements, but he has yet to move openly against me. He is wise enough to keep his head down. After I make an example of Lir I believe the other kingdoms will not ever think of rebellion.”

“Really?” Elisha said. “Then where is the Daunish lord for your council?”

Everyone turned then to the empty chair and seemed to reconsider that.

“Send someone to look for the Lord Dubghal,” Arian ordered the page. “And the Lord Roth Ai.”

“You see nephew if you do not keep the rats in their place, they begin to rise up against you,” Elisha said as the page fled from the room. He looked at Lucia and then Urtha who glared back at him.

“Have you two heard the latest news from Warren?” Elisha asked as if bating them. “They say the wall has been rebuilt completely without flaw.”

Lucia was surprised and let it show as she had not heard this news. It was heartening, she had lived in Warren long enough to know the strain that had caused on the people of the city there.

“How?” Urtha said just as surprised.

“I have been hunting two witches who tried to kill me,” Elisha said. “It was these two who have healed the wall. I have no doubt they put a greater curse over the city, soon it will be a city of the dead from the plague, like a rotten piece of fruit.”

“How could healing the wall be a curse?” Urtha asked and Elisha’s eyes flashed.

“So, you deny the words of the Gods and ally yourself with these witches?” Elisha asked.

“Elisha,” Arian said sharply. “What did King Lonna do with these witches?”

“He banished them from the Mark when he should have captured them and turned them over to the Sect,” Elisha said.

“That hardly sounds like the Mark has turned their backs against the gods,” Urtha said.

“In these times where heresy is rife through the kingdoms, we cannot be lenient on those who are even close to turning away from the gods,” Elisha said fervently.

“King Lonna is simply keeping his neutrality in this matter,” Lucia said. “We of the Mark have not lost our way from the Gods. You have no proof my father meant anything overt by letting these witches go.”

“You think so?” Elisha said. “Then what of the rumors that these witches are also the lost princesses of the Alvar line?”

Silence met the snide remark for a beat before Arian laughed. Lucia stared at him surprised, she hardly ever heard him laugh.

“So, what if they are Elisha?” Arian said grinning. “They would need to gain the support of the kingdoms behind them to gain power. The Sect would be against them, Lir has declared war, and all others are committed to my reign. Their claim is weak at best, and few will raise their hand even if they had these two to rally behind. Lonna made it clear the Mark will not support their claim by throwing them out rather than keeping them.

“Right now, we must concentrate our efforts on Lir who has declared war openly, not those who have only raised minor slights against us.”

Before Elisha could argue more the page returned alone and bowed to the king who motioned him to speak.

“The Lord Dubghal is gone majesty,” the page said. “He and his household left two nights ago in the middle of the night, no one knows where he has gone.”

“See!” Elisha crowed.

“Silence Elisha or I will have your tongue cut out,” Arian said coldly. “And Roth Ai?”

“He is gone home as well, but he left a letter,” the page said holding out the letter. Arian took it and opened the letter, reading over the letter.

“Roth Ai claims he is near death and is seeking his rest among his family,” Arian said folding the letter. “He states he will send a replacement when he returns to the Court of Dreams and inform the Queen of our predicament with Lir.”

“This is even more suspicious than Dubghal!” Elisha argued. “How on earth does he know he is about to die?”

“The Aldan have always been mysterious,” Lord Markos said mildly. “The Lord Roth Ai has been near death for twenty years now; I am not surprised he went home to seek his kin.”

“It is an excuse to warn Alda that Regis is vulnerable while they wage war with Lir!” Elisha shouted. “Alda has always been our greatest enemy and threat.”

“Elisha, that is enough,” Arian said frostily. “If I were to follow your advice, I would have to wage war from Daun to Lir.”

“Yes!” Elisha raved. “Stain the lands with blood and all shall bow to the Regarian throne!”

“I will move at my own time,” Arian said calmly. “It is this blood lust that has driven past Regarian kings into ruin. Elisha, return to Menfer, you must face the High Sects there to see if you were the one in the wrong in Daun. Either way you have failed your charges and must face the judgement of the High Sects on this matter.”

“I will not…”

“This is an order Elisha!” Arian roared and everyone flinched. “Go now Elisha,” Arian said dangerously lowly. Elisha glared at him and for a moment it was a struggle of wills. At last Elisha bowed and left the room with little more preamble.

“Sherah,” Arian said, and his sister stood. “Who do you have set up as spies in the Court of Ages?”

“No one,” Sherah answered. “I had counted on Elisha to keep that court in line.”

“See if you can get someone planted then,” Arian said. “And make sure to keep an eye on Tyr and Lonna.”

“Yes majesty,” Sherah said.

“Lord Urtha, Lord Borr,” Arian said, and both lords flinched. “You will do best to write letters to your kings telling them of this latest news and my displeasure at anyone who thinks to challenge the throne. Have them keep an eye out for the Lord Dubghal and on their borders.”

“Yes majesty,” Lord Borr said lowly.

“Remind them why the alliance of the kingdoms was formed,” Arian said. “If the High King falls then so do the Kingdoms back to war and darkness back to the Cursed Ages. We do not want that to happen again.”

“No majesty,” Urtha said cowed.

“You are all dismissed,” Arian said sounding pained. “Go, I have matters to discuss with my sister.”

The lords stood and left with bows. Lucia stood and Sherah waved her away so she bowed to the king and left. She walked off alone until she left the hall and was joined by Bedivere as usual.

“Was Elrik not at the meeting milady?” Bedivere asked as he followed her, the other lords going their own way. “I would think meetings of war would be his favorite.”

“Once he realized most of what was discussed involved food and horses and not the maiming of their enemies, he went to oversee the troops,” Lucia answered calmly. “He has been bashing in heads of knights who fear to raise their blades to him.”

“He will want to march to war,” Bedivere said.

“The High King will not allow that,” Lucia said knowing Arian well. “Even if I hold Elrik’s heir the child could die, or only be a girl. He will not let Elrik risk his life until the line is more secure.”

“Arian has other children,” Bedivere said.

“A bastard and a daughter,” Lucia said. “The legality of the heir of the High Throne is complex and the one with the most direct legitimate line has always been favored. Bastards have been forbidden to take the high throne or any of the thrones in the Nine Kingdoms; it was expressly made illegal in the early 200’s after a civil war nearly tore Lir apart. The throne can be claimed by a new family and recognized by the High King, but a bastard cannot take the throne unless the parent acknowledges them as the heir.”

“But the law can be ignored if one has enough power,” Bedivere said mildly. “It has been done before.”

Lucia was sure history was rife with those who had stolen the throne of a kingdom with force alone, Lir and Xin had a history of that. But she didn’t feel like getting into a historical debate, so she let the matter drop. She had started to find Bedivere had a strong political mind and that sometimes crossed into the realms of history and law. Lucia remembered something then and turned to Bedivere.

“You are not of the Iron Order, are you?” Lucia asked.

“I am of the Steel Order milady,” Bedivere corrected. “Only the Holy Knights are members of the Steel Order. A member of the Sect can be only dedicated to one of the orders.”

“And only to one god,” Lucia said. “Why then do the Knights often wear Sol’s symbol when you serve Mavors?”

“Mavors is only a Demi God and as such cannot have dedicates that are solely his,” Bedivere said. “If one is to be a full Cleric one has to swear themselves to one of the Gods. Most Holy Knights pledge themselves to Sol as he is Mavors’ father.”

“Most but not all?” Lucia asked.

“There are some from Nyrgard who pledge to Tempest and become wandering knights,” Bedivere answered. “Actually, many of Tempest’s clerics are members of the Steel Order as well.”

Lucia nodded and kept walking, thinking now. She had paid little attention to the Sect since she had been Jeanne’s replacement, probably because she had paid little attention when she had been a peasant. Yet they were a force of power in the kingdom, maybe it was time she learn a bit more about them and how they worked.

The thought of the Sect reminded Lucia then that she had not one but two clerics in her service, and that she had neglected one. Since Marie had stopped following her around Lucia had thought this a good thing, but she suddenly wondered why she had stopped. When Lucia reached the women’s wing and left Bedivere behind she walked quietly down the hall to Jeanne’s rooms.

There were several ways to enter Jeanne’s rooms, one through the sitting room which Lucia used regularly. Another way was through the servant quarters, which Jeanne would never have used. Lucia went in through this entrance, peeking in first. No one was inside the little hall so she slipped in. She checked all the rooms and found them empty; the only ones that were occupied now were Bryony’s and Marie’s. Neither was in their rooms which Lucia found unsettling.

She walked on and peeked into the sitting room. There she saw Marie crouched before Jeanne’s door listening. Lucia almost leaped out and attacked the woman but held herself back. Instead she softly closed the door and walked back out. She entered though the sitting room to find Marie was gone, having heard her approach and entrance. Lucia went to Jeanne’s room to find Jeanne sitting alone reading.

“How did the meeting go?” Jeanne asked closing her book.

“Well milady,” Lucia said covering her concern. “Where is Bryony?”

“On an errand,” Jeanne said. “I should get more servants to help her out.”

“I will see to that milady,” Lucia said.

“Good, now tell me about the war council,” Jeanne said. Lucia had been informing Jeanne of the King’s decisions, and Lucia wondered if Jeanne in turn was writing to her father about this. It hardly mattered; Sherah said that spies from the other kingdoms were in the court doing the same thing. If there was anything that Arian wanted to keep secret he wouldn’t have let Lucia know.

“I’m going to write my father about this,” Jeanne said grimly when Lucia finished.

“Yes milady,” Lucia said.

“What no objection?” Jeanne said.

“Arian already ordered Urtha to write a letter if you wish to write one as well, I see no reason not to,” Lucia answered. “And I have a pressing teatime that I must attend to milady.”

“Of course, go ahead,” Jeanne said as she turned to her desk and started to pull out some paper and pen. “One thing I do not miss is teatime.”

“Thank you, milady,” Lucia said with a bow. She left Jeanne’s bedroom, Marie still nowhere to be seen. Lucia did not have a teatime with anyone, but now she did and was determined to find who she sought.

Walking out of Jeanne’s rooms and the women’s quarters Bedivere followed her without comment. Lucia knew though he would object when he found out where she was going. Sherah had taught her much about the Court of Miracles, including how to find and hire an assassin. She felt a slight pang at the thought of Seth and wondered what it would have been like to learn things of the court from him. They had only had those brief moments of flirtation, and hints at something that could have been very deep between them. They had both endured pain in their lives and sought to relieve that pain in another’s arms.

Lucia shook off thoughts of a man that had once held her love and walked on. There were many gathering places for those in court where courtiers could meet and talk. Lucia headed to one of the sitting rooms, where nobles milled about over tea and stronger drinks gossiping. Men and women mingled here it was one of the few places that were public to both genders. With Bedivere at her side Lucia felt comfortable walking up and sitting down at a table across from the man she sought.

The Marque de Carabas Jacque Basille looked surprised as Lucia sat across from him. He carefully set down the glass of brandy he had been sipping and leaned onto the table. Lucia waved Bedivere off to stand far enough away that he could not eavesdrop.

“Well met Lady Jeanne,” he said smoothly. “What brings the great Princess of Cair Leon to my office?”

“I wish to know everyone in my court Lord Basille,” Lucia answered smoothly. A servant hurried forward and Lucia turned to the man. “A cup of tea if you would, extra cream.”

The servant bowed and hurried to prepare her drink.

“No one comes to me simply to get to know me,” Jacque said mildly.

“No, I suppose not,” Lucia said. “But I would like to discuss business in a more private setting. But let us finish our drinks first.”

The servant returned just at that moment and set a cup of tea before her, the man bowing before leaving again. Lucia took the fine china cup and drank the fragrant tea, savoring the warmth it brought her.

“I believe every servant in the palace knows the way I like my tea,” Lucia said mildly setting her cup down on its saucer. “I think all I would have to say is tea and they would get it perfect.”

“Indeed,” Jacque said his eyes narrow. He was a shrewd man Lucia could see he was Regarian after all. “I hope though you have more stimulating conversation other than tea milady.”

“Perhaps a man named Seth?” Lucia asked, but Jacque didn’t even twitch an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the name.”

“Of course, he did go by several names. Grey was one I know, Cain another, when we first met, he introduced himself as Hollow Jack.”

Jacque laughed and took a sip from his brandy. Lucia took another drink as well, waiting for Jacque to stop laughing.

“That crazy bastard was always such a wise ass,” Jacque said shaking his head. “So, I take it you want to know about your would-be assassin milady? And wish him dead?”

“I already know who hired him and I have nothing to fear from him,” Lucia answered. “I may know more about him than you do.”

“Indeed,” Jacque said his gaze knowing. Lucia didn’t care if he thought Jeanne had an affair with an assassin; he had no proof and so wouldn’t gossip. Sherah said that Jacque also knew many secrets of the court, yet he never revealed anything he knew. He had built a reputation as a middleman, and middle men had to keep secrets if they wanted to get clients.

“Though I believe you know a few things about this man that I do not,” Lucia said. “I would like to hear about him from one of his friends.”

“Friends?” Jacque said doubtfully.

“Coworkers then,” Lucia said, and Jacque laughed again.

“I can see why he would like you milady,” Jacque said and then grew serious. “I can see very well. He was the type that hated killing.”

“An assassin that hates killing?” Lucia said puzzled. Seth had never seemed like he hated killing, she had seen him kill; he did it with business like precision.

“Many don’t last long in our work,” Jacques answered. “Either their work catches up on them or they burn out and commit suicide. Some get away but living normal lives only makes it worse and they look for a short stop by a long rope. In Grey’s case it was the former.”

“So, I heard,” Lucia said sadly.

“I am sorry milady,” Jacques said sounding sincere. “Grey was a professional, I think he liked to do things in an odd way just to alleviate some of his guilt. Making things interesting made it easier for him to do the deed. He is like many of us, those who fell into the life of violence and kept committing atrocities until they realized it was too late to turn back. To stop means death because to stop means facing those ghosts we made. He hated killing, but he had gone so far that there was no turning back.”

Lucia sat staring at this man who understood Seth better than she ever could.

“So, he sought to adopt wounded animals to help alleviate this guilt?” Lucia said softly.

“Many of us do the same,” Jacque said with a shrug. “I myself have a wife and two daughters. We all seek ways to make life worth living, just to keep our minds away from seeking death. When one is so close to death, when we deal in it, we know death can be just around the corner.”

“I see,” Lucia said looking down at her cup of tea.

“I think he saw you much like his animals,” Jacque said. “Abused and vulnerable, he would have done anything for you.”

“He left me,” Lucia said coolly meeting Jacque’s eyes. “He left when I may have needed him most.”

Jacque finished off his drink and Lucia watched him waiting for a response.

“So, you want answers then?” Jacque said. “You do not know why he left, and you hoped I would. He didn’t tell me anything.”

“No but you seem to understand him better than most,” Lucia said.

“No one can know another’s heart,” Jacque answered. “But I can guess. You kept your relation to Elrik, not that he would have been jealous. No, I think you staying in Elrik’s bed was equivalent to asking Grey to be tied to a post while a dog was beaten to death before him. He would have killed Elrik before long and gotten himself a death sentence.”

Lucia could no longer meet his eyes because she knew he was right. It was more complicated than that, she had volunteered to go into Elrik’s bed. Before sorrow could overwhelm her she took her tea cup and finished off the tea.

“I believe I am ready now to discuss business Lord Basille,” Lucia said mildly and stood. Jacque stood as well and followed her out of the sitting room. Lucia led the way through the halls and stopped in an open hallway. Only Bedivere had followed them and other than a servant sweeping down the hall no one was in sight. No one was within ear shot.

“A little open,” Jacque said.

“I’d like to see my spy’s milord,” Lucia answered. “And a spy is the one I have a problem with.”

“If you want a spy dead then you should get to know what they have learned before you kill them,” Jacque said. “That costs extra I’m afraid.”

“I do not need to know what they know because if my spy had told my secrets I would no longer be alive,” Lucia answered. If Marie had found out that Lucia was posing as Jeanne, she would not have kept that to herself.

“Don’t you want to know who hired your spy?” Jacque asked.

“No, I know I have many enemies,” Lucia said.

“That is careless of you milady,” Jacque said. “You should not leave your enemies afield.”

“My enemies include my own husband Lord Basille,” Lucia answered. “Like it or not I am living in the lion’s den. I just need to make sure that my enemies do not learn my secrets and I can survive.”

“Point well taken,” Jacque said. “So, who is your spy?”

“Sect Marie de Lorue,” Lucia answered but Jacque didn’t even blink. “That won’t be a problem will it?”

“Of course not,” Jacque said. “Is there any particular way you want her to die? Would you like to send a message or keep it quiet?”

“I do not want her employer to know she is gone,” Lucia said. “However, you can make it happen, just make her disappear.”

“Very well,” Jacque said. “Now to the matter of price…”

Lucia reached into her pocket and took out a necklace of diamonds.

“Your fee and the reaper’s,” Lucia said mildly.

“Thank you, milady but there is president,” Jacque said. “I do not give change.”

“Then think it a bribe to keep your mouth shut,” Lucia said.

“Lady Jeanne I am a professional,” Jacque said offended. Lucia sighed and stepped forward, pressing the necklace into Jacque’s hand as she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. She felt a dagger at her throat and looked up at Jacque with mild amusement.

“Then think this as a gift from a woman to her dead lover,” Lucia said. “Just think this as a token from me to his memory.”

Jacque stared at her for a heartbeat before withdrawing his dagger and taking the necklace. He bowed to her extravagantly before taking her hand and kissing it.

“You are a woman worthy of kings Lady Jeanne,” Jacque said.

“And you are a dangerous man Lord Basille,” Lucia said. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you; I look forward to doing business again.”

“Yes milady,” Jacque said. “Will you need confirmation?”

“No, I do not need to know what is to come of her,” Lucia answered. “I just want her gone.”

“Very well milady,” Jacque said. “Until next time.”

“Good day Lord Basille,” Lucia said as she turned and walked away. Bedivere joined her as she walked down the hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Do you know who that man is milady?” Bedivere asked.

“Yes, do you?” Lucia asked glancing at Bedivere. He looked away and she knew he did. “Do you disapprove Sir Bedivere?”

“That depends,” Bedivere said. “What name did you just give him?”

“Sect Marie de Lorue,” Lucia answered, and she saw Bedivere’s surprise.

“Milady she is your own Sect!” Bedivere said. “Why?”

“She was spying on me,” Lucia answered. “I will not have her learning my secrets.”

“Milady do you really have such secrets that will cost a woman her life?” Bedivere said horrified. Lucia stopped and turned to him and Bedivere met her eyes evenly. She realized she could not keep up the lie anymore with this man; he was too sharp and lived in her shadow. If he learned the truth on his own, he may betray her.

“I do,” Lucia said calmly. “A secret that holds my life, my child’s, and the Lady Jeanne’s in the balance.”

Bedivere looked confused for a moment before his eyes cleared in horrified understanding. He seemed to go through several stages of shock, denial, and anger in a few heartbeats before calming to a cold certainty.

“I gave my oath, and I am a man of my oath,” he said softly at last. “I am right in saying that to reveal this will take Jeanne’s life?”

“Yes,” Lucia said calmly. “I am her shield, practically her replacement at this point. I bear the child she should have born had Elrik not mutilated her.”

“I see,” Bedivere said sounding sick.

“Do you wish to see Jeanne to confirm this?” Lucia asked.

“No,” Bedivere said shaking his head. “All my life I have sought to serve a noble lady that would be worthy of my loyalty. I found that in you, only to learn you are not what you seem.”

“I am sorry Bedivere,” Lucia said regretful and worried.

“No, I am glad to serve you milady,” Bedivere said taking her hand and bowing to her. “I just need time to adjust my thinking. You are the one I was meant to serve, I protect the protector. I serve you milady.”

“Thank you Bedivere,” Lucia said moved.

“If I may ask milady, what is your name?” Bedivere asked.

“Lucia but let us leave it at that. I am Jeanne to you and must always be Jeanne.”

“Yes milady,” Bedivere said. Lucia did not want him to know she was only a peasant, she wasn’t sure he could swallow that.

“You understand then why Marie must die,” Lucia said.

“Yes milady,” Bedivere said. “I withdraw my objection.”

“Very well,” Lucia said. “Come, I must return to my rooms, I will leave you then to adjust your thoughts. And Bedivere, you understand what will happen should you reveal my secret.”

“Yes milady,” Bedivere said with another bow.

“Good,” Lucia said before she turned away back down the hall.

The next day Marie was nowhere to be found. Her things were still in her room, but there was no sign where she had gone. Lucia didn’t report her missing until a few days later, but nothing much was said on the matter. Another Sect came and cleared out Marie’s things and that seemed the end of it until another Sect approached Lucia one night at dinner.

“Princess Jeanne.”

Lucia turned to see the Grand Sect of Regis standing at her elbow. The man was a Sect of Cael, wearing Cael’s circle as well as the iron token of the Order of Iron. Lucia of course knew Sect Ichabod; he had been giving the sermons for the court. He was a tall thin Regarian man, his face lean and lips thin.  

“Sect Ichabod,” Lucia said bowing her head to him. “How may I help you?”

“It has come to my attention milady that your personal Sect Marie is no longer in your service,” Ichabod said mildly. “I am neglectful in my spiritual duties to both the gods and you to let this pass without finding you a replacement milady.”

“I’m afraid I have to refuse Sect,” Lucia said mildly. “I did not get along well with Marie; she did little for me and never helped me in my spiritual matters. You were the one who chose her were you not Sect?”

“Not personally, the gods chose her,” Ichabod answered his eyes narrow.

“The gods are wise, but perhaps Marie was not as skilled as they had thought,” Lucia said. “I wish to choose my own Sect; one that I can get along with better if that is alright with the gods.”

The look on Ichabod’s face said that it was not alright at all. But Lucia knew he didn’t have the power to force her.

“I will have to discuss it with the gods,” Ichabod said. “And the king.”

“Of course,” Lucia said unconcerned and saw Ichabod flinch. “I would love to discuss this with my dear father-in-law.”

She watched the man squirm under her gaze knowing very well she made an enemy in doing so. She was enjoying this power play however, and Ichabod backed down first.

“I will consult the gods, milady,” Ichabod said with a bow and he left.

So, Lucia had found out who had employed Marie as a spy. Ichabod probably hadn’t had any real motives in setting a spy on Lucia, probably all personal Sects spied on their lords at his behest. Lucia had just upset one of the natural order of networking in the court. But she couldn’t risk the truth coming out to keep Ichabod comfortable in his place. Now Ichabod was onto her however, he knew she had something to hide and she had belittled him.

Lucia however was looking forward to what he had in store and bringing the man down a few notches. He would soon learn she was not someone he could mess with. For a moment Lucia contemplated this ruthless and reckless nature. It was new to her she knew, but not fresh. The Court of Miracles had hardened her, and Lucia knew this was needed if she was to survive.

She still did weekly visits out into the city and her popularity was growing. In Whore’s Ward the whores absolutely adored her to the point that many had started to copy her appearance. Lucia had heard that the price for a Markian girl had gone up and many whores had died their hair black to be like her. Lucia supposed this was a compliment; she certainly enjoyed seeing more Markian style dresses among the whores.  

The thieves of Rogue Town still avoided her passing, some ignoring her out right. Many of the prisoners of the Hanged Man Quarter still sang her name, and the people of Poor Man’s Paradise still loved the food she handed out. Odd Terminal had gotten used to her passing and now traffic moved smoothly aware of when she would be passing through.

Lucia wasn’t sure if this had any effect on the Legion, but their presence seemed lesser in the city. There had been no riots of late and the curfew was obeyed. Sherah though had passed on little information about going on. Sherah’s attention seemed to be on the coming war, with Arian whose whole attention was on conquering Lir. There were thousands of details that had to be seen to, Lucia was amazed at the two siblings who took charge of Regis.

The war meetings weren’t changing much with the reports they were getting in. It had been two weeks since they had started into Lir and the army had moved like a great lumbering beast. They had started to encounter resistance.

“It seems Loe finally grew a spine,” Elrik said suppressing a yawn. Arian had finally gotten Elrik to attend the war meetings, but he fell asleep often.

“Or he finally got a decent number of men from the lords,” Arian said dryly and looked to Sherah. His sister nodded to him and shuffled through her papers.

“I have several reports, but most agree that Loe is holding relatives of the lords at Shin-Ra,” Sherah said. “Those that do not have relative’s as hostages have been visited by death.”

“So he is killing the nobles that would resist him,” Elrik said with a grin.

“No nephew,” Sherah said mildly. “Death is the name they have given to Loe’s assassin.”

Lucia felt a stir of hope and looked at Sherah for confirmation, but the noble woman wouldn’t look at her.

“A lone assassin?” Arian said puzzled.

“This man seems to have been granted some mage enchantments or some other power that Loe commands because he is able to get into any castle and capture the head of the lord residing there. He kills any one in his path and cannot be killed. He is said to be the one that slew Son Rue, and he wears the mask of Death from Lirian plays. No one knows anything about him except that he seems almost inhuman. None of my spies have managed to get close to him, it seems he never sleeps. He doesn’t partake in whores or any other recreation, so it is hard to gather information on him.”

Lucia let her hope go, she could not know this man was Seth despite the instinct that told her he might be. Besides this man was working for Loe who was her enemy.

“So this man is Loe’s bully boy,” Arian said. “Well the method worked, he got four thousand men to meet our army.”

“Have they been crushed yet?” Elrik said and Arian glared at his son with distain.

“No Elrik the armies have only engaged in a few tentative attacks,” Arian said.

“Why?” Elrik asked petulantly. “They’ve been there for weeks now!”

“They have only been there for a week Elrik and that is what a majority of battle are about, waiting,” Arian said. “That four thousand are currently holding Kon Fort.”

“So just go around it!” Elrik shouted slamming his fist down on the map table toppling a few pieces over. Lucia had learned to watch Arian well and instinctively put her arms over her belly protectively. Arian went from his cool calm to hot anger in a blink of an eye. He leaned over the table and hit Elrik with the back of his hand sending his son tumbling to the floor. The gathered lords flinched but made no move to help the young prince up.

“I taught you better than that Elrik,” Arian said his voice as hard as stone. Elrik glared at his father as he got back up and into his chair. “You cannot leave a fort to your back. But I will not wait for a long siege; we do not have the supplies for it. It will take time to break the fort however. We need to…”

Whatever Arian was going to say he stopped as a messenger hurried in. The man was Lirian, covered in road dust, and limping. Instead of going to Arian he went to Sherah and feel at her feet kneeling. Sherah spoke to him in Lirian, and he responded rapidly. Lucia looked to Lord Gan Wu who was leaning forward to listen. His face showed a look of confusion and shock, Sherah’s taking on the same look. The messenger finished and Sherah dismissed him.

“Who was that?” Elrik asked.

“One of the spies I had in Lir,” Sherah answered quietly. “He reports an army is moving from Shin-Ra to the border.”

“An army?” Arian said puzzled.

“An army of monsters,” Sherah answered. “They came from the east and they call themselves Orcs. They are man eaters and hardly look human.”

“I’m interested in numbers Sherah,” Arian said dryly.

“Sixty thousand,” Sherah answered and Arian’s eyes flashed.

“You trust this man to tell the truth,” Arian said.

“Yes Arian I do,” Sherah said. “He said he had to flog two horses to death to get the news here before the Orcs, they seem to move swiftly.”

“We will have to move up some things then,” Arian said mildly.

“What?” Lord Wu said. “That is all you have to say? The size of that army alone can crush the force you have at the border.”

“And I can summon ten times that from the countryside,” Arian said mildly. “I think you forget that I am the High King. I have only drawn on the Holy Knights of the Sect, there are still far more resources at my disposal Lord Wu, and I would like for you to remember that.”

“What are you going to do then?” Lord Wu asked.

“Lord Lev,” Arian said turning to the representative of Xin. “Send a message to your brother. I would like an army of mercenaries sent through the passes of the Spine Mountains.”

“That maybe hard majesty,” Lev answered.

“Why? It should be the wet season in the desert now,” Arian said. “The passes through the Spine should be clear.”

“Yes, but the rains have not come,” Lev answered. “So, I’ve been told. And there is the danger of Zar Ne Zar. We cannot spare many men.”

“I am not asking for Evalon’s soldiers,” Arian said. “But for the nomad mercenaries. Talk to those horse people and send them north.”

“The Horse Lords do not come cheap majesty,” Lev said.

“Do I look like I am pressed for money?” Arian said crossly. “Arrange it Lev or I’ll have one of your other brothers come here and feed you to my bear.”

“Yes majesty,” Lev said miserably.

“Good,” Arian said. “Brago, I don’t want any smart remark from you. Go to your king and see if you can get any sort of organized force out of Hyria and report back.”

“Yes majesty,” Brago answered, wisely keeping to a meek answer. Arian was obviously in a foul mood given this recent news.

“Sherah, I’m placing you in charge while I’m gone,” Arian said.

“Great!” Elrik said excited. “When are we going to battle?”

“You’re staying here Elrik,” Arian said glaring at his son.

“What?” Elrik said outraged. “Then why is Sherah in charge?”

“Because no one can read Bart’s handwriting,” Arian answered and Elrik flushed at the insult. Black Bart was asleep in the corner; he was a fairly lazy bear actually. Elrik looked ready to argue when Arian stood up. He didn’t lift a hand against his son but standing over him glaring Lucia could see Elrik shrink back from his father.

“You will stay here and obey your aunt in all regards Elrik,” Arian said. “Try to learn from her because if you don’t, I’m naming Anton my heir.”

“You can’t do that!” Elrik shouted.

“Watch me Elrik,” Arian said icily. “Now leave all of you, I have orders for Sherah while I am off to battle.”

Lucia stood and left, Elrik falling into step next to her. Bedivere was close behind, his hand resting on his sword.

“Relax knight I’m not going to do anything,” Elrik said glaring at Bedivere. “Back up.”

“Go on Sir Bedivere,” Lucia said calmly. “I’ll shout if I need you.”

“Yes milady,” Bedivere said falling back to let Lucia walk with Elrik alone.

“Well Elrik I’m ready for your temper tantrum,” Lucia said mildly. “Go on.”

“I’m not a child Jeanne,” Elrik said frowning.

“Then don’t act like one,” Lucia answered.

“I didn’t follow you to argue Jeanne,” Elrik said heatedly. “I want your help in getting rid of my father.”

“First I think that is a very bad idea and would never aid you in such an endeavor,” Lucia answered. “And second why would you even need my help?”

“I want you to hire the assassin so it cannot be traced back to me,” Elrik answered. “Sherah is very sharp and if she found out that I was behind my father’s death she would be sure to make Anton king instead. Since she has her spy network, she has a lot of assassins as well. She would kill me and put Anton on the throne if she found out I am behind my father’s death.”

“No Elrik I’m not helping you kill your father,” Lucia said firmly. “He’s going to war, he might die in battle.”

“Not my father,” Elrik said sounding both proud and angry at the same time. “He won’t ever be in battle and if he is he is strong enough to defend himself. I’ve seen him in a few sparing matches, he’s a great warrior.”

Lucia for the first time saw through Elrik and stopped in her tracks in astonishment. He was a boy, a small boy trapped in the shadow of his father. He wanted his father to acknowledge him, so he imitated what he thought of him. Elrik was little better than a toddler wearing his father’s boots that were far too big for him.

“Elrik he is your father and I know he aggravates you, but you cannot let him get to you,” Lucia said soothingly. “Rise above his opinion of you and prove yourself to be the king you will be.”

Elrik stared at her astonished and maybe looked at her truly for the first time. She saw some of his anger and hatred for her melt a little and he stepped closer to her. She lowered her eyes and he kissed her, for once gently. They parted, Elrik stroking her cheek.

“I will be a great king,” he said lowly, his fingers trailing down to her throat. His grip tightened slightly, not enough to bruise or cause pain, but the pressure was a threat. “And you remember that you are my queen, under me and only for birthing me many sons.”

“Yes milord,” Lucia said softly. “What of your father?”

“I won’t lower myself to be a patricide,” Elrik said sounding bored. “He’ll need me for battle soon enough.”

“Yes milord,” Lucia said.

Elrik let her go and walked away, Lucia giving a sigh of relief.

“Are you alright milady?” Bedivere asked coming up to her side.

“I’m fine, we were just sharing a few sweet words,” Lucia answered and Bedivere snorted with distain.

“Does he know milady?” Bedivere asked. “Is that why he mistreats you?”

“No, he is just cruel,” Lucia answered glaring after Elrik. “Come let us go, I have tea time with the queen.”

“Yes milady,” Bedivere said following her.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Lonely Astronomer

Zaire sighed heavily as she put her quill down to sit up and stretch her arms over her head. She looked up around herself still surprised to find herself here. She was in the King’s study, sitting at a great oak table strewed with star maps. Astrolabes, sextants, and compasses weighed down the parchments and scrolls, fine instruments of great worth but little use until Zaire had held them. Some of the charts had been Nyrgardic, but many more had come from Lir and Dridia. Many were old and out of date, but that was almost what Zaire needed for her calculations.

None were as old to depict the last time the Hunter rose in the sky, but they still recorded the movement of the stars enough to serve Zaire’s purpose. She had been at it a week now and was getting close to the answer that Iounn had pressed her for. Zaire sat staring at the papers before her afraid suddenly. What would Iounn do with her once she was done? After seeing the Court of Legends Zaire realized she had been lucky to earn even a small commission from Iounn. Her skills as an astronomer and a mage would not be in much demand here, especially her poor skills as a mage.

The sound of the door opening drove such thoughts from her mind. Zaire turned to see Iounn herself enter, her gray cat hidden in her great mane of golden hair. Iounn was a beautiful woman, a tall and voluptuous figure that had most men’s eyes stray. Her features were even and noble, clear blue eyes as striking as the sky. She moved and spoke with a confidence that was almost secondary nature.

“Still at it I see,” Iounn said with a kind smile.

“Yes milady,” Zaire said. Iounn nodded and went to the many large book shelves along the wall. She came often to read the many tombs that resided here, some Nyrgardic texts but many more were Aldan, Lirian, or even Regarian. Iounn took down an Aldan volume and joined Zaire at the table, opening the book and starting to read.

“What do you research?” Zaire asked. Unlike the books from the Tower of Balal these here were not enchanted so they could be read in any language. Instead they had been painstakingly translated; all the books and scrolls here were written in Nyrgardic. Zaire had needed help at first understanding some of what she read since she did not have the power to cast the translation sigil. Since most of what she was reading was simply the names of stars and times they had appeared it didn’t take her long to grasp what she needed to read. However, she still couldn’t read the books of the library with the more complex language of the Nyrgardic tongue. Zaire was glad she spoke the trade tongue fluently.

“Old stories,” Iounn answered. “Do you like reading history?”

“No, I’ve never taken much of an interest in history,” Zaire answered. She wanted to ask more, but she feared angering Iounn. She wasn’t just an intimidating woman; Zaire sensed there were secrets Iounn wasn’t going to tell Zaire until she was sure she could trust Zaire. Like her reason for wanting to know about the Rise of the Hunter, there was a mystery there. But as long as Iounn was sheltering Zaire for free, she dared not cross her.    

Staring at her Zaire noticed the eyes of the cat staring at her from the cover of Iounn’s hair. She could see little of the animal hidden as it was, though Zaire had gotten the impression of gray fur and a cat’s grace. Its eyes were gold with hints of silver through them, seeming like coins almost. She had never gotten a good look at it other than a flitting gray shadow, but cats could be unnerving like that.

“How go the calculations?” Iounn asked not looking up from her book.

“Well,” Zaire said swallowing a lump in her throat. “I am sorry it has taken me so long, I needed to get used to these charts and the language.”

“Take your time,” Iounn said kindly. “Isra’s Night is a few days away; you should take a break and enjoy the festivities. What do Dridians do for Isra’s Night?”

“It is one of the few god’s days we celebrate,” Zaire answered. “Most use it as a chance to test and show off a glamor. I… I was never powerful enough to make a glamor so my parents used to make one for me. After they were gone I stopped celebrating.”

“Glamor?” Iounn asked.

“A type of sigil used to hide, change, disguise, or alter one’s appearance,” Zaire answered automatically defining the sigil. “It differs from a beauty sigil as it can change any aspect, to make a person ugly or beautiful. They are often drawn upon a talisman or amulet of some kind so they can be removed and worn like clothing. Some can be so powerful to make a person look like an animal or change the appearance of their size or build. However, they are only illusions, if they are touched often the illusion is ruined and the truth revealed.”

“I see, it sounds like the costumes of Dridia would be the most fantastic,” Iounn said.

“It depends on what is in fashion,” Zaire answered. “When I was a child, animals were in fashion, making it appear as though one had the ears of a cat or a dog’s tail. I’ve heard the fashion now is disguise, how much one can make themselves look like another person. What masks do you wear in Nyrgard?”

“Mostly ones that can be adapted into armor,” Iounn said. “Men wear helms with a mask covering sometimes. It is the helm that is more fearsome, they add horns or antlers onto the helms to appear like beasts to scare spirits.”

“And the women?” Zaire asked.

“Sometimes the same as the men, though some wear tin half masks polished like a mirror. I have a mask for you already since I was not sure what kind of mask Dridians wore.”

“Thank you,” Zaire said. “But I am not sure I will go.”

She had avoided people as much as she could when she had gotten here. She was afraid they would learn her secrets since she was well aware she was a poor liar. She still remembered being introduced to the Court of Legends, the noise of the men had nearly made her run. She had never known Nyrgarders could be so loud, and everyone went about with weapons even the women had daggers. Zaire was not used to people and as soon as she could leave, she had returned to Iounn’s rooms and had not returned.

“Is that really what you want?” Iounn asked. “It will be quite the celebration. There will be a feast and drinking, songs to the dead and battles gone past.”

Zaire hesitated then, Iounn’s tone had been kind and she made it sound like fun though Zaire wasn’t interested much in songs or feasting. Part of her felt like it would be wrong of her to have fun while Xavier was dead.

“It is the night to honor the dead with life of our own,” Iounn continued as if sensing her thoughts. “Mourning takes many forms; you do not have to always sit in a corner weeping. Often Isra’s Night is the night where those who have lost someone recently may mourn those they lost so that they move on with their lives. It has been said that we try to run from the vengeful dead, but I believe people are actually trying to confront their own feelings of loss for their loved ones by living their lives to the fullest on that night.”

Zaire felt tears rising up, thinking of Xavier. She knew he would want her to be happy and move on, as painful as it was he would have given anything for her to be happy. She had wanted the same for him. Maybe she could find that happiness.

“I will go,” Zaire said and Iounn smiled at her.

Isra’s night came a few days after that and Zaire at last got to see the costumes of the Nyrgarders. The costume Iounn had prepared was more like a suit of armor than a costume. There was a helm crested with silver wings and a half mask of tin that looked more like a face guard than a mask. There was a coat of mail as well and a large breastplate. All this was to be worn over a flowing robe of blue and tall boots.

“I hope I got the fit right,” Iounn said. She wore her own costume, a rich velvet purple robe under mail, a breastplate, and thigh guards. Her helm had golden wings and her armor had gold trim along the borders. She looked like a goddess of war, intimidating and powerful. Her daughter wore a costume as well, a mail coat and helm made for a child.

“I don’t think I can wear the mail,” Zaire said as she leaned over to try and lift the mail coat but could not.

“Really?” Iounn said surprised. “It was made light for a woman; it is more ornamental than functional.”

“I’m sorry but it is too heavy,” Zaire said, and she turned to the breastplate. That too proved too heavy, she could lift it, but she would be bent under that weight. “Perhaps I could just wear the mask and robe?”

“I guess,” Iounn said skeptically and then she snapped her fingers. “How about a cloak over that with the hood drawn up? I think that would suit a mage.”

She went and retrieved a dark blue cloak from the wardrobe. Zaire undressed and donned the robe, cloak, and mask. Just as she finished dressing the door opened and Colm with his daughter walked in. Lofn gave a yelp at the sight of both of them, Zaire jumping a bit as well. They both wore animal skins over their clothes, crude clay masks over their faces. Zaire realized the pit fired clay was in the crude shape of a fox’s face.

“Sorry,” Colm said nodding his head to them. “Thank ye milady fer lettin me n Nora make our own masks.”

“I wanted to see what kind of masks the Daunish made,” Iounn said. “They’re… interesting.”

“I baint be the best craftsmen milady,” Colm said embarrassed. “These baint be very good masks.”

“You look fine,” Iounn said with more confidence. “Let’s get down to the hall; I can hear the crowd from here.”

She was right; a faint sound of many voices in conversation could even be heard from here. They left Iounn’s rooms going down into the great hall of the Court of Legends. Zaire heard the celebration far before they arrived and winced as they entered the hall. The sound of music, laughter, shouts, and conversation joined together into an overall din that threatened to burst her eardrums it was so loud.

The hall was lit with fires, torches, and thousands of tapers, with the bodies in the room it was very warm. Everyone including the women wore armor. Zaire had thought the casual wear of the Nyrgarders had been militant, but now she saw what real armor was like. Many men went about in great suits of armor, drinking and laughing as if unaware of the weight. The serving maids and other women all wore armor as well as they wound their way between tables.

Colm and Nora wandered off towards the servant’s tables, but when Zaire tried to follow them Iounn stopped her with a hand on her arm. Zaire followed Iounn to the king’s table where the king and his sons all sat eating. She could not remember all the princes’ names there were so many of them. Iounn led her to the table and sat her between two of the princes before going to take her place of honor by the king.

“Milady mage,” the prince on her right said. She bowed her head to him, too afraid to say anything. The other prince next to her was drunk and didn’t seem to notice her. She looked to the table and the feast spread there. Breads rivaled with roasted meats of many animals Zaire couldn’t identify. Sausages and bacon joined potatoes and turnips in various dishes, gravy sitting ready to cover anything. Tankards of ale and goblets of mead were passed around seeming without end.

“See anything that catches your eye mage?” the prince to her right asked.

“My name is Zaire,” she had to shout to be heard over the din of the room.

“Of course, I am Prince Dirk the fourth son if you forgot,” the prince said. “The sod next to you is Raban, nothing ever brightens his mood. Give him another two cups of mead and he’ll start reciting poetry about death and battles.”

Zaire looked to the prince Raban, whose face was practically buried in a goblet of mead.

“Come Lady Zaire eat,” Dirk said pushing a trencher of food in front of her, potatoes and meat swimming in gravy. She didn’t have much of an appetite and Dirk seemed to sense this. “A drink instead maybe?”

He put a goblet of mead before her and Zaire stared at the amber liquid. Her people rarely ever became drunk, inhibiting one’s senses made it difficult or even impossible to control the High Magic. Mages disliked this loss of control, not only because of the loss of their control of their powers but also because it made them vulnerable. In a foreign court and without Xavier here Zaire should not make herself any more vulnerable than she already was. But she had also heard that alcohol helped one forget their woes and worries, and she had many.

She took the goblet and drank a great mouthful, coughing on the fiery liquid as it burned down her throat. It had a sickly sweet taste and she could taste honey on her tongue after she had swallowed. Dirk laughed and patted her on the back and she dared another sip. She ate only a little of the feast but kept drinking mead or ale and soon enough she felt the effects of the alcohol.

“How is it?” Dirk asked as she finished her third cup of mead.

“Good,” Zaire said blinking slowly. She felt numb, as if she weren’t part of her body anymore. She looked at Dirk as he grinned at her, but her mind and heart felt nothing.

“So, you’re a slow drunk,” Dirk said as he laughed. “I thought for sure it would loosen you up. You’d get along better with Raban then.”

Zaire looked over at Raban to see he had slid under the table in the time she had been eating and drinking. She turned back to Dirk to see he held out another cup of mead.

“Maybe another will loosen you up,” Dirk said. Zaire wanted to know what he meant, but her wits seemed to have left her. Instead she took the cup and drank, it was easier than thinking.

The night went by much like that, Dirk plying her with mead until Zaire could remember little else, she drank so much. The last thing she remembered clearly though was Dirk taking her by the shoulders and leading her out of the hall.

She woke to a blinding headache, a shaft of sunlight shinning in her eyes. Moaning she rolled over in bed and felt a man lying next to her. At first, she thought it was Xavier and felt herself relax next to him before she remembered Xavier was dead. Sitting up startled Zaire saw Dirk lying next to her covered only by a wool blanket. Her head throbbing and blushing Zaire moved away from him.

Snatches of memory came back of their night together and Zaire felt a wash of shame. She hadn’t thrown herself at him, but she hadn’t rejected Dirk either. She had simply let it happen, yet she knew part of her had wanted to lose herself in the touch of another. Feeling sick she crawled out of his bed and gathered her clothes. Ignoring her pounding head, she left before Dirk woke.

Creeping along the halls Zaire saw the only ones up at this hour after the celebration were the servants. Still Zaire felt herself blush when she passed a servant, afraid they knew why she was coming from the royal quarters. She hurried to Iounn’s rooms and shut the door after herself only to find Iounn and her daughter were not there. They must have woken early after the feast and gone to the garden.

Grateful to be alone Zaire sank down to the carpet before the hearth and cradled her aching head. She sighed and looked up feeling eyes on her. Under the bed two gold eyes seemed to glow from the darkness.

“Hello puss,” Zaire said wearily holding out her hand. She saw the cat creep forward a bit but it still remained hidden in shadow under the bed. “I guess you don’t want to come out. That’s fine; I’m not presentable right now either.”

The cat of course did not answer, but she felt those golden eyes boring into her like she was its prey. She lay out on her stomach, resting her head on the carpet to watch the cat.

“I did something stupid last night,” Zaire said feeling the need to tell someone. “I slept with prince Dirk last night. I was drunk and I know Xavier is dead but all the same I feel like I betrayed him. I know he wanted me to be happy and he wouldn’t hate me for this at all. But I’m not happy.”

Soon Zaire poured out her whole story to the cat, feeling the need to tell someone and comfortable in telling secrets to an animal. She wept when she finished, hiding her face in the knotted rag carpet. She felt the cat creep up and lay a paw on her head; only it didn’t feel like a paw. She felt tiny claws touch her hair, the paw more hand like than paw like.

Startled Zaire turned her head to look up at the dragon child crouched next to her. He resembled a cat certainly, his build graceful like a cat’s. But his neck was a bit longer than a cat’s, but his body wasn’t stretched like a ferret’s. Bat like wings were folded over his back, and a long tail longer than a cat’s twitched behind him. His head was longer than a cat’s, his ears pointed and wide like a bat’s. His snout ended in a black nose that was flat and wide unlike a cat’s cute button nose. Fangs could be seen through his lips, and he even had whiskers. Up close Zaire realized his eyes weren’t slit like a cat’s but the pupils were more diamond like in shape.

“Thank you for telling me your tale,” he said in clear trade tongue. Zaire gaped at the dragon her still befuddled mind unable to process the appearance of the creature. “Now I shall tell you mine,” the dragon child said and proceeded to do so. Zaire could barely follow the tale, had it not come from the mouth of a dragon she would never have believed it.

“So now we seek Eileen reborn, the song, and the omens of the Phay Marching so that we may know when they will march,” Hors said. “That is where you come in.”

“Come in how?” Zaire asked.

“The stars seem to be moving in a way that correlates with the playing of the song,” Hors answered. “The song will reverberate three times; the second echo has yet to peek. I believe you can predict when that will be. Have you found anything yet?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to a few weeks,” Zaire answered. “I’ve estimated the planet to be aligned around the month of Sers. I think I can narrow it more. You said there are three times the song rings?”

“It is like a wave,” Hors answered. “The time between when the song is first sung the second echo is long than between the second and third. So once the song echoes we have less time until the third and final echo.”

“I think then that Dione being the arrow is only a sign of further things,” Zaire said. “I need to think of where she will point when and what that could mean.”

“Concentrate on the when and where she will point and then we will figure out the next phase,” Hors said and Zaire nodded.

“You also mentioned this Crippled One,” Zaire said. “In Myr there is a cult in Hole, the city of the lost under the mage city, they call themselves the Legion of the Creed and worship a being called Kal Ba’el. This god, or whatever it is, demands blood sacrifice and rape as tributes. Xavier said they were looking for people with Elder Magic.”

“Kal Ba’el is the Crippled One just under another guise,” Hors said. “I’ve heard of him already, we must be wary of this cult and destroy it if we can.”

“One of their leaders is a man named Tobias,” Zaire answered and told Hors about what Tobias had done.

“He had let the Crippled One possess him,” Hors said. “The Crippled One’s spirit should have faded into the aether long ago; he hasn’t because he has eaten the souls of those who lose their way along the lines. He is a soul eater; his spirit is no longer something that is either mortal or immortal. Possessing a human body for any amount of time will cause strain on that body, I’m guessing the use of High Magic was the only thing that saved this Tobias. Bringing him back from such an experience however has altered his own spirit, in what way I’d rather not speculate.”

“Can we kill him?” Zaire asked.

“I don’t know,” Hors answered. “Though if the Crippled One were to fall he would as well, their lives are now bound.”

Zaire nodded and found her eyes drift to the fire. She thought of Xavier and what she had done with Dirk. Xavier had wanted her to be happy, yet at the moment she wasn’t. She knew also she would not find happiness with Dirk, he was too shallow.

“We should go speak with Iounn now,” Hors said. “Can I hide in your hood?”

“First I want to change,” Zaire said as she stood. She washed and changed out of her costume into the clothes Iounn had provided her. She still missed her mage robes but there was no way to get any here. Once dressed she let Hors up onto her shoulders and hid him in the hood of her cloak. They left and headed for the gardens, finding Iounn watching over the children as they played. Zaire noticed then one of the princes was next to her as well, the bard one with his harp on his lap.

“Lady Iounn,” Zaire said and Iounn turned to her, seeing Hors on her shoulder. Iounn said nothing, but she looked only surprised as she stood and led Zaire away behind a rose bush. Hors stuck his head out of the hood, looking to Iounn.

“It seems I managed to convince Zaire to tell us her story,” Hors said.

“How?” Iounn said surprised. Zaire blushed with shame and realized she was going to have to tell Iounn about Dirk.

“That doesn’t matter,” Hors said about to cover for her, but Zaire stopped him.

“No, I can tell her,” Zaire said.

“Are you sure?”

“I need to live with it and I can’t if I burry it away,” Zaire answered. “I slept with Prince Dirk last night; I felt heartbroken and told Hors my story thinking he was just a cat.”

“I am sorry Zaire,” Iounn said her eyes genuinely remorseful. “I only sat you next to him because I thought his mood would lift yours.”

“You didn’t know milady and even if you had I don’t blame you for wanting to help me,” Zaire said.

“He took advantage of you,” Iounn said.

“Milady, I ask you to let this matter go,” Zaire said. “There are more important matters.”

“Very well,” Iounn said but Zaire had a feeling the matter was not over. “But if he gets you with child I will see to your care.”

“I won’t get with child,” Zaire said sadly, actually glad of that now. “That is a long story however and I ask you to hear it.”

She then told Iounn what she had told Hors, about her life and her meeting with Xavier.

“So now that I know what to look for I should be able to narrow down the days in which we will learn when the song will echo,” Zaire said finishing.

“I’ll leave you to that then,” Iounn said and then took on a thoughtful look. “Are there maybe any mage tools that could help you?”

“Yes, but it would take weeks to trade with Dridia and they rarely sell enchanted items to other kingdoms,” Zaire said puzzled.

“Maybe,” Iounn said. “Come with me, Hors you should hide in my hair.”

Hors nodded and climbed over to her. They left their hiding spot and returned to where the children played. The prince still sat by watching them seeming bored. He brightened as Iounn approached and Zaire noticed he seemed enamored with Iounn. Iounn seemed well aware of this and used it, but never gave the man hope that she would return his feelings.

“Prince Soren, you were telling me about your father’s treasure,” Iounn said. “You mentioned that the mages gifted several enchanted objects to your family as peace offerings or wedding presents.”

“Yes we have a few,” Soren answered. “It seems they found it funny sending royals magical items they couldn’t use without a mage in court. Regarians let mages into their court so they could use the gifts they were sent, but my father never felt comfortable around mages. No offense milady.”

“It’s alright,” Zaire said. “I’d really like to see those magical items though. I can make them work.”

“I don’t see why not,” Soren said. “The guards will let me past. Come.”

“Colm watch the children,” Iounn ordered Colm who had been standing nearby. He nodded and they left, Soren leading the way to the keep. They walked through halls and up some stairs, Zaire realizing they were heading for the west tower. They turned a corner and came to a long corridor ending in a set of two iron bound doors and a set of guards before them. They walked up to the guards who became alert at the sight of the prince.

“Open the doors,” Soren ordered. “The Lady Iounn and her mage want to look at the magical items we have.”

“Yes milord,” one of the guards answered. He turned and produced a ring of keys and opened the door. They entered the room and Zaire looked around interested. The room had no windows and they had to bring their own lamp. Zaire had expected piles of gold lying around and riches beyond compare. Instead she saw iron bound chests sitting around in niches in the walls. Several tables were in the room, books of records sitting on the tables. Soren went about lighting lamps as Iounn and Zaire stared at the iron boxes.

Soren took a ring of keys down and unlocked one of the iron boxes. He took out several objects wrapped in cloth and set them on the table. He didn’t unwrap them, so Zaire stepped forward and did so. The first was an enchanted telescope, one with four lenses and enchantments of clarity, sight, and light. It was basically useless if you couldn’t activate the sigils. But Zaire could, and with the multiple lenses she could see more of the stars and even some of their movements. She had always wanted a telescope like this.

The second was a sapphire set in a silver setting on a necklace. The gem had several enchantments of beauty, clarity, and light. The third was a horn, a ram’s horn studded with silver filigree and enchanted for sound and might. It would emit a call that could be heard for leagues, but only by a mage that could activate the sigils that produced the sound. The fourth was a wind flute, a glass tube with a bulb on the end. It was enchanted to allow a mage to read the atmospheric pressure and air mass on any given day. It let a mage gage the weather and how clear the sky would be for star gazing.

The fifth was a glass flower, made in the shape of a lily. It was enchanted with the scent of a real lily, giving off the fragrance even now as she unwrapped it. The sixth was a clock work nightingale. Zaire had seen clockwork birds before, if she were to wind it up it would sing like a real nightingale but in a tune. The last was a hand mirror set in an ivory setting carved with a scene of the sea. The mirror had enchantments of sight and seeking, it was a scrying mirror.

“Anything useful?” Iounn asked looking at the objects with interest. Zaire sorted the objects into two parts, the telescope, wind flute, and mirror going together in one while the sapphire, flower, nightingale, and horn went in another.

“These here are the only things I would have a use for,” Zaire said indicating the telescope, wind flute, and mirror. “The others are merely ornaments. All are useless without a mage to use them.”

“Then they are yours,” Soren said, and Zaire stared at him appalled, knowing the value of these items. “Think of it as compensation milady,” he said as he looked at Iounn doubtfully. He knew about her and Dirk and wasn’t sure if she had informed Iounn about the matter.

“I am well aware of the matter with your brother Prince Soren there is no need to worry,” Iounn said catching the mood. “I will let the matter drop with these gifts. Though I am not sure you have the authority to just give them away.”

“Ekkehard is the treasurer not me,” Soren said. “I’ll get his approval milady trust me. He will see the value of it since these items have just been sitting in here gathering dust.”

“You could always sell them,” Iounn said.

“They were political gifts from another kingdom,” Soren answered shaking his head. “Even if they were meant to be useless without a mage we cannot just sell them.”

“Very well, then we accept these gifts,” Iounn said with a slight grin.

“Well…” Soren reached down and took the nightingale and wrapped it again. “I think it best this stay here. It was Frida’s wedding gift.”

Iounn’s smile vanished and she nodded grimly as Soren put the bird away. Soren had a troubled look, his eyes dark now.

“If that is all ladies I think we should depart,” Soren said. Zaire gathered the items and Iounn helped her carry them out of the treasury. “I will go speak with Ekkehard now; I leave you to your new treasures ladies.”

He walked off, a slump to his shoulders that was not there before. Zaire had heard about the situation in court and the death of the princess. She felt sorry for Soren, suddenly understanding a bit more about the burdens of nobility.

She and Iounn returned to the library and spread the items out on the table.

“Now, how can any of these be of use?” Iounn asked.

“The telescope will be the most useful,” Zaire said holding up the telescope. “The wind flute, that is this glass instrument, will let me read the weather and know when the sky will be clear. And this is a scrying mirror. Do you know what myrnite is?”

“A metal found here in Nyrgard but rarely,” Iounn said. “My husband’s lands had mines but none had myrnite. If we had that we would be wealthy beyond measure. We used to use it to make daggers, it holds an edge longer than steel but isn’t as hard. Mages now pay a lot of money for the metal.”

“Because it makes the best magic mirrors,” Zaire said. “It holds sigils the best and reflects light in the purest way. That is why we pay so much for it, magic mirrors are one of our best tools.”

“You said it is a scrying mirror, what does that mean?” Iounn asked.

“Scrying lets a mage look over vast distances,” Zaire answered. “I could use this mirror to look all the way to Lir if I wanted.”

“Then you could search for the song!” Hors said so suddenly Zaire almost jumped, she had forgotten he was there.

“No, not unless I know where to look,” Zaire answered. “The mirror needs direction to find where I want to look. I can command it to look at Shin-Ra for example, but I can’t ask it to look for a person or item unless I know where it is. To find the song using the mirror I’d have to scan each piece of ground over the kingdoms.”

“Like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Iounn said. “Only instead of using your hands you would just be using the mirror to look. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I need a location if I am to find something,” Zaire answered. “I can find things I am familiar with, or people I know, but I cannot ask the mirror to find something I’ve never seen before. Locations are easier because of maps and the names of places. Mages have assigned characters to certain places and wrote these characters into locating sigils that are used in magic mirrors and other sigils. All I have to do is write the name of a place on the mirror with my finger and it will show me that place. I then use the sigils of the mirror to look around, changing the view point so I can see what I seek.”

“What if that place is not named or does not have a character assigned to it?” Hors asked. “Your people couldn’t have named every little village in the kingdoms.”

“We choose the nearest location and then write something like two leagues away but the north,” Zaire answered. “The map of the kingdoms has been written in so the mirror will show you that general location, then the mage can command the mirror to look around or move perspective to get a better view. As towards things no on the map… Well we’ve never bothered looking at things beyond the borders of the kingdoms.”

“Not even to your homeland?” Hors asked.

“A mage looked once,” Zaire answered. “The further the distance the more powerful a mirror has to be. The mage saw nothing but sea where our isle used to be, it is gone. The mirror he used to look broke about an hour of searching to be sure. He said he saw the isle had sunk below the sea.”

“I take it then these mirrors could not be used to discover new lands or the old ones of the Regarians or Nyrgarders,” Hors said.

“No, since we do not know of them we cannot search for them,” Zaire answered. “Why?”

“I was just wondering if these lands were even still around anymore,” Hors answered. “I’d like to get a bigger picture of the world that’s all.”

“Sorry,” Zaire said a little disappointed herself. Seeing new lands would be interesting.

“Well we have what we have,” Iounn said. “Is there anything you could do with these?”

She indicated the flower, the horn, and the sapphire.

“Maybe, I’d like to keep them if I think of anything,” Zaire answered. “If that is alright.”

“Use them as you see fit,” Iounn said. “I will leave you to your calculations then.”

“Wait,” Zaire said. “Do you know of a place I could use to star gaze?”

“The north tower,” Iounn said. “The top used to be a lighthouse until it became too difficult to haul firewood up the narrow steps. You can see everything from up there.”

“Thank you milady,” Zaire said. Iounn nodded and left. Zaire gathered her notes, a few maps, a sextant, and the telescope, putting it all in a satchel and heading for the north tower. The tower was at the northern point of the keep, still inside the walls and standing at the northern most point of the keep itself. The tower was empty; few people went to it now that it was no longer in use as a lighthouse.

Zaire climbed the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the tower. She was gasping for breath when she reached the top and had to take a moment to regain her wind. The room she was in was hardly a room, four great windows open to the wind and sea air. There were no shutters on the windows and they stood nearly from ceiling to floor. Zaire shivered and moved to the center of the room, afraid of falling.

The view out of those windows was spectacular. The sun had set lighting the streaks of clouds pink purple. The mountains rose among these clouds in great spikes of blue, and below the peaks Tonland Bay sat green and blue. An evening fog was just starting to roll in off the bay, a shimmering gray against the blue green waves of the bay.

Zaire took out the telescope and began experimenting with the settings, arranging the lenses and focus until she got it right. It was a fabulous telescope; she could see the rings around the evening star with it even in the twilight. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky and Zaire continued to adjust the telescope and become familiar with it. She became so distracted she ventured closer to the windows to see better.

“There you are,” the voice startled Zaire so much she nearly dropped the telescope out the window. She turned to see Dirk catching his breath at the top of the tower stairs. “I’ve been looking for you all day. I saw you go up into the tower and was wondering what you were doing. Quite the view.”

“Yes,” Zaire said warily. She wasn’t sure why he had come here, or what she should say to him. Dirk was gazing out into the gathering twilight and the view from the tower, not at her. She took a moment to examine him; he was handsome in the Nyrgardic fashion of a large brow and strong chin. His hair was sandy in color, his beard neatly trimmed. His build was muscular, tall with broad shoulders, and thick limbs. He was nothing like Xavier.

He looked back at her and grinned, Zaire wondering if he had noticed her stare. He stepped closer, but not so close to make Zaire wish to retreat.

“What brings you up here mage?” Dirk asked his grin the same making her wonder if he was mocking her.

“The stars,” Zaire answered. “The High Magic is dependent upon the movement of the stars.”

“Mmm,” Dirk mumbled, he wasn’t listening. Somehow his disinterest turned her stomach. The High Magic and studying it was part of her life so much Zaire found the lack of interest in it insulting. The fact that she had been intimate with a man who wasn’t fascinated with the High Magic sickened her. “Well you can see far all the same. It is easier to see in daylight, but from here you can see the Giants of Tonland Bay.”

“I saw them on my way to Hólmsted,” Zaire answered. “Are they real giants?”

“No, just carvings the Nyrgarders did when we arrived here,” Dirk said. “Giants never really existed.”

“Then you don’t believe your own legends about bathing in giant’s blood to grow tall,” Zaire said, and Dirk laughed.

“There were probably a people here of height and we called them giants,” Dirk said. “We probably killed most and kept their women, who then sired tall children.”

At the mention of women his eyes dropped to her frame, leering. Zaire crossed her arms over her chest and turned from him.

“For a prince of a people who love legends you seem awfully cynical,” Zaire said.

“Soren is the bard not me,” Dirk said stepping closer. “Though I know a few poems if that is what you want.”

“I want to be left alone,” Zaire answered wishing she could step away, but she was too near the edge of the window. She had nothing to defend herself with either; she didn’t have the power to draw an attack sigil.

“No one wants to be left alone,” Dirk said moving closer. Zaire did the only thing she could; she stepped to the edge of the window, her back to empty air. Dirk froze, a startled look crossing his face.

“If you come any closer, I’ll jump,” Zaire said, her voice shaking.

“Are you mad?” Dirk said. “Get down from there.”

“Not until you leave,” Zaire said, and Dirk frowned.

“You shared my bed of your own choice,” Dirk said. “Just like a woman to have morning regrets.”

“Leave now,” Zaire said, but Dirk took a step closer.

“You won’t jump,” Dirk said. “This is a bluff.”

Zaire put one foot out into empty air, the wind tearing at her dress and cloak making it hard to hold her balance.

“The only man I ever loved lies dead at the bottom of the sea,” Zaire said her voice choking. “I will jump.”

For a moment she actually felt like she might, her tears and sorrow overwhelming her for a moment. She looked down to the sea rocks below; the tower abutted the side of the mountain looking out over the bay. It was a long drop.

Dirk grabbed her and pulled her back in her moment of distraction. Zaire cried out fighting against him, both afraid of him and wanting to return to the possibility of death. He was much stronger than her, and he held her in a tight embrace until she used up all her strength and slumped in his arms. He held her, rubbing her arms and back making soothing sounds. She wasn’t comforted, if anything he was making her anxiety worse. She just wanted him to leave but could see no way of getting him to especially after having stood on the ledge like she had.

“Feeling better?” Dirk asked.

“Yes, you can let me go now,” Zaire said. He gave her one last squeeze that made her grunt and then let her go. He hovered over her however, looking ready to grab her again if she tried to run. “I need to work,” Zaire said pointedly.

“Alright,” Dirk said not moving.

“You can go now,” Zaire said.

“I’m not leaving you up here alone,” Dirk said frowning.

“But…”

“You can work with me here right?” Dirk said. Zaire sighed, he plainly wasn’t going to go, but she no longer felt like he would hurt her.

“Alright, but let me work and don’t interrupt,” Zaire said crossly. Dirk saluted, giving her a raucous grin. Zaire felt only a hollow ache, wishing he were Xavier. She turned to the windows, looking out into the stars. She sat and spread her maps out before her, using a few rocks to hold them down.

Hours went by as Zaire switched between the telescope and sextant, writing notes of her observations, checking the accuracy of her maps, and calibrating the telescope’s lenses. As the hours ticked by Dirk sat as well and soon was snoring wrapped in his fur cloak. It was cold up in the open tower and Zaire shivered in her fur cape. It was the best observatory she had ever used, though she would have liked glass around her rather than open air.

“How goes it?” Hors asked and Zaire gave a startled jump. She looked down to see the dragon child had crept up silent as a cat. She looked over at Dirk, but he was still fast asleep. Hors glanced at him as well, giving a flick of his tail in contempt.

“Well, I think I’ve just gotten an accurate reading of the stars right now,” Zaire said looking back at Hors. “And the Hunter has risen even more, there aren’t any new stars but I’ve marked the rise at four degrees.”

“How much is a degree?” Hors asked. Zaire showed him with the map and telescope and Hors seemed impressed. “You can measure things to such small details? Amazing.”

“Not nearly,” Zaire said. “There have been mages of late who have done studies with High Magic and found the universe is made up of tiny particles, smaller than we can see. We can’t even measure them or how they work. The more we discover the more we realize how little we know.”

“Mages are indeed amazing,” Hors said.

“I’d think you’d hate us,” Zaire said. “The old always hates the new. Mages tend to be analytical and measuring, it seems like the Elder Magic is the opposite.”

Hors laughed, not loudly but a deep chuckle that sounded like it should have come from a much bigger creature.

“They are more similar that you think actually,” Hors said. “Both depend on precision; it is just that Elder Magic uses intuition rather than measurement. We of the Elder Phay cast our power in precise amounts just as you, but we do not need to spend days calculating how much we need to do. We do it in an instant in our minds. The aether would not allow it any other way. You try to take your time with it and measure everything perfectly with the aether you will soon find it slip through your grasp. We do the same calculations as you we just do them in an instant.”

“But the amount of brain power that would take…” Zaire was completely stunned.

“We’ve been alive for millennia Zaire,” Hors said looking up at her with golden eyes. “I was one of Kur’s first children. I saw men climb from the mud, I’ve seen Miread grow mountains and seas, I’ve seen the dawn ages of this world when it was so young the earth still radiated power from its birth. Calculating a few figures in my mind is nothing.”

Zaire was suddenly aware that this creature was not human; he was something far more than a human could ever be. What then were the rest of the Phay like?

“How else does the High Magic work?” Hors said, seeming to sense her awe.

“We use sigils,” Zaire said pulling herself together, and slipping into a familiar routine of knowledge. “The High Magic is drawn from the movement of the planets and stars. We pull this power into ourselves, and draw it into sigils. Sigils use lines and characters to enact a certain purpose, like healing or light.”

“How do you pull it into yourselves?” Hors asked.

“This isn’t something that anyone can do,” Zaire said. “We mages have let the High Magic through us all our lives, sort of like an open window that lets the air in. The wider the opening the more power comes in. This means that the power fills you to a certain amount and each mage has the High Magic in them which they can then use to command the High Magic outside of them. I’m what is known as a colored mage, I have so little High Magic in me it hasn’t bleached me at all.”

“Interesting,” Hors said. “So only mages have this opening that allowed the High Magic to seep into them and let them control it.”

“Yes, what of the Elder Magic, is it the same?”

Before Hors could answer Dirk yawned loudly and sat up.

“Who are you talking to?” Dirk said sleepily. The dragon scurried into Zaire’s lap, curling up and hiding in the folds of her cloak.

“Just Lady Iounn’s cat,” Zaire answered. “He followed me up here.”

“Oh, is the Lady Iounn here as well?” Dirk asked nervously, looking around as if she might appear.

“No, why?” Zaire asked.

“Lady Iounn is very strict,” Dirk said sourly. “If she were to learn about our relations she would disapprove and take the matter to my father.”

“I see,” Zaire said, deciding not to tell him that Iounn already knew and didn’t mind. She could use the threat of Iounn’s wrath to protect herself from Dirk if she needed to. “Well it is getting late; shouldn’t you be going to bed milord?”

“I’m not leaving you up here alone,” Dirk said, and Zaire wondered if he was concerned for her. He stood and walked over to where she sat, sitting behind her and putting his arms around her. She understood then it was not concern that he was feeling just then. “We’re alone up here; why not take a little pleasure from it?”

He began kissing her neck, his big hands slipping into her collar to grasp her tit. Zaire gasped; his hands were cold and she tried to wiggle away. Dirk only tightened his grip, his other arm going around her waist and began pulling her dress up. Suddenly Dirk let her go with a startled oath, Hors hissing like a cat.

“It bit me!” Dirk shouted. Zaire was startled to see blood running down his hand, a large gash in the meat of his thumb. She hadn’t thought Hors’ teeth were that sharp. “Little bastard,” Dirk growled.

“I believe Iounn would be very displeased if anything were to happen to her cat,” Zaire said as Hors growled lowly. “And to her mage.”

Dirk glared at her now, he understood that she did not want him anymore. He seemed to debate it a moment, for all he knew she only had a cat to defend herself. While Hors had bit him Zaire knew that if Dirk did decide to take what he wanted all Hors could do was run and get help. By the time anyone arrived the deed would have been done. No matter what however Dirk would have to face the consequences.

“Fine have it your way,” Dirk said at last seeming to reach the same conclusion Zaire did. “Just don’t tell Iounn about this.”

“I won’t as long as you never approach me again,” Zaire answered back. “Now leave.”

Dirk glared at her and nodded, going down the steps. They waited for a quarter mark to be sure he was gone before they spoke.

“Thank you Hors,” Zaire said in utter relief.

“You’re welcome,” Hors said licking his lips. “It has been a long time since I had the taste of human blood. It tastes a lot like pig.”

Zaire laughed, some of her tension easing out. She stroked him and much like a cat Hors began to purr.

“Why are you so much like a cat?” Zaire asked.

“I think the question should be: why are cats so much like dragons,” Hors answered and Zaire laughed again. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes thank you,” Zaire said.

“Do not think us Phay noble and above such things,” Hors said gravely. “There are those who have power and abuse it. We are not above cruelty. I’d like you to know the truth about the Phay, just so you are never taken advantage of by a pretty elf.”

“Like Xavier?” Zaire asked. “He was half Aldan.”

“He was?” Hors said puzzled. “I thought you said he was a mage.”

Zaire realized then that she had left out the political background of Xavier simply because it was complicated and she had thought Hors a cat.

“Did Iounn tell you about the King’s Wars?” Zaire asked and Hors nodded. So, Zaire told him about Xavier’s parentage and childhood. Hors seemed thoughtful, his tail twitching back and forth slowly. Then he sighed and shook his head looking back at Zaire.

“It sounds like a lonely life your lover led,” Hors said. “Worse that it was ended so shortly. The Aldan are kin to the Phay, they can live long lives.”

“So, I’ve heard,” Zaire said after a moment to swallow the lump in her throat. “We mages live long lives as well; we two races are the longest living races of the Nine Kingdoms.”

She looked away out into the night, the mountains little more than a dark line and the bay an inky stain over the ground. She felt heartbreak thinking over how their lives could have been hers and Xavier’s. How long could they have had together, decades? Maybe even a century together. She had wanted children, but now she didn’t care if they had spent all that time just the two of them.

Hors sat silently in her lap now and Zaire was glad he had stopped purring. She sat there for the rest of the night just imagining a life with Xavier, a peaceful one full of healing and quiet; and she wept silent tears that were dried only by the bitterly cold wind of the mountains.  

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Deadman Reaper

Arc of the Deadman Reaper

It was strange being back again to the Court of Miracles, even though Seth felt nothing even he could appreciate some of the irony. He stood in the grand throne room of the palace behind a pillar, watching the coronation of the royal prick Elrik Alvar. The hall was packed with gentry and nobles, the air reeked of wealth and hot air. No one was surprised though by the turn out of kings. It used to be every king of the Nine would gather to witness a king being crowned, but there had not been a gathering of all nine kings in over two hundred years.

Now it was considered lucky that even two showed up. King Kolun Wildlough was a tall man of wiry build and burnished copper skin. He was in his middling years, his black hair done up in an elaborate knot still free of gray. He had distinguished himself in the years of the King’s Wars as a young man, a great warrior among his people. The fickle king watched the proceedings bored and didn’t have the shame to hide it.

King Ilya Myrddin dripped silver and distain as he watched the proceedings with his family. His sister Ileana glared onto the new king as if her gaze alone would turn him to stone. Anton watched with his face bloodless with rage. The new king of Dridia was a new player, breaking many of the Dridian’s strange ways by even coming here. The mages were known recluses, seeing themselves above the lesser races that did not have their own power.

Though the two present kings spoke to alliances, the absences screamed of the Nine Kingdom’s possible dissension. Alda of course had not sent anyone; they never had since the Regarians claimed the throne. King Nejem was unable to attend as Evalon was under siege by Pridesmen. No one had heard anything from King Tyr or King Rawn but rumors spread that they were gathering their armies in the north. No one was surprised by the lack of Lirian representation of course, but it was an ill omen that not even the King of the Mark would attend to see his daughter crowned High Queen. Seth grinned because it was not Lady Jeanne being crowned. Lucia sat plump as a stuffed turkey on her throne next to Elrik as the High Sect of Sol prayed over them.

She looked regal, the picture of a noble, though she was little more than a farmer’s daughter from the Mark. Legally she now had claim to the throne since she was taking part in the ceremony. Seth’s mind was working at that information like a terrier with a rat.

So far the Lady Han had been able to sew their seeds among the merchant class well, promises and bribery winning over many. They were bearing fruit, but a harvest that would barely cover their needs. They needed the nobility and the loyalty that nobility bought. Seth had read the mood of the court and was surprised by the figure that everyone seemed to be turning to now that powers were shifting in the Court of Miracles. Not Sherah, whose bookish ways and secret tendencies may have won her spies and power in the Court of Whispers, but only alienated her here in the Court of Miracles. Of course not Elrik either, twice as likely to murder someone over the pettiest insult he was worse than his father in his unpredictable rages.

No, every eye turned to the new Queen of the Nine Kingdoms, or more accurately her double though no one knew it. Seth hardly recognized the shy scared girl he once knew. Now it was a woman of iron wearing a porcelain mask of beauty. He felt nothing to see the change in her, and he could no longer remember what he would have felt either. Now he only looked at her with cool calculation. Could Lucia be turned over to their side? Or would she have to die? Even after she gave birth she would forever be Jeanne’s shield, she had all but replaced her in court.

The Sect of Sol stepped down and the Sect of Cael took his place. Five High Sects seated this crowning representing their gods. The High Sects of Sol, Lun, Cael, Tempest, and Isra, stood in attendance. The number of Sects attending to such events was growing, it used to be only one and it was said in the early days of the Kingdoms that no Sect crowned a king. Seth watched the Sects as well hunting for weaknesses.

The High Sect of Sol, Bernard de Modeste, looked on the High Sect of Cael, Gervase Villenia, with distain and obvious dislike. Both were of course heads of two orders within the Sect, the Gold Order and the Iron Order. Both orders had been bitter enemies since they were founded; it was a rivalry that could easily be manipulated until both tore each other apart. In comparison the High Sect of Lun, Jillet de Lorue, was as calm as peaceful as her goddess.

The High Sect of Tempest, and also the head of the Steel Order, Tristen Tonson, was a grim and foreboding man. He seemed like a ray of sunshine compared to the High Sect of Isra and head of the Stone Order, Daphne Delorouge. Seth had learned a little about each of them, mostly in his time at court in gossip. He wanted more however, but he was finding it difficult now getting information.

His eyes went to Sherah then. The head of the spies of not only this court, but half the spies over the kingdoms she held a tight hold on the flow of information. Seth had once been part of that flow, but now he could not rely on old contacts, it was best no one knew he was still alive. Sherah was a spy master and ruthless, but Seth had known her to have a kind heart for those she held dear and those that served her. It endeared her to her servants but not to the nobles, who she tended to treat as the idiots they were.

So many players all gathered together, and Seth was here to see heads roll.

“A petty dance of weak fools wouldn’t you say,” a voice said behind him. Seth didn’t turn to face Varas Lonelove, he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Petty yes, but not all are fools,” Seth answered mildly. “I am surprised you are here milord, who is watching the fort while the king is away?”

“As if Ilya would be fool enough to leave Dridia while I stayed,” Varas said with distain.

“So you are here simply because the new king of Dridia is not comfortable on his throne?” Seth said, fishing.

“I am here to speak to you,” Varas answered and this time Seth turned to face him. “I know who you are.”

“And who am I?” Seth asked casually. He learned long ago to never give anything away.

“The left hand of Kal Ba’el,” Varas answered.

“Is that my official title?” Seth asked. “Most have been calling me Lord Hollow, that or pissing themselves in fear but I don’t know how to put that into words.”

“Charming as always,” Varas said. “I also remember you as the man you once were, though I suppose you do not deem the word ‘man’ anymore.”

“I suppose not,” Seth answered. “So what does the second most powerful mage in Dridia want with me?”

He saw Varas’ red eyes narrow and jaw tighten, but the fact that he restrained himself told Seth that he feared him. It was a strange revelation to realize a man of such power feared him.

“Let us go discuss this somewhere else,” Varas said, turning on his heel. Seth followed the mage lord out of the hall and into the garden. When they were far enough into the foliage Varas stopped in an alcove and waved his hand. Seth was intersted he could now see Varas’ power, the blaze of magic and sigils spreading around them. He knew ordinary people could not see the pure power of the High Magic, but he could not read the sigils or their intent.

“This should keep others away and prevent eavesdropping,” Varas said turning to him. “Now to business. Being Kal Ba’el left hand I suppose you are already up to date on Ilya’s work.”

“Kal Ba’el has not deemed to tell me his plans,” Seth answered. “I’m more like his left foot, Loe would be his hand.”

“Interesting,” Varas said. “And who else would hold honor with Kal Ba’el?”

“Raigo,” Seth answered. “The Orc General. If you are looking to bribe him or get on his good side I suggest dead babies, they’re his favorite snack.”

“Jokes aside…” Varas said sneering and Seth cut him off.

“Wasn’t joking,” Seth said dully. He watched as several emotions played across Varas face in quick succession, disgust, fear, loathing, before he replaced the mask. Seth still couldn’t get over seeing emotions on another person’s face and yet not feel his own; it made him notice other’s expressions easier.

“The Orcs aside,” Varas said. “What of his human servants?”

“Is that why you want to talk?” Seth asked. “You are probably better informed about the human factor than I am. There is Han of course, who is sent to be the worm to rot the apple. I am to aid him; the Lady Han so far has proved more useful however. She’s been working the merchants.”

“I never thought of the merchants,” Varas said impressed. “I must speak with this Lady Han then.”

“So you are sent to aid us?” Seth asked. “You too work for Kal Ba’el.”

“I work for my people,” Varas said with distain. “There is just an alliance between Ilya and Kal Ba’el. We seek immortality, making immortal bodies so that mages can live on forever. Kal Ba’el has been aiding us in these endeavors. He now has offered us aid in getting the High Throne so that we will not need to worry about these petty squabbles between lords and kings.”

“What of Loe?” Seth asked. “He too wishes to hold the throne.”

“I am well aware of that,” Varas said. “So is Kal Ba’el. He has assured us that he will make sure all have the power they need.”

Seth stared at Varas flatly, his mind working through Varas’ smug expression. He didn’t care about Loe, in fact he planned on making sure Loe would fall and a mage would take the throne. Either Anton or himself, it probably didn’t matter which. He was working with Kal Ba’el, but Varas had his own power play going on here.

“If you are searching for immortality, then that means Loe is not immortal,” Seth said. “Kal Ba’el gave him immortality, me too, but if he has you searching for it then there must be a flaw in that immunity. What is the flaw?”

“I have no idea,” Varas said, Seth unable to tell if he were lying. “I have not been working on the immortality project nor have I spoken to Kal Ba’el about it. My guess would be however that time is the ultimate factor. Healing a body or wound can be done with the right power, though it can cause corruption, but keeping this up over time can’t be done unless the wielder had an unlimited supply of power.”

So Seth only had to wait? That seemed a simplistic approach, and one that he wasn’t sure he would see the results to.

“If you want Feng Loe dead you’ll have to find a way past his immortality,” Seth said. “Who better to kill him than me?”

“I agree,” Varas said. “I will look into possibilities and let you know.”

“I tried snake sand already,” Seth said and Varas raised an eyebrow.

“Now coming back from that is more than I expected,” Varas said. “This will need some thought. Meanwhile, we have the Court of Miracles on our hands.”

“Implying you are going to help?” Seth asked.

“With the nobles yes,” Varas said. “But I do not think I can win the loyalty of them all. The problem being most nobles are already in powerful positions. Some don’t want to risk their own position, while others want the position of another. It comes down to who do you kill and who do you keep.”

“Who do you recommend?” Seth asked. “As the larger players?”

“Sherah first,” Varas said. “She is by far the greatest threat. Suggestions on method?”

“Tea,” Seth answered. “In the Queen’s Solar.”

“That means taking out the High Queen and the Queen Mother,” Varas said. “Those are a lot of targets in one place; you’d need either multiple assassins or a detonation.”

“It is the only place Sherah is away from guards and spies alike,” Seth answered.

“Granted,” Varas answered. “What about Jeanne?”

“She holds the heir to the throne,” Seth answered. “A prime target.”

“No she does not,” Varas said with a grin. “She is having a daughter.”

Seth thought through the implications, Loe desired a young girl to be his Regarian bride. Sure the child would be only a babe, but Seth was sure Loe would rather a girl unripe rather than already ripened.

“You suggest we let her live?” Seth said.

“She has half the court wrapped around her finger,” Varas answered. “The other half see her as Elrik’s puppet master. In reality she is not Jeanne Lonna, she is a double made to take Jeanne’s place when Elrik mutilated her.”

Seth shrugged, he had already known this, and Varas frowned.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I am incapable of surprise,” Seth answered. “Even if I were I would not be seeing as I already knew all this. So you want to use Lucia.”

“Easily done since I know her secret and she knows that I know and can prove it,” Varas said. “All I’d have to do is strip her of the beauty sigils she wears; it is those that have made her most look like the real Jeanne.”

“She wouldn’t care about herself,” Seth said. “Only about the danger this would pose to Jeanne. All you really have to do is convince her that if she doesn’t go along with us then we would kill Jeanne.”

“I trust then you can handle that,” Varas said.

“And what of Elrik?” Seth asked. “I suppose you want him dead as well and Jeanne, or Lucia really, to marry Anton.”

“No,” Varas said shaking his head. “For now Elrik stays where he is. He is easily manipulated and for now that is what we want. Anton would be Ilya’s pawn not our own.”

“And the war?” Seth asked. “Elrik will be moving on Loe now that he is crowned. We don’t want that.”

“Send word to Loe to move on Alda instead,” Varas said. “We will convince Elrik not to oppose him, easily done since there is little love for Alda from him.”

“Elrik will want blood when I kill his mother, aunt, and sister,” Seth said. “He may not love them but he will want blood for the insult.”

“Use the double for that,” Varas said. “She will be the sole survivor, she can put the blame on another party.”

“Who?” Seth asked and Varas grinned.

“Lucas Drakon,” Varas said. “Sect Elisha Drakon, Armand Roque.”

“Turn him on his own allies,” Seth said nodding. “He’ll never believe Lucas killed his own sister, and Roque is a degenerate all the way in Nyrgard. Elisha has the best possibilities. The Sect gives a lot of power to Regis; if we cut away at the loyalties there we weaken Regis greatly.”

“I’ll leave the details to you then,” Varas said. “Isolate Elrik from his allies.”

“And Lucia can manipulate him for us,” Seth said nodding. He knew though that Loe would want Elrik dead, and probably Jeanne as well, but he could cross that bridge later.

“Exactly,” Varas said smugly. Seth eyed him and realized why Varas was so smug. Most of this plan lay on Seth; Varas hardly had to do any work and kept his hands clean. Of course Seth didn’t care either way.

“I have to go and send a message then to Loe,” Seth said turning away.

“Very well,” Varas said. “And Gray, you know the price of crossing me.”

“I do,” Seth said, knowing not to point out Varas may not even have the power to harm Seth. Varas let his wards down and Seth walked away back to the palace. He found Han’s rooms, empty of other people, and went to the room where Han had set up the Reliquary. The same object that Loe had used to summon Kal Ba’el to Seth, he had sent it with them as a means to communicate.

He knelt before the Reliquary and waited, wondering what would happen.

He immediately heard a growl, the wet gurgle of a stomach grumbling for food. He knew it was not his own, he ate but he never felt hungry. Sensations returned to him, the air pressure building, a rotten smell in the air, and his old scars from torture began to burn. He gasped and whimpered, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from crying out and he tasted blood.

:What do you want Hollow?: the voice was much like before, a deep base that rattled his bones painfully. Seth felt it slip into his mind, and he gave it the conversation with Varas. He groaned as it slid through his mind, it felt horrifying and violating. At last the touch withdrew, and he heard the voice again. :You anticipate my plans well. The woman is one of Arke’s chosen, turn her to me:

Seth felt it withdraw, his body numbing once more. His feelings of violation slipped away, but he felt no relief or frustration in the lack of relief. He simply slumped in the chair and mused once more. He felt nothing at the knowledge Kal Ba’el wanted Lucia, but he was curious. Who was Arke? Loe had given him a list of people that Kal Ba’el wanted either dead or brought to him, he had thought Loe had meant Jeanne. Now it was obvious he wanted Lucia, but why? It was more than her political position; what could Kal Ba’el really care if she was his follower. It had something to do with this Arke, maybe she opposed him.

Seth stood deciding he would keep his eyes open. While there were many players here all with their own agendas, he had his own: kill Feng Loe. He was still in a daze as he went back to the kitchens to help with the coronation feast. He was given a tray of tiny delicacies and he walked out into the crowd of nobles in the feasting hall.

The hours shed away like a peel from an unripe apple, slowly and reluctantly. Seth saw Lucia only from afar, having no opening to talk to her. He granted Varas a brief nod to affirm their deal, but otherwise he was just another silent servant among the nobles. He listened and watched, waiting for something interesting to happen, and at last it did.

A crash drew every eye, a shout of rage ringing out over the crowd. Dead silence fell as people moved away from the scene, Seth quickly standing on a chair to see over the crowd. In the middle of on lookers Elrik stood over a servant, several goblets of wine scattered around them with wine pooling on the fine marble floor. Seth noted a wine stain on Elrik’s sleeve, thus the cause of the servant being struck no doubt. But Elrik looked far from satisfied from that single blow.

He reached out and grabbed a cane from a nearby noble. Under the sound of a solid wood cane hitting flesh was dead silence as all in the room watched the High King beat a servant. Seth’s eyes went to Lucia, to see if she would do anything, but she just sat on her throne with her hand over her belly. Her mask did not slip from the calm mien she wore, but Seth could just see her eye twitch slightly each time the cane connected with flesh. She had been in his bed, felt his beatings and endured his rages. Though she probably felt sympathy for the poor servant, her own fear would not make her rise to face that rage.

At last Elrik dropped the cane with a clatter, heaving for breath as the servant struggled for his own through broken bones.

“So this is the kind of king you are,” Kolun said mildly, breaking the silence and Elrik’s eyes turned on him. “You lack your father’s finesse boy.”

“Watch it Wildlough,” Elrik growled as he straitened his crown. “You speak to the High King.”

“I speak as one king to another,” Kolun answered, shifting on his feet. Seth could see he wasn’t doing it because he was nervous; he shifted to prepare to fight. He had the grace and fluidity of his emblem, an otter. “There has been and forever will be only one true High King, a King that stood above them all, Absalom of the Deep Woods.”

Mutters rose from the crowd like a summer shower, dying quickly as Elrik laughed.

“He is long dead,” Elrik said. “And so is his line.”

“Ah but that is not true on either count,” Kolun said. “His line lives in two witches of the moors, those who healed Warren’s wall.”

“Where did you hear that?” Elrik hissed. “Those two are imposters and pretenders.”

“If so then why does Alora shelter them in her court?” Kolun said. “She has married them to two lords of Alda, and one already bears children to be heirs.”

“You are well informed indeed majesty,” Sherah said smoothly before Elrik could begin a tirade.

“Oh I hold not a spark to your fire Lady Sherah,” Kolun said with an elegant bow. “I merely visited the Court of Fates to hear what I could.”

“So I have heard,” Sherah said. “Tell me, where did Lonna hear about what goes on in the Court of Dreams?”

“Looking to hire a spy?” Kolun said with a raucous grin. “I’m afraid I don’t know where Lonna heard about the happenings of the Aldan, but they do share borders after all.”

“Tell me about that first thing you said before,” Sherah said with a slight frown. “You said neither were true, that Absalom is not long dead.”

Kolun’s grin widened and Seth realized he was enjoying himself. That was what made people, or at least the nobles, fear Kolun: he was unpredictable and his loyalties shifted like water. Seth once again looked for reactions, most of the Regarians looked angry at this game, others contemplative or afraid. Lucia looked unchanged, if maybe a little more relaxed now that the beating had stopped.

“Absalom left he didn’t die,” Kolun said with a shrug. “The Aldan have legends and hope he would one day return.”

“Legends?” Sherah said dryly. “Majesty you indeed do like to stir the pot, even if you only do it with a straw rather than a spoon.”

Kolun only shrugged, aloof again and either unwilling or unable to give support to his claim.

“Enough of this tripe,” Elrik growled. “Answer for your insult Kolun.”

“Insult?” Kolun said playfully. “To what do you refer Alvar? The implication you are lesser to your father? Or the fact that you are no more of a king than I?”

“Bastard!” Elrik shouted, his hand going to his sword. With a wicked grin Kolun reached for his own, so Kolun had been looking for a fight.

“Enough both of you!” Ilya shouted before steel could be drawn. He stepped up between the two kings sparks dancing on the tips of his fingers. The only man with not only the authority to step between the two, but the power to stop them as well Ilya frowned at both kings. “We are Kings of the Nine, not petty children squabbling in the streets. Kolun, apologize to the High King, you took oaths to loyalty to him.”

“I took oaths to Hyria and her people,” Kolun said straitening and pulling his hand from his blade. “But I concede to Alvar, I was looking to see the boy’s mettle.”

“And who are you to judge me?” Elrik shouted angrily.

“Another king of the Nine,” Ilya answered. “We have the authority to at least judge you majesty. And Wildlough? Did the new king pass your test?”

“He has a short temper,” Kolun answered. “And not worth my time.”

Elrik glared, but Seth knew he would not attack with Ilya standing between them.

“Go cool your head Kolun,” Ilya ordered. “I’ll send a few girls to you tonight.”

“I don’t sport with slaves Myrddin,” Kolun growled. “I’ll seek company with a priestess of Dione, it is more enjoyable when the woman is willing.”

Ilya’s face betrayed nothing as the Hyrian king turned away to disappear into the crowd.

“I apologize for Wildlough majesty,” Ilya said as he let his magic go and bowed to Elrik. “He enjoys chaos too much.”

“Next time I’ll cut his head off,” Elrik growled, everyone knowing it was an empty threat. “King or no.”

“Yes majesty,” Ilya said bowing again.

“There is actually something I’d like to discuss with you Ilya,” Elrik said. “About Anton.”

Ilya froze and the air went out of the room again. From his perch Seth could see Anton at his table with his mother. Both obviously heard Elrik, Ileana sitting perfectly still as Anton gripped his chair arm with white knuckles.

“Perhaps we should have this discussion in private majesty,” Ilya said smoothly.

“No, I’d like the court to see my decision on this matter,” Elrik said.

“I will remind you majesty that you speak of my nephew,” Ilya said coolly. “Whatever you are about to announce had better be to my liking.”

“I do not answer to you,” Elrik said his hand resting on his sword again.

“And do you really think simple steel will suffice?” Ilya said lowly, the air crackling now with the raw power of a mage. For once Elrik backed off, his hand falling from the hilt of his sword.

“Anton!” Elrik shouted and the crowd parted. Anton stood puzzled and walked through the crowd to stand at his uncle’s side. He looked wary of Elrik, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the High King.

“We are brothers Elrik,” Anton said uneasy. “You wouldn’t harm me.”

“The only tie we bear is a father who now lies dead,” Elrik said coldly and Anton winced. “But my wife has begged for mercy. Considering you are unable to sire children…”

Anton shouted wordlessly, the on looking nobles gasping. That explained why Elrik wanted to make this public, so everyone would know the truth; Anton’s reaction only confirmed it.

“How did you know that?” Ilya asked his eyes going to Lucia on the throne.

“Irrelevant,” Elrik said calmly. “Since Anton is sterile he poses no threat to the throne, and I want the whole court to know it. You mages have tried to gain the throne, but it remains in Regarian hands.”

“For now,” Ilya said his eyes narrow. “But you have no heirs.”

Seth saw Varas shift of his feet, a frown crossing his brow. He had told Ilya, but how much had he told the Dridian king?

“Jeanne holds my heir,” Elrik growled.

“Jeanne holds a daughter,” Ilya answered and again there was a chorus of surprise from the nobles. It was starting to all feel like a show, and Seth was no longer sure who was directing it. Elrik looked livid and he looked up at Lucia as if this were all her fault. Others looked up at her as well, but she sat calm as always. She stood slowly, her hand resting on her swollen belly.

“So I bear a daughter to the Alvar house,” Lucia said calmly. “And I will bear another child and another as my king sees fit. He is rather prolific in bed I must say, I do not think it will be long before I have a son. That is more than can be said about Anton wouldn’t you say?”

Elrik grinned as he looked back at Ilya with a sneer. Seth watched as well because now would be the time for Ilya to reveal that Lucia was not Jeanne if he knew. Of course that would royally screw over his and Varas plans. From the look on Ilya’s face Seth gathered he did not hold this trump card, he had the face of a man that was just out bid.

“The kingdoms are at war and an heir would put us at ease,” Ilya said. “We await anxiously for our new High King to name his heir.”

“In my own damn time,” Elrik growled. Ilya bowed and Elrik walked up to his throne. The tension eased, music began again alone with excited murmur of conversation. The mages not surprisingly slipped away after that, Ileana looking thunderous. Seth watched as Elrik sat next to Lucia grinning at her and kissing her hand. Seth wondered how much control she had over him, and why the emptiness in him suddenly felt just a little cold.

She looked up then and their eyes met. Once again they had a moment of recognition, of more than just two people who once knew each other, before Lucia looked away back to Elrik. She hadn’t even blinked.

The party continued through the evening and into the night, Seth never given the opening he needed to speak with Lucia. He didn’t want it; he had a plan to see her. So he waited as the night grew long and at last the court began to retire. Lucia was one of the first to leave, but Seth lingered until most of the court was gone to their beds leaving nothing but drunken fools behind. Seth left and traveled a familiar path through the palace and gardens to the women’s wing.

His new skills made it childishly easy to sneak through the guards to the garden under Jeanne’s rooms, he could move as silently as a shadow now. Once again he climbed the wall to the window and easily into the room beyond. This time he remembered to close the window behind him. He walked the room, moving around furniture silently, and got to the bedroom door. No maid slept outside it this time, all but one of Jeanne’s maids had died protecting her.

Inside the bedroom was dim but for a single candle burning on the nightstand. Lucia sat in bed, the covers tucked up around her swollen belly. Her mask had not slipped, she looked calm and in control.

“I knew you would come,” she said watching him. “You are here to kill Jeanne.”

“If you really believed that you wouldn’t have let me get this far,” Seth answered dully.

“Then you are here to kill me,” Lucia said. “Without me Elrik falls and so does Jeanne.”

“Without you the Court of Miracles falls but not as neatly as planned,” Seth answered. “There are many players in this game; I am just the muscle behind them.”

“Well then get on with it,” Lucia said with a slight frown.

“I’m not here to kill you Lucia,” Seth said. “You want to protect your lady, nothing more. I’m here to offer her protection.”

“Protection?” Lucia said interested.

“Varas is in league with Kal Ba’el,” Seth said. “He is playing his own game alongside Loe, working along the same lines but seeking his own advancement over him. Loe wants the High Throne, and nine brides of each of the Nine Kingdoms.”

“So Jeanne will be his bride?” Lucia asked.

“No, Jeanne is too old,” Seth answered. “He wants girls of a younger nature.”

He saw Lucia work through that, her hand going to her swollen belly.

“Everyone seems to think a daughter useless,” Lucia said.

“She will be Loe’s wife when she grows a bit more,” Seth answered. Her mask slipped a little to show her disgust and fear at the idea of handing over her child to Loe.

“And Jeanne will be safe then?” Lucia asked, her voice hitched as she spoke through her pain. “Loe will not harm her?”

“I make no promises,” Seth answered. “But for now if you seek security for Jeanne this is the best course. Varas knows you are a fake, he will reveal your secret if you do not cooperate. He plans on killing Sherah, as well as the queen and princess. You would survive, if you agree to help manipulate Elrik.”

She was staring at him now, her eyes sad. She pushed aside the covers and slid from the high bed, her night dress billowing over her great belly. She walked up to him, looking him right in the eye. He felt nothing in her gaze so just stood waiting.

“What has he done to you?” she asked softly and reached up to cup his face in her hand. Seth gasped as he felt her skin touch his own, warm and soft. The sensation reverberated through him, like a warm drink through a cold body it spread through every limb. He felt a tide of emotion and sensation return to him in an overpowering wave of euphoria. He pulled back in shock, stumbling back a few steps gasping for air.

As soon as the contact was gone the crushing numbness spread through him once more, and he found he could only vaguely recall the sensations. It was disquieting, yet even that deadened in his chest.

“What was that?” he asked, even his voice sounded flat again.

“I don’t know,” Lucia answered. “Wait here.”

“No,” Seth said, deciding whatever she had done was best not repeated. “I’ll have my answer now Lucia.”

“Seth I’ve been learning about Elder Magic,” Lucia said. “I think that is why my touch affected you. Whatever Loe did to you I can reverse it, make you whole again. I just need to ask the one who is teaching me…”

“No Lucia,” Seth said. “After all I have seen and done, to feel again would drive me mad. I’d rather stay dead inside.”

She stared at him, her hazel eyes melting with emotions he no longer felt and barely understood anymore.

“Very well,” Lucia said sadly. “For now I will aid you in controlling Elrik and keeping Jeanne out of the way.”

“And Sherah,” Seth said. “You will aid in her end.”

Lucia flinched at that and then nodded, her hand going to her belly.

“As for the child we will leave that for Loe,” Seth answered. “Convince Elrik not to engage Lir, Loe will be turning to Alda. He will like that.”

Lucia nodded as Seth started to turn away, but stopped. His mind still held echoes of lingering sensation from her, and his eyes lingered on her pale face a moment. His thoughts however were calculating; if she could make him feel again could she make Loe mortal?

“What you did before, could you repeat it?” Seth asked. “You made me feel again, do you know what you did to do so?”

“No, all I did was touch you,” Lucia answered shaking her head. “I know only a little about the Elder Magic, as I said I am still learning. If you’d like I could touch you again to see what happens.”

Seth considered her offer, he felt no fear or temptation at it, but he was critical and wary. If she undid whatever had been done to him he had no chance of killing Loe. He thought of Varas and his possible aid, but he knew he could not rely on the mage. Varas had his own agenda and while those plans did include Loe’s death, Seth wasn’t willing to place bets on Varas being any use in that endeavor.

The Elder Magic, whatever it was, might be his only chance.

“Alright,” Seth said.

“Are you sure?” Lucia asked. “It seemed to cause you pain before.”

“It caused both pain and pleasure,” Seth answered. “Right now I feel nothing.”

She looked sad at that and then reached out. Again her hand slipped almost perfectly along his jaw, her fingers warm against his neck. He felt her breath come heavy as he closed his eyes overcome. He knew the returned feelings were ordinary, the simple beat of his heart, the feeling of air moving in and out of his lungs, the smell of her perfume just under his nose, yet it had been so long he was hyper aware of them all.

There was pain as well, dark memories surfacing threatening his sanity, so instead he opened his eyes. He looked down at Lucia, her golden eyes as warm as candle light. Somehow he knew she fit with him, the sad tragedy of both their lives meaningless in the face of this feeling. He leaned down and kissed her, warm lips against his own, and he deepened it to taste her. She gasped and he felt her hesitation, but that melted quickly as she pulled him closer to her embrace.

Somehow it didn’t matter that the swell of her belly sat between them, another man’s child inside her. He took her to the bed and for once in his life had something that was more than either pain or pleasure.

Afterwards lying next to her, sweat drying on skin, his memories began to rise again. Tears started to rise up, burning his eyes since he had not wept in a long time. Before he could pull away Lucia pulled him close, his forehead resting in the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. The damn burst and he was weeping like a child in her arms. She stroked his hair, murmuring soothing wordless sounds in his ear. He felt her lips brush the top of his head and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer. He was shuddering now with sobs, his tears running down her chest.  At last the storm passed and he rested against her spent in joy and sorrow. Seth sat up, pulling away from her to feel his heart die again and sanity return.

“You’re leaving,” Lucia said softly and he looked down at her. She was beautiful, her raven hair spread out around her in dark waves like the night sky.

“I can’t stay,” he answered.

“Because of this,” she said softly, her hand going to her belly.

“No, because if I lay with you any longer I’ll lose my mind,” Seth answered.

“Seth whatever was done to you…”

“You don’t understand,” Seth said shaking his head. “The things I’ve done, the things I’ve seen, this deadness in me is the only thing keeping me from killing myself. Of course I can’t even do that. I don’t know why you lift me up, but I’ll only drag you down Lucia.”

“Glen told me about spirits,” Lucia said. “How we die and are reborn again. I think that we knew each other in a past life, and that is why we are drawn to each other. Maybe our next lives we will find one another again and be happy.”

“We won’t,” Seth said. “The Crippled One scooped me out like a fig; if I ever die I doubt my spirit will be reborn.”

“There must be something there Seth,” Lucia said. “I’m still drawn to you, you still live and when we touch you are human again.”

“Like I said I’m probably drawing you down,” Seth said as he stood to dress. “Did you learn anything that may help me kill Loe?”

“I don’t know,” Lucia said. “I’ll have to ask Glen.”

Seth wanted to know who this Glen was. He suspected he was one of the people on that list Loe had given him. He also knew Lucia was on that list, but for now she was more useful alive. He made his own decisions and while away from Loe he could disobey if he chose. He was no longer sure he could kill Lucia anyways.

He paused after he dressed and looked down at Lucia in the bed. She had been watching him, her thoughts buried deep under her mask once more.

“Well it looks like I finally got the reward you promised,” Seth said and a smile tugged at her lips.

“You know I used to think it an animal’s pursuit and having nothing but Elrik taught me it could be brutal as well,” Lucia said her eyes sad. “You showed me that it does indeed deserve the title ‘lovemaking’ for that was certainly the act of love in itself.”

He felt nothing at her words, but his mind reeled because he knew he should. He debated a moment on whether or not he should take her hand and let the doors open again to experience the feelings she invoked. He decided it would be more prudent to leave.

“I’ll be in touch to keep you abreast of Varas’ plans,” Seth said turning away.

“Seth,” Lucia said and he stopped, but did not face her. “I know you cannot face what is inside you, but I swear I’ll find a way to restore you, fully without risk to your sanity.”

“Bold as brass now I see,” Seth said mildly. “Very well, it is a challenge I am sure you’ll relish. But know this; I will not accept any cure until Loe is dead.”

“Very well,” Lucia said firmly.

Seth nodded and left, somehow he felt lighter on his feet than he had before. Walking out the bedroom door Seth came face-to-face with the real Jeanne. She glared at him, a naked saber in one hand. Frowning she motioned him away from the door wordlessly. Seth obeyed, letting her usher him from the sitting room to the servant quarters where several lamps burned.

Jeanne was a remnant of herself; Seth had seen her when she had first arrived at court. She had been a well-fed, arrogant, powerful noble lady then, a woman assured in both body and position. Now she was thin, sinew and bone prominent under pale skin. She had the air of a wounded pride and a bleeding heart; she was an injured animal seeking to lash out.

“You again,” she hissed, her saber down but held ready.

“Hollow Jack at your service,” Seth said with a bow and Jeanne sneered.

“What do you want?” Jeanne asked. “You know Lucia is just a double so why go to her?”

“Because she isn’t a double,” Seth answered, “not anymore; she’s an imposter now.”

Jeanne seethed and raised her blade to his throat, but Seth didn’t even flinch.

“She is my servant and I will not let you harm her,” Jeanne said angrily.

“I’ve no intention to,” Seth answered mildly. “What our plans are do not concern you. You are irrelevant.”

Jeanne growled and her blade slipped forward cutting his neck a little. Seth leaned in and let the blade go further through his neck, feeling nothing as he stepped closer. Jeanne looked shocked as he let the blade pass through his throat, trying to draw back but Seth caught her arm. He drew a dagger and had it at her throat in a moment.

“You are worthless,” Seth said, his voice gurgling past the blood in his throat. “If you were to die her burden would be so much lighter, she could be free of this prison you forced her into with honor and loyalty. Why should I not kill you now?”

Jeanne stared up at him in horror trembling. Seth was tempted to do it as well, to free Lucia from the grips of honor that bound her, when a sound drew his attention. A door closed behind a figure as they stepped into the room. Dressed in robes of the followers of Iris, the young man looked almost like a woman, but for the slight masculine touch to his features. He had removed his veil, and there was a silence about him that smelled of peace and serenity.

He stared Seth down, blue eyes boring into him with an intensity that belayed his peaceful air. He did not speak but waved his hands in signs.

“You cannot speak,” Seth said with a grin, blood was in his mouth and coated his teeth.

“He is harmless,” Jeanne gasped. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“You never answered my question,” Seth said. “Why should I not kill you?”

“Lucia would hate you forever,” Jeanne answered. Seth knew she was right, but he couldn’t care what Lucia would think. In fact he didn’t care if she hated him forever, so long as she was safe.

Movement drew his eye and he turned to face the boy again. He now stood by the fireplace, and a shape was forming out of the flames. It was long and serpent like, with six small legs and a flat head. Seth realized it resembled a salamander in shape, though the resemblance was loose. The fire creature crouched in the hearth next to the Sect, waiting for his command.

“Now he has a better reason,” Seth said releasing Jeanne, and she pulled the saber from his throat. “I might be immortal but I doubt even I can survive being burned to a crisp.”

Jeanne glared at him as she retreated behind Glen, but the Sect walked forward leaving the fireside. Seth watched him as his hand reached out and plucked something from thin air. Seth felt the air changing around him, power surging as the Sect reached down towards his belly. When his hand touched him it was much like when Lucia had, sensations began to return as well as feelings. This time Seth felt the power growing as the Sect started to move his hands as if he were tying a knot.

Seth slapped his hands away and the power dissipated, leaving him numb again. Glen looked up at him shocked and began waving his hands frantically.

“I don’t care,” Seth answered. “I don’t want to return to normal, not yet.”

Glen looked sad and fraught so Seth turned his back on him.

“Wait,” Jeanne said as Seth moved towards the door. “What do you plan to do with Lucia?”

“Ask her if she will tell you,” Seth answered. “You’ll get nothing from me.”

He left Jeanne and Glen to their own devices, going out into the servant hall. He took a long way out of the women’s wing, going down to the gardens and cutting around in the bushes. He returned at last to Han’s rooms, having a bit of trouble with the guards there who let him pass reluctantly. He found the lord and lady sitting by the fire looking worn.

“Lord Hollow,” Han said standing. “I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Wouldn’t be good at my job if you had,” Seth answered. “I’ve some new developments to share.”

Seth told him about Varas, Lucia, and the plans formed between them all now.

“This Lord Lonelove cannot be trusted,” Han said. “Neither can this Lucia.”

“Varas can be trusted to do what is in the best interest for the mages and nothing more,” Seth answered. “And as long as Jeanne is alive Lucia is manageable.”

“So we have our puppeteers now we just need to get rid of the opposition,” Han said nodding. “The Lady Sherah. Did Lonelove give you any hint to his plans on that matter?”

“Tea time,” Seth answered. “I should be able to get my old serving job back, so long as Sherah doesn’t catch wind of it. She knows who I am and of my failure. If she knew I was back she would know I’ve been turned.”

“And what of Nicodemus Rue?” Han asked. “He is the pawn Elrik plans on using to get the Lirian throne, without him Elrik has no claim.”

“Nicodemus is a useless book worm,” Seth answered. “If we kill Elrik he will never contest for any of the thrones. For now I trust Lucia to keep Elrik in line until Loe takes Alda. When that happens it would be a simple matter of killing Elrik.”

“I have learned long ago not to underestimate the Rue family,” Han said.

“Really?” Seth asked. “Why?”

“I knew Nicodemus’ father,” Han answered. “He should have been king not Son, but he was not eldest. He had been a man of cunning; Sherah had found her perfect match in that man. I find it hard to believe that a child of two of the most ruthless and conniving minds is little more than a shy bookish man.”

“I find it hard to believe he is faking it,” Seth answered. But his mind was going over the possibilities. When he had left Nicodemus had been getting closer and closer to Jeanne. It would be a good power move, but Jeanne was sterile now making her useless in the long run. If Nicodemus was planning some long run scheme, his goals and plans were unknown to Seth.

“I think that he should die along with Sherah,” Han answered. “Just to be sure the last of the Rues are gone.”

Seth looked at Han then and saw a light in his eyes, a light of fervor.

“You had Nicodemus’ father killed,” Seth said with a grin and Han flinched away. “Everyone thought it was Son cutting his ties from the Regarian influence, or Sherah who thinks it was Loe. But you killed him didn’t you? Were you aiming for the Lirian throne or did you just hate him? Or maybe you were already in Loe’s pocket.”

Seth saw Han’s face transform with rage at that, Seth knowing very well what tender weeping wound he had just hit with those last words.

“Lord Hollow,” Sein said softly and both men turned to her. “Please do not poke at old wounds. It does not matter now what was done.”

“Very well,” Seth said shrugging but Han looked far from consoled.

“I do not agree with my husband however that Nicodemus Rue should die,” Sein said.

“Oh? And why not?” Seth said interested.

“Because of the plan you described,” Sein answered. “If Nicodemus dies Elrik won’t just give up his claim on the Lirian throne or on this war, his father has been killed of course he is going to continue to fight. Elrik can be convinced to let Alda fall, but not if his position of claim becomes weaker with the death of his cousin. Nicodemus must live to keep Elrik from losing his patience and attacking Lir.”

Seth nodded and turned to Lord Han.

“Well? Do you agree?” Seth asked. Han looked like he was swallowing something sour, but he nodded.

“My wife has a point,” Han said reluctantly.

“No wiser word spoken,” Seth answered. “Nicodemus lives, for now. When Alma falls, so does the rest of the Nine.”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dragon Keeper

“It baint be much o a tale milady,” Colm said over their camp fire. They had traveled a few days until at last Colm seemed comfortable to tell his story. His reaction to Hors had been mild, telling that he had already seen the dragon earlier.

“I still wish to hear it,” Iounn said and Colm glanced at his daughter. She and Lofn were playing cat’s cradle together, they had become fast friends. “Has your daughter not heard the tale?”

“Nowt, she were always too young,” Colm said as he glanced at his daughter. He sighed and turned back to Iounn looking haunted. “I were young, as ye might guess. I were a sheepherder o the moors, n it were the Winter Solstice. I meet a lass n we tuffled, but the next mornin she cried rape. She were actually the daughter o a baron, in Daun it baint be uncommon fer the nobles ta scrape elbows with common folk. She had ta keep her reputation, sos she cried rape.

“Her da had me in a cell faster than ye could blink. Only later she were found with child. Soon as the child were born we were sold ta Nyrgard, been traded bout ever since.”

“How long is your sentence?” Iounn asked.

“Baint ken,” he answered. “I always thought it’d be fer life.”

“I could…”

“Nowt milady,” Colm said quickly. “Without ye I baint have a livelihood, I’d be a freed slave with a child. Worse yet a criminal.”

“Point well taken,” Iounn said. “You could head back to my steading.”

“With what?” Colm asked. “Ye gave enough already ta buy me n Nora. Milady let me serve ye at least fer now.”

“Very well,” Iounn said resigned. “But next village I am buying you and Nora some clean clothes. I’ll not have my servants looking like a bag of rags.”

“Thank ye milady,” Colm said with a kind smile.

“Wonderful, two more to our company,” Hors said dryly.

“You don’t want Colm and Nora along?” Iounn asked dryly.

“By all means the more the merrier,” Hors said. “Especially the child, she has a touch of the Elder Magic.”

“Elder Magic?” Iounn said while Colm looked startled.

“The powers o the Phay,” Colm said. “Mine daughter be a green witch?”

“No, she will outgrow it, many like her do,” Hors said. “It is more common for those of the young races than the outlanders.”

“Young Races?” Iounn asked.

“Daunish, Hyrian, Aldan, Lirian, Xinian, and Rhodin,” Hors answered. “We of the Phay called the races of men ‘young races’ because they were young to us. We had found Miread and lived in it for eons before the races of men rose up from beasts. They were to become the Aldan, Little Kindred as we liked to call them, after ages of some of the Phay siring children on them. The Rhodin came from the beasts as well, but they kept aloof from us keeping their own ways.

“The Daunish, Mud Men, came next out of the mud and they used stone tools. They and the Dwarves wared often, though the Daunish kept to the lowland moors while the dwarves kept to the mountains. The Hyrians, Water Children, were wary of our kind, but we respected them and they respected us. The Xinians, Demons of Burning Sands, we had few interactions with them in their desert. The Lirians, Men with Silken Hair, however were warlike, we had wars with their kind for centuries.

“I remember when the first outlanders arrived, the Elmerians we called them the Quivering Children. They were peaceful and joined us willingly, living alongside the Aldan. It wasn’t until the Markians arrived that things changed. They brought a plague with them that devastated the humans though did not touch our kind. The Nyrgarders came after the Markians and held war with everything that moved. As I remember the Nyrgarders came from the same land as the Markians, fleeing the starvation that the plague had caused in your home lands.

“Tell me, have any gone back?” Hors asked looking at Iounn.

“None have returned,” Iounn answered. “We barely survived the crossing the first time as I was told.”

“I guess that is why the others have not sought their own homelands then,” Hors said sounding disappointed. “Last were the Regarians as I remember, their greed for gold was like a starving lion. They held wars for that metal, I don’t know why.”

“Last?” Iounn asked. “What about the Dridians?”

“Dridians?” Hors said as he blinked, his double lids flashing over his large eyes.

“The mages,” Colm said. “Many say they be why ye marched, that ye baint able ta stand another powerful race like ye. They say the High Magic baint mix well with Elder Magic.”

“We marched before the Dridians even arrived,” Hors said interested. “And we wouldn’t have cared if they had power or not. As for this High Magic, I don’t know anything of it.”

“Then why did ye march?” Colm asked his eyes burning. Iounn realized then that Colm had a deeper understanding of the Phay than she did; the Daunish had their own mysteries. Hors was now staring at the fire, his tail strangely still.

“The Lost Court was in chaos,” he said lowly, Iounn feeling a chill down her spine; he was telling a story and Phay stories had power. “Titania wanted to march, Mab wanted to stay and make peace, Mór Ríoghain wanted war, and Oberon and the rest were on the fence or playing several sides. I used my power as one of the eldest, to call for the march. Many had their own reasons for wanting to March, but my own were known only to me.

“Decades before we marched, one of my subjects came to me. Lyl was a beautiful young dragoness, but very foolish. She came to me because she had taken human form to lay with a human man, only to come with child. Even in her dragon form the child remained, and she feared the choice. See the Phay have larger spirits than men, making us long lived and invincible, almost immortal as you would say. The male Phay were able to sire children on human females easily, however Phay females cannot bear a mortal child easily. Their spirit is so hot it would burn the child, so either a female Phay must abandon the child, or their ember of power that makes us Phay.

“Shucking such a large part of one’s soul is not easy and comes with much pain. Few have done it, those who made their own races like the Dwarves. It makes children with small souls, larger than the average men, but small compared to the elder Phay. Those are the ones who must tie themselves to Fors Wheel lest they become lost on the lay lines. Giving up one’s ember means becoming mortal like those Phay and ride the wheel.

“Lyl came to me afraid. It was before Eileen had braved giving up her ember, so we did not think it could be done. She did not want to lose the child, our kind rarely breeds as men do and she was not old enough to dream her own. She thought she might be able to dream the child within her since it was already started. I took her to a dreaming place and stood guard outside, waiting.

“Five years I waited as Lyl dreamed, our kind could always dream our own form in sleep but it took a long time. I was patient, until I heard her cry out. I dug into the dreaming place to get to her, but by the time I arrived Lyl was dead. I found her body twisted in pain, her chest and belly hollow and bloody. Lyl’s dreams had turned to nightmares; the child had eaten its way out of her as she had tried to dream it.

“The creature was not dragon or Phay, it was not even complete. I saw its spirit try to live in the monstrosity of flesh it had made, only to fail. It fled from me into the lines, and was gone before I could stop it. I looked to Lyl, trying to find her spirit, but that too had been eaten by her child. I burned her body and that dreaming place to slag.

“That child still lives. He is a soul eater lurking the lines, going to dark places and opening paths he should never have opened. Those of the lines call him the Crippled One, but his true name is Aeon, the name of the dreaming place I destroyed was passed to him.

“You asked why we marched, we marched because I feared Aeon who was naught but hunger; he cannot be more than it because he was born empty. He would consume all the Phay and still he would not be satisfied. I thought my kin would be safe in Tir Aesclinn until I could hunt Aeon down and stop him. I wandered the lines hunting for him, but could never find him.  So I took to Fors’ Wheel, my time along the lines had shrunken my spirit enough I could ride upon her wheel.

“Now that I think on it the Crippled One probably hid from me. My search hindered him until I went on Fors Wheel, the Crippled One was free to move and make his plans. I believe those plans involve taking over Miread and making it his own, so I went on Fors Wheel to be reborn. I needed a body to be reborn to however, and that was when you sang Iounn, awakening one of our old eggs. I took it and here I am, reborn. I must seek news, and find out what Aeon intends; if he is reborn I must be there to kill both his body and spirit and destroy him at last.”

They sat around the fire silent, in awe of Hors story. At last Iounn had questions come to her, and asked them freely.

“Why me?” Iounn asked at last.

“I don’t know,” Hors answered. “You sang the song and I followed, it might be a simple as that. But I see something on your spirit, it is hard since I am so young now, but I cannot tell what.”

“It be fate,” Colm said and Hors laughed, Colm looking startled by the strange noise of his laugh.

“Fate? Where did you hear such a thing?” Hors said. “I have lived a long time master Colm and I have yet to see or meet any creature or god controlling our lives. There are those of the Phay that can tweak things here or there however…” He trailed off as if thinking now.

“Why did you not tell me this story first thing?” Iounn asked.

“Lyl was my greatest shame,” Hors said. “She was not my child, nor any other blood relative other than being one of my kind. Nor was she a close friend or lover, she was much younger than I. Yet as her king I failed her.”

“You did the best you could Hors,” Iounn said as she pet him. “That is all the gods ask.”

“Thank you Iounn,” Hors said deeply, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

“I’d hate ta ask this, but can ye kill Aeon?” Colm asked. “Ye couldn’t afore.”

“I did not know his true name then, I should have realized he had stolen part of the name of the dreaming place he was in. I know now.”

“Even so Hors I think Colm is right,” Iounn said. “You can’t even fly yet, only glide.”

“It may take Aeon years, decades to find a way to be reborn,” Hors said.

“And you said it would take lifetimes for you to even grow to adolescence,” Iounn said and Hors sighed wearily.

“You are right,” Hors said. “I am no longer a match for Aeon. But I have power and his true name; if I gain aid in the Elder Magic we can defeat him.”

“Aid liken the Phay?” Colm asked. “Er a green witch?”

“It would have to be a very powerful witch,” Hors said. “The aid of the Phay would be better, but in order for me to gain the aid of the Elder Kindred they would have to march.”

“Right inta the arms o Aeon,” Colm said and Hors nodded. “How do the Phay march, n do ye ken when they might?”

“You are Daunish, you have heard of the omens right?” Hors asked and Colm nodded. “Those omens are the signs that the Phay will march, the song stirs the aether and causes the omens. That is another reason I need news, I need to know how close they are to marching. The more omens and the stronger they are, the closer the Phay are to marching. They cannot march however without the song being answered by the Stone Flute.

“The Stone Flute was carved out of the bones of Kur, the eldest of the Phay, mother of my race, and the first of the Phay to have formed in Miread. It has always been a guide for our kind, when it plays the song the Phay will march. Not anyone can play it, only one of the Elder Phay can play the answer of the song.”

“Can you?” Iounn asked.

“No, I do not have the power in such a young body,” Hors answered.

“But all the other elders are in Tir Aesclinn aren’t they?” Iounn asked.

“One is not,” Hors said with a smile. “Eileen, Mab dreamed her in Tir Aesclinn, she was the first of our dreamed children and still had the Elder power of the first of our kin. Even after shedding her ember to bear the mortal child within her, she’s retained much of the Elder Magic. She was the one to play the song when we first marched, and I think it has to be her who plays it again.”

“But she is long dead isn’t she?” Iounn asked.

“Yes and reborn many times,” Hors answered.

“So it seems you have many missions Hors,” Iounn said. “Kill an immortal dark spirit, find a lost stone flute, and find the reborn spirit of a princess of the Phay. Is that right?”

“Pretty much,” Hors said as he nodded. “And I do not know which to do first as I do not know if the flute has been found or if Eileen is even alive right now. A search means travel, and in this form travel is hard and long.”

“Do ye even ken where the flute be?” Colm asked.

“No, I had hoped one of you might. Any legend or mention of songs might be helpful.”

“None come to mind,” Iounn said. She looked to Tollack and Josef, but they hadn’t been playing a game of bones and not listening.

“I been hearin many tales but I baint ken o any flute,” Colm said. “Where were it last seen?”

“In Eileen’s hands before we marched,” Hors answered annoyed. “What the Aldan did with it after that I do not know.”

“Alda then would be a good place to start,” Iounn said. “I suppose you couldn’t give any hints to Eileen’s new life?”

“Well she would only be reborn as an Aldan or with Aldan blood,” Hors answered. “Her spirit is still sizable so she must have a body that can bear it and only one with Aldan blood could. I don’t think she would be reborn as one of the Younger Phay, like a Dwarf or Merrow, their spirits are shaped different. She was a fairy before she gave up her ember, so her spirit would have to be in a body shaped much the same.”

“What about the Dridians?” Iounn asked. “They have power.”

“I don’t know anything about the High Magic or the size of the mage’s spirits,” Hors said. “It could be them. Alda though sounds like our best place to start the search, for Eileen and the Flute. But if Aeon is moving I must know what he is doing.”

“Of course,” Iounn said and then looked to Colm whose brow was furrowed. “Are you alright with this Colm? You are bringing your daughter into the middle of great struggle.”

“I used ta listen ta tales o the Phay all the time from mine gram,” Colm answered. “Those tales been dying even afore mine gram. I’d be glad ta see the Phay return unce again.”

“Then let us see to it,” Hors said grimly.

It was another month of travel until they reach Hólmsted, Hors taking the time with resignation. There was nothing he could do about their pace, they were traveling at a regular pace. Hurrying would have harmed the horses, and they couldn’t keep such a pace up. Through the mountains travel was hard, the season was prime for travel and the passes were clear.

They saw Hólmsted, the city of sleeping giants, days before they arrived. Clearing the arms of the Ionnfell Mountains they looked out onto Thorrak Bay, the waters gray blue in the summer sun. The shores were rocky here, sheer cliffs, rocky beaches, and treacherous sea caves. Standing on a peek over the gray waters was Hólmsted. The keep and city were all made of stone, though details from here were hard to see. Just below the peak a wharf of ships laid, Iounn betting the base of the mountain had natural caves providing a safe port.

The mountain rocks here were dark pinnacles and rough tumbles to the sea. It was treacherous ground, giving them few times to look at the city and they made slow progress. The horses were all the tough mountain breed of Nyrgard, sturdy but ugly brutes. Despite having the city in sight it still took them another day to reach the foot of the mountain. Here a shanty town had sprung up, a town of wagons and rude houses. A crude wooden palisade had been raised around the town, yet there were still camps out around it.

Riding through along the road Iounn looked at the poor excuses of humanity that had gathered around the foot of the mountain. They were mostly Elmerian, some Nyrgarders, and a smattering of Rhodin. There were many wagons, and not just the colorful Rhodin wagons. None of the wagons bearing goods could make it up the mountain so they all stopped here. Warehouses stood over all the rude huts, though Iounn was sure the king had his own private larders up at the keep.

Riding through the shanty town, ignoring the hoots and calls of beggars, they reached the only stone structure of the town. The Thunder Gate was built with two towers, the gate standing between them. The leaves of the gate stood open, built of massive redwood logs bound with iron. They rode under the portcullis, the iron spikes much like the fangs of a beast. They stopped in the gate, a guard standing before them with a pike resting on his shoulder.

“Name milady?” he said curt but polite.

“I am Iounn, Baroness of Stóstund,” she answered, showing her signet ring. “And my daughter Lofn. I am here to announce the death of my husband to the Court of Legends.”

“Very well milady,” the guard said with a quick look at her ring. “You may pass, be careful up the trail, it can be treacherous.”

“Thank you sir,” Iounn said and the man stepped aside.

“There were crossbows trained on us,” Hors said quietly once they were clear of the gates.

“They have a right to guard the king,” Iounn answered. “I am relieved that such care is taken.”

Hors made a non-committal sound and they kept riding. The trail switched back up the mountain side, occasionally disappearing into a tunnel lit by torches. The trail was built mostly for horses and their mountain bred horses handled it well. They reached the top with no small effort, the horses breathing heavily.

Hólmsted stood at the top of the mountain, high walls looming over the path. The gates were open and after another showing of her ring and introduction they were let through into the main city. Though not a large as many southern cities Hólmsted was thriving. The streets were all paved and buildings all made of evenly cut stone with timber roofs. The stone was dark, making the city seem a bit gloomy. There was no sign of green or growing things, just stone and lumber.

The people they passed were all Nyrgardic, dressed in fur and leather, many wearing mail. It wasn’t uncommon to see Nyrgarders armored and armed despite being protected in the walls of Hólmsted. Iounn had never seen so many people and she stared openly at the grand buildings and crowds of people as they made their way to the central keep. As they rode a cry went up and the crowd began to part. Iounn moved her horse to the side of the road, her party following suit.

A party of horsemen rode by, all looking ready for a hunt. The man in the lead was a Regarian, his hair golden and skin fair. He was on the chubby side, his face looking soft shaved of a beard in the southern style. She instinctively bowed in her saddle to the man and he looked her way. He stopped his horse so suddenly some of the guards following him had to wheel about to avoid crashing into him.

“Who are you milady?” the man asked interested. He was perhaps around her age, but it was hard for Iounn to judge on such a pudgy face. Other than the excess fat he was a fairly handsome man, his blue eyes as deep as the sky.

“I am Iounn Baroness of Stóstund,” she answered. “I’m afraid my steading is so far away I do not know you milord, though I can tell you are a man of great standing.”

“I am, nor do I fault you for your ignorance Lady Iounn,” the man answered preening. “I am the Prince Regent of Nyrgard, Armand Roque.”

“A pleasure to meet you majesty,” Iounn said with a quick bow to hide her distaste. When the Kings Wars had ended Arian Drasir the first had arranged several marriages to the other kingdoms. It wasn’t to ensure loyalty, but to have an heir to their royal line so that if they ever rebelled he could place the child on the throne. For Lir he had married his daughter, the current king’s sister, to one of their sons.

For Nyrgard Arian Drasir the first had chosen his bastard son. Son of a minor baron Armand Roque had little interest other than hunting so rumors went. He had married Sten Tyr’s only daughter Frida Tyr, but as a bastard he could not take the throne so was given the title of Prince Regent. According to Nyrgard’s peace treaty their child would be named heir over all Sten’s other sons, giving Drasir control over the Nyrgardic throne. Frida had died giving birth to the crown prince Modi Tyr.

“What brings you to Hólmsted milady?” Armand asked, his Regarian accent making the name sound flat.

“Business of my late husband’s,” Iounn answered and she saw Armand’s interest which he quickly masked with feigned grief.

“I am sorry for your loss milady,” Armand said.

“I thank you majesty,” Iounn answered. “We must be along, we are holding up traffic.”

“Of course, milady,” Armand said. “I look forward to seeing you in the Court of Legends.”

Iounn kept her face lax as he turned and left, trying not to make a childish face after the retreating lord’s back.

The main keep’s walls stood higher over all the other buildings, made of the dark intimidating stone again. The gates here were open as well, but there were more guards once again. Iounn showed her ring, but instead of being let inside a guard ordered her to wait by the gate. It wasn’t long before a man hurried out. He wore a fur robe, his beard well braided and blonde hair clean. He was Nyrgardic, though didn’t look like a warrior.

“Greetings Lady Iounn,” he said with a bow.  “I am the second prince Ekkehard Tyr and the King’s seneschal; I am here to welcome you to court.”

“I thank you milord,” Iounn said knowing it would be rude of her to point out his insult at making her wait at the gate.

“Come, servants will see to your horses,” Ekkehard said. Iounn dismounted and then helped Lofn down from her pony. They led their horses into the paved courtyard where servants hurried to lead them away to the stables. Ekkehard walked off towards the hall, his fur robe billowing after him. Iounn followed, Lofn at her side, Colm just behind her with Nora in tow, and Tollack and Josef last.

“What brings you to Hólmsted milady?” Ekkehard asked conversationally as they walked.

“My husband passed over in the winter,” Iounn answered and Ekkehard looked appropriately morose. He though was around her age, and his eyes lingered on her chest. “I am here to bring news of his death.”

“Surely that is not all milady?” Ekkehard asked. “A messenger bird could carry such a missive.”

“No, I admit I yearned to see the Court of Legends for myself,” she answered.

“Well I hope it impresses you,” Ekkehard said as they reached the massive doors. They entered though through a side port, the main doors too large to open alone. Inside the main hall was staggering; the ceiling so far above the candle light did not reach it. Massive stone pillars lined the hall, hearths with roaring blazes between every other pillar. Tables were set up by each fireplace, giving no order to the room.

In the middle of the hall was a stone pillar that reached to the ceiling. As they walked closer Iounn saw it was carved in the likeness of a tree, so detailed she could see bark.

“It isn’t a carving,” Ekkehard said grinning. “That is Yggdrasil.”

Iounn gasped in awe reaching out reverently to the petrified tree. Yggdrasil had been a legend of Nyrgarders from their homeland, a tree that had birthed the world. The tree had crumbled centuries after standing tall as giants. That had been the sign that her people had needed after years of wars and plague. They left their homeland, and brought what was left of the world tree with them.

Regretfully she pulled away from the stone tree and followed Ekkehard towards the far end of the hall. Here the stone wall was carved into a story of their crossing and battles with giants. Banners with the king’s emblem, a wolverine rampant, hung everywhere in the hall. A table stood on a dais here, and the royal family was seated there.

King Sten Tyr was old, his hair white and face lined. He wasn’t infirm though, his forearms still thick and back straight. He wore the gold torc in sign of his ruler ship, as did his children. His sons sat next to him, Iounn though didn’t know their names. She also noted that there were no women at the table, the Queen had died she knew as well as Sten’s only daughter. None of the princes were married, which worried Iounn.

“Father!” Ekkehard said as he walked up to the table. “May I present Iounn the Baroness of Stóstund?”

“Stóstund…” Sten said musing. “Ah Gridor’s steading, off in the mountains.”

“His son inherited after the war majesty,” Iounn said with a bow. “My husband Goran was the holder after him. He passed last winter and now our son Sigur is Baron of Stóstund.”

“I mourn for your loss milady,” Sten said kindly, his empathy genuine. “I am startled so much time has passed.”

“Thank you majesty,” Iounn said. “Is the Queen here?”

“Alas my wife died some time ago,” Sten answered. “The grief of losing her only daughter was too much for her.”

“I am grieved to hear that majesty,” Iounn said putting her hand to her heart.

“Go and ask,” the man next to the king said as he leaned forward. The first prince looked drunk already, his dark hair and beard braided like a warrior’s. “Why haven’t any of us married?”

“Ignore Roland milady,” Ekkehard said. “My elder brother took to drink after Modi was born and took his throne.”

“If I weren’t such a great warrior I’d have died in the King’s Wars and been spared such humiliation,” Roland moaned as he took a long pull from his drinking horn.

“Where is the crown prince?” Iounn asked looking around for the cause of such troubles.

“Who cares?” another of the princes said. Iounn looked to him and saw he was fair of hair and handsome, but the dark circles under his eyes told of melancholy.

“Raban is the storm cloud of our family,” Ekkehard said. “Third sons are like that.”

“And you’re an ass Ekkehard!” the last prince shouted. He was a young man that sat with a cocky attitude and looked to have yet to have a good beating. He looked much like Raban though his healthier complexion marked him apart from his brother.

“That would be Dirk,” Ekkehard said. “His mouth is bigger than his…”

“Enough Ekkehard,” Sten said dryly. “Do not use such language to a lady. Come Lady Iounn, join me at the table.”

“Thank you majesty,” Iounn said honored.

“Your servants may eat with the others,” Sten said waving towards one of the far fireplaces. Colm led his daughter off towards the table, Tollack and Josef wandered towards one of the tables with guards. Iounn went to the main table and there was a bit of shuffling as room was made for her and Lofn.

A servant set a plate before her and Iounn was pleased to see an array of beef wrapped in bacon, yellow potatoes and pearl onions joined in thick gravy. There was fresh bread and butter, and Iounn set to eating with a will, but her table manners remained neat. Once or twice she did remind Lofn to eat neatly as well.

“It is always a pleasure to see a woman eat,” Sten said after Iounn had finished. She took a delicate sip of her mead, having enjoyed the meal immensely. “Tell me Lady Iounn, is that a cat I see hiding in your hair?”

“He is a dear little friend of mine,” Iounn answered. She dared not lie directly to the king, but she of course could not reveal Hors. Sten looked interested and signaled to one of the hovering servants.

“Go and fetch some liver for Lady Iounn’s cat,” he said and the servant bowed.

“I’m sorry milord but he is quite shy,” Iounn said. “I would like the liver to feed him in my rooms, but he won’t eat in front of others.”

“A shame,” Sten said disappointed. “He looks quite intelligent from his eyes.”

“Thank you majesty,” Iounn said, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

“If you’re the king where is your crown?” Lofn asked and Sten laughed.

“I wear a torc in tradition of our homeland,” Sten answered smiling at Lofn. “Your daughter is lovely milady, is she your only daughter?”

“No, I have another I left at home,” Iounn said and then told the King about her children. She found once she began talking of them she felt how much she missed them. Sten listened to her patiently as his sons argued and caroused around them, getting more and more drunk.

“You are fortunate to have children heed you,” Sten said at last seeming sad. “And that their hard work has been rewarded.”

“A situation may always be changed to your benefit if you only look hard,” Iounn said and Sten sighed.

“You know of our situation,” Sten said. “What am I to do?”

Iounn thought about it and she felt Hors shift a little on her shoulder.

“Regency,” Hors whispered to her, so softly she could barely hear him.

“A regency,” Iounn said and Sten looked startled. “You are getting on in your years majesty, but Modi is still far too young to take the throne. If you abdicate and name Roland as the regent, then he may rule.”

“But the treaty…” Sten said. “And Roque…”

“The treaty only says that you must name Modi as heir to be king,” Iounn said. “It says nothing of a regent I bet, or how long Modi must be king. As for Roque as long as he can hunt I doubt he will care. Roland may stay as the regent for decades, Modi doesn’t have to take the throne when he is of age does he?”

“I’m not sure,” Sten said. “I will have to look at the treaty.”

“Tomorrow majesty,” Iounn said. “I have had a long day traveling, might we take care of these legalities later? It might be better for Roland to sober up first as well.”

“Yes,” Sten said wearily as he looked at his drunk son. He of course had not heard anything they had said. “Rooms should be ready for you and your servants.”

He waved again to a maid and she stepped forward.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Iounn said as she stood and followed the servant, Lofn quickly following her. They stopped to gather Colm and Nora, but Tollack and Josef were in their cups so Iounn decided to leave them behind. The maid led them through dark stone hallways and up a few stairs. She stopped outside a door, opened it, bowed, and left without a word. Iounn entered to find a clean small room with a big bed, table and chairs, and a fireplace with a fire already burning. Colm went and lit a few candles from the fire and set them on the table.

“Nora and mine will sleep on the floor milady,” Colm said, indicating the bed mat that lay in the corner.

“Nora may join me and Lofn in the bed,” Iounn said with a smile. “There is nothing improper about that.”

“Thank ye milady,” Colm said turning to Nora. “Thank the lady Nora.”

“Thank ye,” Nora said quietly.

“Wash up both of you,” Iounn said to the girls. “Then bed.”

“Yes mother,” Lofn answered and went to the basin to wash her face.

“Don’t your kind ever bathe?” Hors said as he pulled himself out of Iounn’s hair and hood, going to the table.

“It is hard to warm the water,” Iounn answered. “If you like we can arrange it.”

“Yes, no offense but you do smell,” Hors said as he began to groom himself with his tongue.

“I will arrange it milady,” Colm said as he left. It didn’t take long; the servants of the king were apt in their duties. They adjoined to another room that had a bath tub and Iounn, Lofn, and Nora all washed. Nora seemed a bit shy, but when Lofn stripped her clothes she joined as well. Clean they returned to their chamber to dry their hair before the fire. Iounn sat before the fire brushing out Nora’s long red hair. She was amazed by the color; a dusky orange with hints of red and brown.

They went to bed once their hair was dry, Iounn glad to be in a bed once again. The next morning she rose early, Lofn and Nora rising as well. A servant arrived and served them a breakfast of soft boiled eggs, bacon, bread, and imported oranges from Xin.

“Is the king awake?” Iounn asked.

“He sleeps in milady,” the servant answered with a bow. “Court will not gather until luncheon.”

“I see,” Iounn said disappointed. She had wanted to question the king about events across the kingdoms. “Thank you, have you eaten yet?”

“I have milady thank you,” the woman said with a smile. “Though…” she snuck an orange slice popping it in her mouth. She gave a curtsy and hurried out.

“Ye have a way with servants milady,” Colm said smiling as he too ate a piece of orange. “This be good.”

“So what will we do this morning?” Lofn asked eating her egg.

“How about we explore the castle?” Iounn asked and Lofn smiled.

The castle turned out to be fairly vast as they began to explore it. Iounn led the way through the halls, past servants and various halls until they reached the outside. It wasn’t hard to find the gardens, situated under the west tower by the west wall. They were over grown, rose bushes and weeds tangled together in overgrown knots. Iounn sighed; it looked like the gardens had gone neglected since the deaths of the matrons of the royal house. It was a cool morning but clear, the summer days staying a bit warm still.  

Lofn and Nora quickly outpaced Iounn’s slow walk, running ahead and giggling. The sound of a mandolin being played drew her, a wonderfully deep baritone singing along with the song. She followed the music to a pine tree, a man sitting under it and singing. He looked up at her, but did not stop and Iounn walked to sit in the soft pine needles by his feet. Colm lingered by the path, his hands folded behind him in the stance of a servant.

At last the bard finished his song and looked to Iounn who sat near him.

“I thank you milady for the audience,” he said with a bow of his head. He was a handsome man, about ten years Iounn’s junior telling by his youthful face. His dark hair was tied loosely back and beard neatly trimmed. His eyes were an icy blue, not cold but clear.

“It was a pleasure milord,” Iounn said with an answering bow. “Telling by your nose you must be one of the princes, though I thought I met them all at court yesterday.”

“I am the fifth son Soren,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “I do not particularly like getting roaring drunk with my brothers. Though it seems I missed meeting you milady.”

“I am Iounn Baroness of Stóstund.”

“A pleasure milady,” he said with a grin.

“Are you a bard milord?”

“Yes I am, I just completed my training. My father was very proud to have at least one son do something with his life.”

“There is nothing holding back your brothers,” Iounn said. “But their own blindness to what they think they can do.”

“Very true milady,” Soren said smiling. “Tell me what brings…”

A shriek made them stop and Iounn leap to her feet. Thinking Lofn was in danger she hurried through the garden to the source of the sound. She found Lofn on top of a boy a little older than her, shoving his face in the mud. Nora stood nearby, a large splatter of mud all over her. It was the boy that was shrieking and Iounn hurried to pull Lofn off him.

“What are you doing young lady?” Iounn asked holding Lofn by the elbow, it was very unlike her to start a fight. She had never even raised a hand to Jorn’s worst taunts.

“He threw mud at Nora!” Lofn said defensively. “For no reason!”

“She’s a mud girl!” the boy answered as he sat up and wiped his face. Iounn saw then he was a Regarian, his fair skin and hair marking him as such.

“Looks like you met your match Modi,” Soren said as he laughed and Iounn felt the blood drain from her face. “Relax milady no one will care if your daughter shoved mud in that brat’s face. His father’s hunting all the time and everyone else wishes he were dead.”

“Thanks uncle Soren,” Prince Modi said mournfully as he got to his feet wiping his face. Iounn clicked her tongue and took out a cloth. She tenderly cleaned the prince’s face of the mud, the boy scowling at her.

“Better,” she said when done. “Now both of you apologize.”

“Me apologize?” Modi said indignant.

“But mother…”

“Lofn,” Iounn said sternly looking down at her daughter. Lofn flinched and turned to the prince.

“I am sorry milord,” Lofn said with a bow. “My anger got the best of me.”

“Good,” Modi said proudly turning up his nose.

“Now you,” Lofn said. Modi looked about to argue but Iounn reached out and twisted his ear. The boy yelped until Iounn let him go.

“Sorry,” he muttered rubbing his ear. Iounn reached for him again and he raised his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Lofn said with a smile. “But it is not I you owe the apology to.” She turned to Nora who was busy brushing the mud from her smock. She blushed as they all looked at her.

“I’m not apologizing to some mud…” Iounn twisted Modi’s ear again and he howled. “Alright,” he said and Iounn released him. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you milord,” Nora said in a small voice before running to hide behind her father.

“Well done Lady Iounn,” Soren said. “I’ve never seen Modi give in.”

The boy scowled looking ready to argue, but a simple glare from Iounn killed the words on his lips.

“All that was needed was the hand of a mother,” Iounn answered. She looked at Modi and saw his sadness that his mother was not there. She held her hand out to him but the boy turned away. She sighed and turned back to Soren. “I take it his father never took him in hand.”

“Too busy hunting and whoring,” Soren answered.

“And you?” Iounn asked and Soren frowned. “Why have you not looked after him, he is your kin.”

“Not by choice,” Soren answered crossly. “Frida was my only sister and that brat took her life! He took my brother’s throne; he’s stolen everything from us! Damn Regarian scum.”

Modi’s head dropped with each harsh word, Iounn understanding his petulance now. He tried to give himself as much self-worth as he could, because everyone else denied it to him. Iounn looked at Soren with a steady eye before she slapped him full across the face. He looked so astonished she nearly laughed.

“He is a child born into this fate not by his choice,” Iounn said. “You of all people should know you can shape your fate and not let it rule you.”

Soren stood staring off at nothing, struggling to swallow her words. Modi was in turn staring at her looking awed.

“Thank you,” Modi said at last as he looked away, wiping his nose. Iounn sighed and once again wiped his face with a cloth. This time Modi let her and then took her hand.

“I am sorry,” Soren said, looking at Modi. “I guess I haven’t been a very good uncle.”

“No,” Modi said in a small voice.

“It is never too late to mend bonds,” Iounn said.

“Sure it is, when one of us is dead,” Soren said with a grin. “Not that it is likely.”

“One certainly hopes not,” Iounn said, seeing Soren had a morbid sense of humor. “How about a song milord to lighten our hearts?”

The children looked enthused by this and Soren smiled. He returned to his seat by the pine tree and began a simple tune that Iounn knew well. It was a tale of Jónas Thórson, a sailor that explored much of the Wandering Sea. He was said to have been swallowed by a whale, lost forever to the sea. Everyone applauded when Soren finished, and the bard prince took a flourished bow. Iounn felt Hors on her shoulder dig his claws in a bit, and she remembered why they were here.

“Milord…”

“Please Lady Iounn call me Soren,” he said with a grin. She realized then he was flirting with her, and she felt suddenly like laughing. He was so young he seemed like her son.

“Lord Soren, I was wondering if you have heard the news of the kingdoms of late,” she said trying to keep her tone formal. “I’d like to hear what has been happening in the wider world.”

“I have milady,” Soren answered pleased. “The Princess Jeanne of the Mark has married Elrik the heir to the throne of the High King. I heard there was an up roar at the ceremony, a fanatic of a recent cult broke into the temple and set off some kind of magic explosion.”

“What kind of cult?” Iounn asked.

“I’m not sure but I heard they worship a single god,” Soren said. “They call him Lord of All or something like that. It is mostly Elmerians and slaves that follow the cult, in small rural villages and the like.”

Iounn heard Hors hiss but he said nothing else.

“What other news?” Iounn asked.

“There are storms to the north on the Wandering Sea,” Soren said. “All summer they’ve been raging and now that winter is coming I doubt they will abate. It’s limited trade and my father has been lamenting on the loss of the taxes. There have been reports of earth tremors near Daun and the northern lights have been seen by some far to the north.”

“What else?” Iounn asked.

“Some have said the birds act strange,” Soren said after some thought. “They have been migrating to odd places. I am no animal expert so I can’t tell you more.”

“What of the south?” Iounn asked, wondering if there was more.

“There’s been nothing from Hyria no surprise there. Regis and the Mark have been all talk over the wedding. Dridia is always an enigma and Alda have kept to their borders. In Lir the new king has taken the throne. In Xin I heard the Pridesmen have been raiding and they have a king called Zar Ne Zar.”

Iounn felt Hors prick his ears up at the mention of Xin.

“Is there any more news of Xin?” Iounn asked.

“Not that I’ve heard but you can guess how the desert is, so much hidden out in those wastes.”

“Right of course,” Iounn said disappointed. “Thank you.”

“You wanted to hear more?” Soren asked disappointed. “If you go down to the docks you might be able to hear more.”

“I will do that,” Iounn said. “Excuse me a moment I need to think.”

She stood and went behind a rose bush, Hors climbing out of her hair to perch on a nearby tree branch.

“Did you learn what you needed?” Iounn asked.

“Not entirely,” he answered flicking his tail. “The cult he spoke of, they are following Aeon. I’m not sure what he is up to with them, but he is controlling them.”

“You’re sure?” Iounn asked.

“It is just a guess but it is something Aeon would do I think,” Hors said. “He would need followers to do his bidding and having them call him lord would be good for his ego.”

“So we should avoid this cult?” Iounn asked.

“Yes, but learn what we can of their plans,” Hors said. “We need to know what Aeon is up to.”

“You seemed fairly interested in Xin,” Iounn said.

“That is because it was where Kur died,” Hors said. “She died in battle against the Serpent King, they both died. The Serpent King’s body became the dead sands to the south, his flesh became snake sand. If you touch it you’d turn to stone. Kur’s body is the Spine Mountains, though her head landed in the middle of the desert. I don’t know entirely how, but the Ark River’s source is where her head fell.

“This was long before the race of men came to the desert, before most of our kin even arrived in Miread. Ever since Kur fell there the desert has been closer to the aether. When the Phay plan to march signs begin to appear, more of these signs show up in Xin because it is closer.”

“So more of the signs will be in Xin,” Iounn said. “Should we try and go there. Looking for news of the desert will be hard outside of it.”

“Maybe, how would we get there?” Hors asked.

“Well we could take a ship to Lir and ride south,” Iounn said. “That would be faster. But wouldn’t going by land be better to learn more news?”

“We would have to travel through lands I’m sure are crawling with the cult,” Hors said his tail twitching. “We should stay here and gather information before we make any decisions.”

“Right,” Iounn said as she nodded feeling a little excited. She felt excited just talking about such faraway places like Xin or Lir. A journey was on the horizon.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Masked Queen

The halls of the Palace of Cair Leone were like a maze, the servant halls like shadows of the larger halls for the nobles. Lucia had a headache from lack of sleep, ever since Tansy’s death she had been having dreams of a forest with an indigo sky. It had to be because Tansy had spoken of it before she died, it was some strange after effect of misery and mourning. Knowing the cause though didn’t make the dreams stop or give Lucia the sleep she wanted.

She ignored her pounding head and concentrated on the halls around her. She needed to get to the kitchen, or at least one of them, to fetch some morning tea for Jeanne. More servants than nobles were awake now, and Lucia blended in in her maid outfit. She turned a corner and found herself in a stairwell, one that appeared to be a servant corridor meeting a noble’s hall. She looked up and saw a noble woman walking down the steps, her servant walking before her.

A man in shadow stepped up behind her and with one swift motion snapped her neck. The lady fell, tumbling past her servant and down the stairs. The servant screamed and the shadowed man shouted for aid. Servants hurried to them, the shadow slipping away in the confusion. Lucia followed, having recognized the general shape of the man. She caught up with him casually strolling down a servant corridor.

“You really shouldn’t chase after a murderer,” he said as she fell into step next to him.

She wondered why she had. She should fear this man, he had killed Egram, and she had just seen him murder another woman. Yet when she looked him in the eye she had the feeling she knew him. Sometimes when she looked at him, and other people, she felt like she could see more of them; what they were and once were. She could never do this before; it came with the strange dreams, and the glimpses of things moving out of the corner of her eyes.

“Who was she?” She asked instead.

“A Duchess whose husband cheated on his taxes,” he answered with a shrug. “You will see a lot of things like this here.”

“Should I be worried?” Lucia asked.

“Not as long as you keep your mouth shut,” he answered. “Those who do live.”

“So are you going to kill me if I speak of this?” Lucia asked.

“You won’t,” he said mildly.

“Which way to the nearest kitchen?” Lucia asked to change the subject. “I am fetching Jeanne’s morning tea.”

“Go to the kitchen by the herb gardens, just down that hall,” he answered. “They have the better teas, just don’t take anything from Lars, he is one of the poisoners.”

“Poison?” Lucia asked afraid.

“He is one of many here,” he said with a shrug. “Careful what you eat.”

With that he was gone down another corridor, Lucia thinking he was over doing the mysterious assassin act. After all he had been caught by Jeanne and striped to his skin; men and their pride.

She went to the kitchen and got the tea, avoiding the old man in the corner who seemed to be the man she had been warned of. She often wondered how she was going to get through court when there were so many things she didn’t know. When she got back to Jeanne’s quarters her lady was just rising.

“Tea milady,” Lucia said as she set the tray on the table. She hadn’t bothered with anything else; there were so many meals throughout the day no one had room to eat so early in the morning.

“What kind?” Jeanne asked as she joined Lucia at the table.

“Black tea,” Lucia answered. “I brought honey and milk to add to it.”

“Just milk,” Jeanne said and Lucia poured her tea. “What are we doing today?”

“There is a hunt today,” Bryony answered as she entered the room. Lucia poured her tea as well, adding honey and milk. “Thank you dear,” she said to Lucia and took the cup.

“A hunt,” Jeanne said enthused.

“Yes, Elrik wishes to show you his prowess,” Bryony said dryly. “You will not take part in this milady; ladies of this court do not hunt.”

Jeanne glared at Bryony but nodded. Lucia saw a plan was forming though and let her be with her idea. The others woke and they drank their tea, before they got ready for the hunt. Jeanne was to be herself this time, wearing very nice riding clothes. Lucia and Midda were given riding clothes too; Bryony wanted them all there in case of danger.

They left their quarters, heading for the north courtyard where everyone was to gather for the hunt. It was early still and when they arrived they found only servants still gathering the horses. Lucia noticed there were quite a few horses; many were of Xinian breeding which was very expensive. There were hounds as well, hunting dogs that were barking and excited from the energy around them.

“Where is everyone else?” Jeanne asked a passing servant. The servant shrugged and continued on his way.

“Milady!” A man said as he hurried up to them. He was Regarian, and Lucia recognized him from court. It took her a moment but she remembered this man was the King’s steward, Lowel. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I thought we were setting out after the Pale Hour prayers,” Jeanne said.

“Well that is usually when most have just woken up,” Lowel answered as he wrung his hands. “Everyone won’t be here for another hour at least.”

Jeanne’s eyes burned with anger but she turned on her heel and left. They followed her as she marched angrily through the courtyard and into the connecting garden. Lucia watched helplessly as Jeanne tore away a few flowers to lose her frustration. Everyone fell back to let her vent her anger, Cicely and Viola wandered off together whispering and giggling.

Lucia followed Jeanne discreetly, not wanting to gain her wrath. Jeanne walked into a gazebo covering in creeping vines, occasionally ripping down a few leaves and shredding them between her fingers. She stopped hearing footsteps and Lucia remained hidden behind a curtain of foliage.

“Milady Jeanne,” a smooth voice said. Anton Myrddin sauntered into the gazebo, dressed in fine silk mage robes. Silver dripped from his hems and sleeves, catching the light like his white hair. Lucia stared at him agape; he seemed so beautiful he was hard to look at, probably due to some enchantment of his. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking,” Jeanne said flatly. “Waiting for everyone to go on the hunt.”

“You like hunting?” Anton said with a winning smile.

“You think I cannot hunt?” Jeanne said angrily. Lucia winced inwardly, they had spent a fair amount of time convincing the court Jeanne was a proper lady. Now her temper was destroying that in an instant.

“I think you are more like Lun than Euria,” Anton said. “Lun is the goddess of the hunt you know; when her phase is a crescent it is like a bow.”

He mimed drawing a bow and Jeanne rolled her eyes.

“If that were real you’d have shot yourself in the foot.”

“Then please show me the proper bow handing technique,” Anton said flirtatiously.

“Fuck off,” Jeanne said and Lucia saw the smile freeze on Anton’s face. “You want under my skirts just to get under your daddy’s skin. I will not soil my family’s name.”

“Well, seems you were not what Varas said you were,” Anton said, sounding disappointed. “I didn’t want to use this; force is never as enjoyable as when it is consensual.”

Lucia felt her hair stand on end and saw a circle glow on the floor of the gazebo. It was a mage’s sigil, the moment it was activated Jeanne froze immobilized. Lucia tried to step into the gazebo but couldn’t, her skin prickled painfully when she tried. She watched as Anton walked up to Jeanne and tipped her head back. He kissed her, Lucia seeing Jeanne’s muscles tighten under her skin.

“We are going to have some fun milady,” Anton said. She should speak up, but fear held her tongue and all Lucia could do was watch.

“Is that love I hear in the air,” a voice said, a drunken slur accenting their diction. Lucia turned to see a man dressed in colorful clothes wandering down the path. He was Elmerian, his thin nose red with drink and cheeks flushed. He stumbled down the path, squinting at Jeanne and Anton.

“Get lost you old sot,” Anton growled and the man blinked at him. He stumbled on right into the gazebo, but the sigil did not stop him. He shuffled his feet and the light went out, the lines broken. “You stupid fool!” Anton shouted.

Jeanne’s eyes flashed and she was free. She took a step back, but only to gain leverage as she threw her weight into a punch at Anton’s nose. The Dridian flew back, hitting the gazebo wall. He grunted but scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. He put his hand to cover his face and glared up at Jeanne. Seeing the rage in her eyes he wisely turned tail and ran.

“Good riddance,” Jeanne muttered as she wiped her mouth.

“Milady,” Lucia said as she hurried up. “I am sorry I could not help you.”

“It’s alright,” Jeanne said and then turned to the colorful man. He was dressed in rags Lucia realized, the finest rags in the kingdoms probably. It looked like he had jumped into the rag bin of the palace; he wore silk, velvet, even Daunish wool, all of rich hues of every color. “I thank you sir for saving me.”

“Did I?” he said scratching his head. “Well you are welcome milady.”

“I am the Princess Jeanne of the Mark. Who are you sir?”

“Just a humble fool milady,” the man said with a bow. He was only as tall as Jeanne, but his limbs were gangly and his hands long fingered.

“You are the king’s fool are you not?” Jeanne asked.

“Yes milady,” he said with a crooked grin. “But our king has little love of laughter so I have had little to do in these days of the Regarian rule. I was once fool to the last Aldan King, the Aldan loved to laugh.”

“Really?” Jeanne said. “Well I am surprised the Drasirs let you keep your head sir when the time came for head hunting.”

“The nobles over look servants and the like,” the fool said as he shrugged. “You will find many of the servants here served back when the Aldan King reigned. Never hang good help after all.”

“Yes of course,” Jeanne said. “You never gave me your name fool.”

“What is the importance of a fool’s name?” He said but Jeanne glared at him. “Very well, my name is Duck.”

“Duck?” Jeanne said raising an eye brow.

“Yes see my mother she was a duck,” the fool said and proceeded to quack and wave his arms like a duck. They both laughed at his impression, as he waddled around and quacked.

“I thank you again sir fool,” Jeanne said when she stopped laughing and he stopped his impression. “You have brought my spirit high again.”

“A lady like you must never let those of a dark heart wear you away,” he said kindly. “You may call my Bower milady, do not hesitate to call on me again when it is wise.”

“Thank you Bower,” Jeanne said with a kind smile. The fool tipped his ragged hat to her, and sauntered off back into the garden. “Let’s go back to the courtyard to wait. At least there will be eyes there.”

“Yes milady,” Lucia answered as they walked off into the gardens. “Are you alright milady?”

“I’m fine,” Jeanne said. Lucia let it drop, but only because her mind went back to her own recent kiss. Hers was different though, she hadn’t minded the kiss. If anything she had enjoyed it, which scared her. She shouldn’t fall in love with a murderer; she didn’t even know his real name. Yet she felt that strange connection to him once more, and wished she knew why she was so attracted to him.

They found Bryony, Midda, Cicely, and Viola, and returned to the courtyard. Sure enough no one else had arrived yet, and the animals looked like they were getting restless. Jeanne sighed and walked into the fray, helping a groom sooth a horse. Lucia watched her, feeling her heart go out to this kind woman who was put into such a hard situation.

At last Elrik arrived with his routine of minor Regarian lords in tow. He looked at Jeanne petting a hound and sneered.

“Don’t pet those mongrels milady,” he said. “You’ll get dirty.”

“They are of the finest breeding milord,” Jeanne said, her own tone matching his. “I do not think you would insult your own father’s hounds.”

“Mount up!” Elrik shouted glaring at Jeanne. Lucia saw him approach her and whisper angrily to her. She glared right back at him in defiance, and Lucia worried she might hit him. Instead they parted and mounted up, Lucia gratefully taking a tame mare.

“Fireworks so early in the morning,” a familiar voice said. Lucia looked down at one of the dog handlers and saw it was actually Jack.

“You missed more in the gardens,” Lucia answered, almost wishing he had been there.

“Be still my heart,” he said with a grin. “Tell me all, I love palace gossip.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Lucia asked.

“Always.”

“Good so can I,” Lucia said and urged her horse forward. His laughter followed her, and she suppressed a grin of her own. They rode out of the palace through the north road that went through the merchant’s district and then into the outer city. She had heard the names of the outer district from some of the other servants, and they now rode through Odd Terminal.

It was maybe the less offensive of the outer districts, or so she heard since they had come through here on their way to the palace. It was the trade district, full of warehouses and wagons. The traffic was cleared away by the guards, Lucia suspecting they used clubs to get their way through. No doubt they had just disrupted the business in the area by their passage, but of course none of the nobles seemed to notice or even care.

Once out of the city they rode on past a few farms. The lands to the north of Cair Leone were left to grow for hunting grounds, patrolled and fenced against poachers. They spread out as they entered the woods and the dog handlers caught up with them. The hounds were eager to be let loose, tugging and howling at the end of their leashes.  

They dismounted as the lords began to organize themselves into parties for who would be the foot team and the mounted team. Lucia hung back with most of the servants, but she could see Jeanne was eager to be off on the hunt. She had a long bow slung across her back and a quiver of arrows on her saddle. Bryony was talking to her but Jeanne didn’t seem to be listening. Bryony turned and waved Lucia over.

“Lucia, perhaps you can talk some reason into your lady,” Bryony said. “She wants to hunt.”

“I’ll go on foot Bryony,” Jeanne said crossly. “Alone no one will know I went and you can have Midda cover for me. I’ll take Lucia with me, she can watch my back.”

“And what of your catch milady?” Bryony said.

“I probably won’t catch anything with those idiots thrashing through the woods scaring all the prey,” Jeanne said glaring at her soon to be husband. Of course Elrik had chosen to ride; he was already mounted and looked ready to go.

“You always come back with something,” Bryony said. “And Lucia can’t defend you alone.”

“She can keep up, that’s all that matters,” Jeanne said with a smile at Lucia.

“I will go milady,” Lucia said knowing why Jeanne was feeling restless. It wasn’t just the kiss with Anton, it was the fact that they were only a week away from the wedding and Jeanne had never left the protection of the palace. “You know she needs this Bryony.”

“Fine,” Bryony said throwing her hands up. “But take one of the hounds and their handler with you; you will need more than the protection of a maid.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said with a swift kiss on Bryony’s cheek. They hurried off while there was still confusion, Jeanne heading for the milling dogs and their handlers. “You,” Jeanne said as she pointed to the man called Jack. Lucia felt her heart skip, yet Jeanne didn’t seem to realize the man she had chosen was her would be assassin. “Bring a hound; I’m going off on my own.”

“Yes milady,” Jack answered. Lucia wondered why Jeanne didn’t notice he was the same man. He was in disguise yet he still looked much the same. Lucia did realize though he was rather nondescript, looking much like any other Elmerian servant. She was sure it was him though, his wink at her only confirming it.

“What is your name sir?” Lucia asked as they marched off. Jeanne looked at the dog handler as if suddenly realizing he was a person and had a thing such as a name.

“Cain,” he answered, yet another alias Lucia was sure. “And this is Xane.” Xane was a great gray deerhound with intelligent golden eyes. He seemed very well trained, not even straining at his leash. “Xane is a bit old, going to retire soon, but he’s the best there is.”

“Good,” Jeanne said with a smile. “May I pet him?”

“You may,” he said sounding impressed. “You grew up round dogs didn’t you milady?”

“My father has a whole kennel of his own,” Jeanne said as she held her hand out to Xane. He sniffed and then licked her hand, Jeanne stroking his ears. “He always told me to listen to the dog’s handlers, and ask before I pet them. Some dogs were known to bite if you weren’t careful.”

“Yes milady,” Cain said.

They hiked on through the woods. Lucia had never been in many woods, the trees around Milton had been little more than windbreakers. The summer air was cool and fresh in the shadow of the tress, and Lucia could smell the rot and earth of the trees. It reminded her deeply of the dreams she had been having, but here the trees were smaller, and the undergrowth thicker. There was less moss as well, and if Lucia could name plants she would say the flora here was different as well.

Jeanne let Cain let Xane go ahead and track, the deerhound lopping off into the trees. Lucia watched around them, feeling as though any moment the sky would turn from blue to indigo.

“What are you looking for?” Cain asked and Lucia realized she had fallen behind. Jeanne roamed far ahead, an arrow in her bow yet not fully drawn yet.

“I don’t know,” she answered and looked at him. “I don’t even know your true name and yet we shared a kiss.”

“Many share much more than that without even knowing a name,” Cain said.

“Does anyone know your real name?” Lucia asked.

“What does a name matter?” He asked seeming uncomfortable.

“It matters,” Lucia said sure that it did. “You know mine; don’t you want me to know yours?” He seemed unsettled, which she found oddly cute.

“Seth,” he whispered at last. ���My name is Seth.”

Lucia felt as though something clicked into place knowing his name, somehow she was closer to the answer of why she trusted this man. Before she could linger on it Jeanne gave a shout and Xane began barking. Seth ran forward and Lucia followed. She saw Jeanne drawing her bow, aiming for a white stag running through the woods with Xane on his heels. Her shot went wide and missed the stag just as he ran behind a tree. Lucia ran forward as Jeanne reached for another arrow.

She grabbed Jeanne’s arm stopping her from drawing the arrow. The stag escaped, Lucia catching one last glimpse of him through the trees.

“What did you do that for?” Jeanne asked crossly.

“I’m sorry milady,” Lucia said. “It just seemed like a sign to me.”

“Very well,” Jeanne said shaking her head. “It was a magnificent beast, best it goes free.”

Xane returned, his tongue lolling out of his jaws. They moved on, but the white stag had shaken Lucia’s spirit. She fell back letting Seth and Jeanne walk ahead. She walked slower as she felt the air around her seem to shake and shimmer. Color touched the edges of her vision and she stopped in the shadow of a cedar tree.

She blinked trying to clear her vision, but it kept shifting. One moment she saw an ordinary cedar tree, the next half the tree was on fire. The sky shifted from blue to indigo, the air shimmered with mist one moment and was clear the next. Lucia wasn’t sure why she looked up, but she did.

Standing strides away was the white stag. He was gorgeous; his pelt silvery white and eyes a blazing green like the forest. His antlers crowned his head like the branches of a great tree, looking like they might sprout leaves at any moment. She blinked and the stag changed in an instant.

Standing like an oak the elf looked at her like she were no more than a rodent gazing at a man. He was crowned like the stag with branches of laurel, but these bore leaves. His features were somehow still like the stag’s, noble, serine, yet full of a wild power that sent fear through her heart. His ears were long and pointed, his face long, and skin and hair white like the stag. His eyes were green, yet he had no pupils, just the endless depths of green that seemed ready to grow.

She blinked and the vision was gone, not even the stag remaining where the elf king had stood. Lucia looked down and saw a ring of mushrooms circled the cedar she stood under. Yelping with fear she leapt from the circle, making the sign of Cael across her chest. Hands shaking and no longer feeling sleepy, she raced after where she thought Seth and Jeanne had gone.

It seemed like sometime until she caught up, by then the vision had seemed more like a dream. She heard voices first, but could not make out what they were saying; the trees seemed to breathe in sound. She came around a large bush and into a clearing where Jeanne stood talking to Nicodemus Rue of all people.

“Milady,” Lucia said relieved as she hurried up to Jeanne.

“Lucia, I just sent Cain off to look for you,” Jeanne said surprised.

“Why?” Lucia asked startled. She glanced at Nicodemus, he had twigs and leaves caught in his hair, and he looked a little ruffled.

“You’ve been gone for nearly an hour,” Seth answered as he walked up with Xane in tow. “I just left when I heard your voice.” He was glaring at Jeanne and Lucia took that to mean Jeanne had been less than kind when dismissing him. From her glare Lucia guessed Seth had been less than courteous when he had left.

“An hour?” Lucia said puzzled, it couldn’t have been more than half that.

“Yes, you shouldn’t wander off,” Jeanne said. “It is easy to get lost in the woods.” She glanced at Nicodemus, who blushed. Jeanne didn’t as much as glare at him but glance at him with reproach.

“Milord Nicodemus, did you get lost too?” Lucia asked, deciding to forget about the missing time.

“Ah in a way,” Nicodemus answered. “I had come out here to look for something and got lost.”

“Look for what?” Jeanne asked.

“The barrow of the Aldan kings,” Nicodemus answered. “I thought to look at them since they are technically part of my line. Imagine the history of the place…”

“What makes you think it is here and not in Alda?” Jeanne asked sounding impatient.

“This was once part of Alda,” Nicodemus said. “These woods were where the Aldan kings were buried.”

“So where is this legendary barrow of kings?” Jeanne asked and Nicodemus looked at his feet. “You don’t know do you?”

“The records are a little vague,” Nicodemus admitted. “And the woods much different than I expected.”

“Do you have a map?” Jeanne asked. Nicodemus handed over a piece of parchment and she opened it. She scowled as she read the map and then rolled her eyes.

“You’re far off,” Jeanne said with distain. “What have you been reading this upside down?” Nicodemus looked at his feet and Lucia guessed he probably had been doing just that. “It’s this way,” Jeanne said and proceeded to lead the way into the woods. Lucia quickly followed with Nicodemus and Seth just behind her. She didn’t question Jeanne’s sudden desire to help the wayward Regarian prince, at least not out loud.

Despite Jeanne’s insult on Nicodemus’ navigational skills, it seemed he had been close to the tomb he sought. They found it in a grove of aspen, the trees here bigger than ordinary aspen. It looked like none of the trees were ever cut, it was a virgin wood.

“Aspen grow in shoots,” Nicodemus said looking at the woods in awe. “All these trees are probably the same tree.”

“How on earth do you know that?” Jeanne asked as she laughed.

“You can’t read Aldan writing without learning something about trees,” Nicodemus said shaking his head. “It seems like they work in facts of trees into almost all their writings.”

“Why?” Jeanne asked and Nicodemus just shrugged. They walked through the aspen, Lucia once again feeling the strange sense of other worldly energies. She reached out and grasped Seth’s wrist, afraid she would drift off again. If he cared he didn’t show it, and let her take his arm.

They walked through the aspen until the rest of the woods were gone, and they were swallowed by the white silence of the aspen. The path they were on soon became paved with uneven stepping stones, moss growing upon the ground. They walked downhill towards a gully, Lucia growing nervous as the murmur of water joined the whispers of the wind in the trees.

They walked down into the gully upon uneven old stone steps, the walls of the gully a rough limestone. They turned the corner and came out into a sink hole lit from the sun peeking through the trees. The aspen crowded at the edges of the hole above, their white roots trailing down like an old woman’s hair.

The gully had flooded, step stones leading over the water to a central islet. The mound rose out of the water thick with moss, little stones peeking out like fallen fruit. At the peak of the hill stood a white tree dead, withered, and twisted into an organic shape with no pattern. The tree seemed to almost glow in the light, making everything else seem darker. Lucia saw shapes in the sun and on the islet, dancing and frolicking. Lucia screamed to see the fairies here, and clung to Seth’s arm as if they would come and take her.

“Sol’s balls Lucia,” Jeanne swore. “You scared me. Why did you scream?”

“They’ll take me,” she whispered, shaking her head, unable to look at the island and tree. “Please don’t make me go.”

“It’s alright you don’t have to go,” Jeanne said soothingly. She looked at Seth almost pleadingly and Lucia glanced up at him. He was staring at the islet, a look of puzzlement across his brow. “Cain,” Jeanne said but he didn’t answer her.

“There are only twenty two graves,” he said looking to Nicodemus. “There were twenty three Aldan Kings weren’t there?”

“Very good!” Nicodemus said enthused, like Seth had just performed a unique trick. “You have good eyes. Yes there are only twenty two graves; Absalom of the Deep Woods isn’t buried here.”

“Why not?” Jeanne asked surprised. “Shouldn’t the first Aldan King be buried here?”

“Because he left he didn’t die,” Nicodemus said; “or so the Aldan like to believe. He just disappeared one day and was never seen again. Where ever he met his end it has gone un-marked. That is why I’m here actually.”

“To see his grave?” Jeanne asked.

“To see if there really isn’t a marker,” Nicodemus said. “To me it seems strange that no matter their hope the Aldan would not at least leave a marker for the first High Aldan King.”

With that he stepped onto the first stepping stone across the water. He nearly slipped and fell into the water if Jeanne hadn’t caught him. She smiled as she helped him across the water and Seth started to follow.

“Wait,” Lucia hissed afraid. “Where are you going?”

“I want to see the graves,” Seth answered.

“Why?” Lucia asked, wondering what he cared about the graves of dead kings.

“To see if there is anything worth pawning,” Seth said with a shrug but Lucia suspected it was something more. “Stay if you wish I’m going.”

He broke free of her grasp and nimbly leapt across several stepping stones. Lucia looked at Xane who was sitting next to her. He looked up at her and wagged his tail before turning to the water and began to drink. He stopped and barked, making Lucia jump. She looked down and saw a little blue face looking up at her, smiling with needle like teeth. Xane barked again and jumped onto one of the stones, trying to get closer to the little water fairy.

Suddenly alone Lucia followed the dog across the stepping stones and onto the islet. The second her feet touched the earth she felt a thrill run through her body, her skin tingling and ears ringing. Her vision darkened at the edges, not with blackness but with the colorful mist. She moaned and fell to her knees, unable to stand.

Seth was suddenly at her side, his hand on her shoulder. His other hand lifted her face so he could look at her. Her vision blurred for a moment but she forced herself to focus on his face. She concentrated so hard that for a moment he looked like someone else to her, a Rhodin man looking at her instead.

“Lucia, look at me,” he said and she blinked. The colors were gone and she saw Seth’s simple Elmerian features looking back at her.

“I’m alright,” she said softly, her voice shaking.

“Can you stand?” He asked. She nodded, but she still needed his help to get up. She leaned on him feeling weak. She looked around and was relieved to see the fairies were either gone or she could no longer see them. She shuddered and looked back to Nicodemus and Jeanne. They both stood under the dead white tree, examining it for any clues.

“Maybe the tree is his marker,” Jeanne said, putting her hand on the tree. She snatched her hand back looking startled. “It’s warm.”

“The sun must have warmed it,” Nicodemus said. “And I don’t think the tree is his marker. Look at the others.”

Lucia and Jeanne both looked around them at the little stones buried in the moss. They were round, almost like eggs, carved with swirling designs. Each were bigger than Lucia had thought, standing up to her knee.

“Those are hollow on the inside, holding the ashes and bones of an Aldan King,” Nicodemus said. “Why change their burial methods for Absalom? If the tree really were his marker it would be hollow with his bones and ashes inside.” He knocked against the tree, it sounded more solid than hollow thought it still had the dead ring of wood to it.

“You said he disappeared,” Jeanne argued. “So wouldn’t they employ a different method for the Absalom? What is the point of the tree then if not for his marker?”

“It was here before them,” Lucia said and they all turned to her surprised. “The tree was here before all of the graves, before Absalom was even born.”

“How do you know this?” Nicodemus said his eyes bright. Lucia hesitated to answer; she just somehow knew that the dead tree was far older than the graves, older than the Kingdoms, older than even her people arriving in Miread.

“I just do,” she said in a small voice. Jeanne looked about to argue, but Nicodemus nodded in agreement.

“Yes that explains it,” he said. “Jeanne you said because Absalom disappeared they used a different method for him, thinking it was the tree. But the tree is in the middle of the island, implying that it was the first here. Only it is old, already dead, but grown to such a size. In order for the tree to have been planted for Absalom I think they would have had to been planted and died before any of the other kings had died.”

“Even I can see that math doesn’t add up,” Seth said dryly. “So the tree was here before any of the graves.”

“I believe so,” Nicodemus said sounding in awe.

“So what does that mean?” Jeanne asked impatient.

“That Absalom does not have a marker,” Nicodemus answered.

“Implying he is still alive,” Jeanne said with distain.

“I never said that,” Nicodemus said. “I just think that means Absalom is buried somewhere else. Maybe the Aldan know where, maybe they don’t.”

“Why does it matter?” Jeanne asked annoyed.

“Imagine you woke tomorrow with no memory of who you were, your name, your family, nothing. The past is our map, not only of where we were but where we are going. More so for the nobles. We cry out about our pedigree, of the noble people we descended from, yet we care so little about their lives, and their deaths.”

He lovingly laid a hand on one of the white stones, even Lucia moved by his kind touch. She looked to Jeanne and saw her eyes shining with tears, more in her gaze than simple admiration. Nicodemus looked at her and blushed, seeming embarrassed.

“We should get going,” Seth said breaking the mood like a stone thrown into calm waters.

“Yes of course,” Jeanne said, angrily dashing away the tears she would never admit to shedding. “My fiancée should be waiting.”

The word seemed to sober them both, but Lucia saw in the wrong way. Jeanne was stubborn, she would never admit her attraction, and Nicodemus was shy. It would have never worked out, even if Jeanne was not promised to another man. Yet because of the hopeless situation Lucia feared their attraction would only grow.

It was hours until they arrived back to where several tents had been set up for the lords to lounge and eat. Servants were already preparing the game they caught, and the lords were already getting drunk. No one had noticed Jeanne had been gone, or had returned with Nicodemus. Lucia turned to see Seth had already disappeared, going away with the other dog handlers. Jeanne walked into one of the tents and Lucia followed her, Nicodemus coming as well.

“So what did I miss?” Jeanne asked as she sat and began loosening the laces on her high boots.

“Naught much,” Voila answered sounding bored. “Dogs barking and men shouting.”

“Did Elrik catch anything?” Jeanne asked.

“A few foxes, a quail, and a doe,” Bryony answered.

“More than me,” Jeanne said. “All I caught was a wayward scholar.” Bryony turned to Nicodemus who bowed his head to her respectfully.

“Nice to meet you milady.”

“I see that,” Bryony said displeased. “You an unmarried woman trapping around the woods with an unmarried man.”

“You were the one who insisted I take one of the dog handlers,” Jeanne said.

“I meant Nicodemus milady and the dog handler was a servant, he didn’t matter,” Bryony said. “Yet you were alone with your betrothed’s cousin.”

“I had Lucia and the servant with me,” Jeanne said. “I fail to see the problem.”

“Really milady,” a cold voice said from the tent entrance. They turned to see Elrik walk into the tent, wiping his hands clean on a bloody rag. “I came to see my lady and I learn she has already been unfaithful with my cousin.” He sounded almost pleased, Lucia seeing a mad glint in his eyes.

“I was lost in the woods cousin,” Nicodemus said. “The Lady Jeanne was kind enough to guide me back to camp.”

“Nearly fell in a hole and broke his neck,” Jeanne said with contempt. Lucia looked at her and saw her distain, none of it caring or kind like it had seemed before. Jeanne was being a very good actor now, or so Lucia hoped.

“A hole really?” Elrik said relaxing a bit.

“I’m surprised you two are related really,” Jeanne said, her tone sharp. “You at least can hunt.”

“I can indeed,” Elrik said. “Did you catch anything milady out in the woods?”

“I saw a wonderful white stag, but let it go,” Jeanne said a little defensively.

“I’m sure you did milady,” Elrik said with a laugh. He moved closer to Jeanne and leaned in to whisper in her ear. He spoke lowly, but Lucia could hear him easily through the hush in the tent. “If you ever do anything like this again though I will skin you like the bitch you are.”

“Yes milord,” Jeanne said keeping her eyes down. Elrik smiled and kissed her forcefully, Jeanne flinching at his touch. Elrik pulled away and turned to leave. He looked at Nicodemus and gave him a back handed slap across the face, sending his glasses flying. The blow had a casual brutality, but Nicodemus’ head snapped back so hard Lucia was sure there had been more force than there seemed.

“Worm,” Elrik said and left the tent. Her hands shaking Bryony fetched his glasses for him, they looked to be unbroken.

“I think it best you leave,” Bryony said to Nicodemus.

“Yes milady,” he said lowly. He put his glasses on and looked at Jeanne who held a hand over her mouth and stunned silence. “I… Be well milady,” he said awkwardly before he too left. Jeanne didn’t seem to hear him as she sank down into a chair. Viola and Cicely sat by her trying to comfort her.

“This doesn’t look good,” Midda said sadly.

“Jeanne is strong,” Lucia said stubbornly, even though silent tears were falling from Jeanne’s eyes.

“I mean for us,” Midda said. “If even her husband wants her dead how long do you think we will last? We have to die before Jeanne; she only has two of us left now.”

“Two lives gone,” Lucia said dully. “Two more to go.”

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Bastard Mage

Xavier followed the key through the streets to the eastern hill of the city, where some of the lesser mages lived alongside the other races of wealthier standing. There was never such a thing as a poor mage; if you even had a speck of power there was a way to earn a living. Here were the artificers and craftsmen that made all the enchanted objects that were Dridia’s main export.

Craftsmen rose early so Xavier had to hurry or he’d be spotted carrying an unconscious woman. Dressed in slave rags he wouldn’t get away with any kind of story. The key led him to a dormitory for young unwed women, the sign outside reading Peony House. He went in through the front entrance; the back would have had the kitchen and a cook that was probably already awake. He took the stairs two at a time until the key led him to the third floor. He hurried down the hallway until the key stopped at apartment thirty-three.

He opened the door and slipped inside, just as he heard footsteps down the hall. The steps passed the room and continued on, Xavier giving a sigh of relief. The room was of course dark, he could see enough through the shuttered window to gage there was a lot of clutter in the room. He saw the outline of an arm chair and disposed of the woman in it.

He checked her pulse and was reassured to find it steady; she had been out for nearly an hour now. He supposed she had enough of a fright, but he had no idea why she was still unconscious. She wore no enhancing sigils for beauty or health, not even a glamor. He had to search around until he found some light sigils and their triggers, and at last got a good look at the room.

The mage was definitely some form of astronomer; her walls were plastered with star maps. That in itself was strange, only powerful mages needed to concern themselves with the movement of the stars, weak ones often weren’t even allowed to study astronomy. Books and scrolls littered the room, not only Dridian texts but Regarian books, Aldan books, and Lirian scrolls were piled on every surface. Even the bed was covered with them. He started to look for some cord to tie the mage up with. He couldn’t risk trusting her; she was a mage after all even a weak one.

Before he could find anything she stirred and started to wake. He swore in his head and moved back, hoping he looked harmless. Plan B then, he would bluff. She blinked and looked around astonished she was in her rooms and then saw him, jumping a little. Her eyes looked bigger behind the round lenses of her spectacles, the others had fallen to hang from their lanyards around her neck.

“Who are you?” she asked afraid. Her voice was low and scared, which was better than high and loud.

“My name is Xavier,” he answered. “You fainted so I brought you home.”

“How do you know where I live?”

“This,” he said holding up the key. “It led the way.”

“How did you activate the sigil that would lead you?”

“It did it on its own,” he answered as if he didn’t understand sigils or magic. It was possible of course for sigils to just activate, it wasn’t common though. She seemed willing to accept this as an explanation, but her fear did not abate. It was better she not learn his real power.

“What do you want?”

“A meal, maybe a bath,” he said. “And a clean change of clothes.”

“That’s all?”

“For some that is more than they have,” he answered and she looked him up and down. He’d lost two stone in Hole, thin and gaunt. His strength sigil made sure he never lost any muscle, so he was nothing but muscle and bone. His clothes were near rags, and his hair had grown out in greasy dreads. The Aldan only grew beards when they got very old, which he was glad of now.

His slave sigil was also hidden under his collar, and he was going to keep it that way. This woman wouldn’t have the power to break it for him and making her know he was an escaped slave would only get him in trouble.

“You’re an Aldan?” She said at last puzzled.

“I came on some hard times,” he answered. The look on her face told him she didn’t quite believe that but wasn’t going to challenge it.

“Why did you not rape me?” she asked bluntly and he had a moment of silence to think of a response to such an opaque question.

“Rape is about power not sex or desire,” he said at last. “Not all men are driven by just power or sex.”

She watched him; her eyes narrow, as if she were trying to see him clearly. He could see her thinking, trying to figure out what his motivations were. This had been why he wanted to tie her up and gag her; it would have been much easier.

“I owe you nothing,” she said at last. “You didn’t exactly save my life, and I fainted because you jumped out at me like that.”

Xavier bit down on his tongue so he didn’t argue. Dridians were all the same; always let them think they were the ones in charge.

“You are right you owe me nothing,” he said. “I will go then.” If he could get away before she was offended she might not alert anyone to what happened. Dridians tended to forget about irrelevant things like other people if you got away from them.

“Wait,” she said and he stopped immediately, old habits of obedience hard to break. His slave sigil also could be activated by her, and he had to be cautious. “My bathroom is over there. There is only a shower. I’ll go see what I can get as towards clothing and some food.”

“You’ll help me?” he said so surprised he looked her directly in the eye. She had a sad look, her eyes reminding him of a dog’s behind the glass of her spectacles.

“My mother always said to help those in need,” she answered.

“What is your name?” He asked, genuinely wanting to know. This woman had just broken all his expectations of her, and it was a bit unsettling.

“Zaire Weaver,” she answered, a slight smile touching her lips. It wasn’t a house name, so she bore no relation to any of the nobles. “I’ll go see about some clothes and food.” She stood and left before he could gather his thoughts to stop her. She could have been lying he realized, going now to get the police.

He ran his hand through his hair through habit and winced when his fingers encountered a knot. Well if he was about to be arrested he’d rather be clean when he was. He wasn’t a fastidious person, but even he couldn’t stand the layers of grime on his skin. The swim through the bay had helped a bit, but it would be nothing compared to a shower and a chance to cut his hair.

He went to the small door Zaire had indicated and opened it to find a neat little bathroom lined with mint green tile. He hunted around through the cabinet and found some scissors. First he cut his hair, doing a fair job of it as he’d been cutting his own hair for a while. He disposed of his rags and hair in the small bin in the bathroom, which was spelled to dispose of such things.

He showered, having to scrub himself twice until he finally felt clean. He found a towel and dried off draping it over his neck he looked out into the main room. Zaire wasn’t back yet, and he hoped that meant she was just having a hard time finding him clothes and not fetching the police. He walked out to the main room and started to examine the star maps and charts that plastered the walls.

There was no way she made all of them herself, some were but others looked too professional. There were notes tacked on next to many of them, and Xavier tried reading some. From what he gathered, she had started to observe an odd phenomenon in the sky lately, certain stars were moving in patterns that had not been seen in thousands of years.

Xavier looked at the charts and realized it was a cycle she was citing from before the crossing, before the Cursed Age of the Kingdoms. There were two things in the night sky now that were making themselves known. The constellation called the Golden Bow was rising off the horizon now, and new stars were beginning to be seen. In Zaire’s notes she called it the Rise of the Hunter.

The other sign was the Fallen Stars. Apparently several of the stars of the Sacred River had fallen out of the river of stars that painted the sky. Her notes of this event were more scientific, stating that the stars themselves had not so much as fallen but the river had changed hiding them.

He started to sift through the papers on her desk and saw that she was writing several papers on these changes in the sky. Her theories were stating that the changes in the sky were the reason some major spells were weakening. Xavier felt a chill down his spine as he read that, he had not heard that there were sigils failing. The mages were probably keeping a tight lid on this; they couldn’t afford to let others see the weakness in their powers. His time in Hole had isolated him, and so he hadn’t heard of this until just now.

He wondered what sigils were failing, his own were working fine. He only used minor sigils however, never high ones that required precise calibration with the movement of the stars. His hand crept back to touch the sigil that had been tattooed there, the one that sealed the so called Elder Magic in him. If any were a major sigil, it was that one. He quickly stifled the sudden hope; he’d still need to find a powerful enough mage to unweave it for him while it was weakened.

The sound of the door opening made him turn. Zaire entered, burdened with a tray of food and a bag. She wasn’t looking at him, seeming to concentrate on her burdens and closing the door.

“I went to the gardener and he had some spare work clothes he was willing to part with,” she said as she set down the tray and bag. “They’re worn but clean…”

She stopped talking when she looked up and saw him, her eyes flickering over his body before she quickly turned away. Something was strange in her body language, something more that simple embarrassment over a naked man.

“Thank you,” he said as he retrieved the clothes to dress. He looked through the bag and found clothes much like he wore before as a slave, and figured the gardener was a slave. He started to dress, glad they were average work clothes at least no matter the fit. “What is the Rise of the Hunter?” He asked as he dressed.

“It’s a phenomenon mages have noticed of late in the sky,” Zaire answered, her voice taking on the educated gleeful voice of many who enjoyed knowledge for knowledge’s sake. “About two months ago the stars have begun to change; the most prominent is the Rise of the Hunter in the constellation the Golden Bow. There are legends that this has happened before, but it is hard to find mentions of this constellation as they are often called something else in other Kingdoms.

“One thing I have been able to tell is that these changes are putting many alignments out of sync and some of the more fragile sigils are failing. I’ve heard many mages refuse to admit that anything is happening. Mostly the high born like Lonelove or the Myrddins. Just a few months ago I heard about a golem going mad a killing everyone in the household before it detonated.”

“Were there any survivors?” Xavier asked casually, though his hands shook. He’d finished dressing and was starting to serve himself a bowl of porridge.

“Not that I heard,” Zaire said reaching for an apple. Xavier couldn’t be relieved. It could be the police or mages were hiding the fact that someone had set it off. Or it really could be they couldn’t tell; the scene had been rather chaotic with a lot of energy lingering. Best to air on the side of caution and assume he was known and wanted.

“You cut your hair,” Zaire said conversationally.

“I like it better this way,” he answered as he started to eat.

“You don’t eat like a starving man,” Zaire said watching him take small slow bites of porridge.

“If I wolfed it down I’d just be sick,” he answered calmly. “You’ve never gone a long time without a meal I take it?”

She blushed and looked away. She was fat by mage standards, meaning she had a fair amount of flesh but not enough to become rolls of fat. The High Magic burned so strong that it burned away excess body fat; for a mage like Zaire it didn’t burn in her enough to do so. She was well fed obviously, her hips wide and breasts large in size. Her face was the watered down version of a Dridian beauty, neither pleasing nor displeasing.

A knock on the door made her jump and turn to the door. The knock came again more insistent.

“Hide,” Zaire whispered, but Xavier needed no urging. He went to the bathroom and closed the door. He listened closely as Zaire went and opened the door.

“Lady Didra how can I help you?” Zaire asked sounding subservient.

“You were supposed to deliver my thesis to me this morning Weaver,” another woman said tartly. Her tone of high arrogance told him she was a mage, a wealthy and powerful one.

“I’m sorry Lady Didra, I have it right here,” Zaire said, there was a rustle of papers.

“Why did you not deliver it?” Didra said crossly, the sound of her snatching the papers emphasizing her words. “You kept me waiting and now I had to come to you to get it.”

“I’m sorry milady, I over slept,” Zaire answered. She had lied to protect him, Xavier wondering if it was just out of bitterness for the Lady Didra.

“Careless bitch,” Didra hissed and the sound of a blow rang through the room. “Next time I won’t be so lenient, you won’t be paid this time. You should be grateful I am even giving you the chance to get your words out. A castrate like you should never even touch a sigil.”

There was another blow and then the sound of the door opening and closing. Xavier risked opening the door and looking out. Zaire was alone, cleaning up spilled papers, her shoulder length pale hair covering her face. He walked over and picked up the bowl of porridge and began eating again. Zaire continued to shift through papers, her head down.

“She called you a castrate,” he said after he finished eating. She stopped shifting through the papers, her head lowering more.

“My mother was a weaver of magic carpets; she had a few drops of magic. My father came from a weak line of mages, but he had talent and some power enough to work his way up as an astronomer. I was born to them, only a drop of power for me, but they loved me all the same. My childhood was normal until my sister was born when I was seven. My mother died giving birth to her, it tore my father up. He would have lived through it, if it had not been for the testing.

“You see, the Dridians were driven out of our homeland by a mad mage named Atlas. He wielded a magic that drove him mad. Since we had fled our homeland every child born is tested at a year old for this magic. My sister tested positive, and was put to death. They feared I would bear children who would be the same. A sigil prevents me from bearing children.”

Her hand went to her belly, and Xavier looked there as well. Through his mage sight he could see the sigil set within her, and realized her description of the sigil left a lot to be desired. The core was what she said it was, a birth control sigil that would prevent any child from taking root in her.

The outer layer of the sigil however served no purpose other than torture. Sigils dotted the outside forming spikes that protected the main sigil. The spikes were connected to her nerves and were designed to deliver pain if she felt even a twitch of arousal. Even menstruation would be twice as uncomfortable, even painful for her with that sigil within her. If a man took her, with her consent or without it, the pain would probably kill her. It looked like she even got warning flairs of pain against getting too close to a man.

The worst thing of all was in order for that to have been drawn in her the mage that cast it would have had to reach inside of her physically to do it. She had only been eight years old. Xavier’s fists clenched at the injustice, his mouth filling with sour bile which he quickly swallowed.

“The entire thing destroyed my father,” Zaire continued, not noticing that Xavier had read the sigil and more than she had told. “His reputation was ruined, and he drank himself to death. He died when I was fifteen. But I’ve managed just fine on my own, I’ve been assisting other mages to earn a living and I even get to study the stars my father so loved.”

Her blind optimism made him want to puke. He’d seen many other slaves like that, who just accepted their fate simply because they believed their masters when they said they should be grateful. Xavier knew that had all been lies, the other times of near freedom only making him cynical. Even now he wasn’t free, his slave sigil would make sure of that as long as he was near mages.

“If someone could remove that sigil would you have it done?” he asked, to make her see there was another way of life.

“If anyone found out I’d be put to death,” Zaire said horrified. “It took every connection my father had to see that I lived. The process is rare, most mages that had given birth to a tainted child or the members of that family, are executed.”

“If you left Dridia no one would know,” he said.

“No,” she said firmly. “Just getting it removed… You don’t know how it works. The pain alone…”

“Pain can be endured if there is an end in sight,” Xavier answered. “And then you can feel pleasure. You could take a lover.”

“I can live without sex,” she said shaking her head. “It isn’t anything that special.”

“You only say that because you’ve had nothing but pain,” he argued.

“Well it doesn’t matter,” she snapped glaring at him. “No mage would dare such a working.”

He looked back at her on the cusp of revealing himself, unsure. Why did he want to help her remove the sigil? It would only cause her pain to try, though he was sure he could do it. Perhaps it was because he could not remove his own sigil; she was trapped like him and had been abused like him.

She looked away from him, a blush spreading across her cheeks. He saw one of the sigils activate inside of her, yet she showed no outward signs of the pain other than her brow tightening slightly. He knew then she would never say yes, she was too used to the pain. He would have to force her.

He moved before she could even scream, pushing her to the floor and kneeling over her. Zaire gave a startled squeak, but his hand on her neck prevented her from screaming. With his other hand he started to rip away her robes. He felt her grab his wrist, but she wasn’t strong enough to push him off. She kicked, but he quickly pinned her legs with his.

Zaire whimpered as he ripped away her robes, the tear revealing her breast and stomach before ripping away from her hips and legs. Xavier admired the supple skin of her breasts a moment before looking down at the sigil. It was already activating many spikes at once, she was probably already in pain. He looked at her to see she had turned her face away.

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” he said softly. He looked back at the sigil and spread her legs with his own. She grunted in pain, unable to scream as he was still holding her throat. He pushed his fingers into her, and she writhed as the sigil blazed delivering pain to her. He had to push into her hard; there was no way to make it easy for her except to work quickly. The spike sigils were small and easily dispelled with a touch, but there were many of them. To get to the main sigil he had to get rid of all the spikes first.

His hand left her neck so he could put it on her belly to work better. She was unmoving now, he couldn’t spare the time to see if she was conscious or not. He only knew she lived because he could feel her rapid pulse inside of her. In less than a quarter mark he had removed all the spikes, and at last turned his attention to the main sigil.

His heart sank as he examined it without the spike sigils covering it. It was more complicated than he had thought, a life sigil woven within her blood and flesh. It had a trigger sigil, if he tried to remove it or broke the wrong line the sigil would shatter into her blood, poisoning her with its power. She would die a slow and painful death. He hesitated with is hand still inside of her, unsure if he could do such delicate work.

“Xavier,” she whispered and he looked at her. Tears were running down into her hair, her spectacles fogged. “Please stop.” He sighed defeated and withdrew his hands and she gathered her torn robes around her. He could see a bruised imprint of his hand on her neck, which she covered quickly as she curled into a ball. He knew she had sensed what he had done, and now what he was.

“I…”

“Leave,” she said flatly, not giving him the chance to speak. He stared at her, but she remained curled in her ball. He paused a moment before removing his tunic and turned his back to her so she could see the sigil tattooed there.

“My mother was Selene Lonelove and my father was Terrian Alvar, the last Aldan High King,” he said and telling by her sharp intake of breath he had her attention. He sat on his heels, his back to her as he told her his story. “Varas Lonelove wanted one of his grandchildren on the throne of the High King; it would have given him all the power in the world. He cast fertility sigils on Selene, and then used a glamor to make her look like Terrian’s wife. She was able to seduce him and get with his child.

“Terrian however refused to acknowledge the child, despite it being his only one. It was one of the best kept secrets; Varas didn’t want anyone stealing his cash cow until Terrian admitted the babe was his. The child was born in utmost secrecy; even the midwife that helped with the birth was killed. Selene died in the birth, leaving the babe in the care of his grandfather. He kept the child hidden while negotiating with Terrian to relent and name the child as his heir.

“And then Terrian died. Councils were called as to the heir of the kingdoms, and alliances were formed. Varas, on the cusp of bringing forward the child, realized he was tainted with the magic that had driven the mages from their homeland. Unable to present the child as heir, the kingdoms dissolve into war. Varas locked the child away, experimenting with sigils that will seal his tainted power, so the mages will follow him.

“He succeeds, but not in time. The Drasirs of Regis were successful in their push for dominance and the Myrddins had already pledged their loyalty to Regis. If Varas revealed the child then both would have lost their lives. So he decided to get rid of the child, trusting in his own sigil work to seal the child’s power.

“A Nyrgardic mine is hardly a place for a thirteen-year-old, but he made his way. He was near buying his freedom, a Nyrgardic law, when the mine collapsed. The owner had to sell his slaves to make up for the loss. The boy, a man now by some standards was sold to a couple of noble mages, the wife taking him as a lover and pet. The husband soon grew jealous of his wife’s toy, and so entered him into the slave fights.

“He survived this challenge too, soon sold again to a piss poor gambler who lost him in a bet to another mage. This mage brought him to Myr itself, where he had been house sitting for a more successful and powerful cousin. One morning, a golem lost its mind, its life sigil becoming corrupt. It started to kill servants and slaves; the mage was unable to stop the creature. The man though could and broke the already damaged life sigil. The result killed everyone, but him who had been in the center of the blast.

“He fled, seeking his freedom, but he was marked with a slave sigil,” his hand went to the slave sigil on his neck. “He sought refuge in Hole, the caverns under the city. There he had been until he’d made too many enemies and was forced to flee. That was when he came across an odd mage woman who fainted the moment she saw him.”

He turned to Zaire who was staring at him slack jawed. She closed her mouth with a snap and blushed, looking away from him.

“You’re mad just like Atlas.”

“Maybe so,” he said with a shrug. “But you’re no longer in any pain.” She tightened her grip on her robes, her legs shifting under her. “Maybe you’re feeling a bit of arousal now.”

“No,” she said in a small voice and he sighed.

“Well you can figure it out on your own now I guess,” he said, he wouldn’t push her. He took his tunic and was about to leave when she stopped him.

“You’re leaving?”

“You told me to,” he said.

“But… Ah, what about your sigil?” She asked, sounding like she was grasping at straws.

“You don’t have the power to break it,” he said. “Only Varas could remove it.”

“Then what about the slave sigil?” she asked. “I can remove it.”

“You don’t have the power,” he answered.

“It’s not a matter of power,” she said as she stood and went to her desk. She started to ruffle through her papers, revealing a fair amount of skin as she let her ripped robes fall open. He watched her, distracted by the brief glimpses. She returned with a book and several papers, Xavier able to see her bare breasts. She covered herself, blushing again, and looked at him.

“Turn around,” she said and he complied.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she shifted through the papers.

“You were right that I don’t have the power to break the slave sigil,” she said. He felt her touch his neck and start to draw a sigil on his skin with charcoal. He held still, but he felt heat spreading to his groin as she leaned close to him. “But I know a locksmith, and he has a few sigils that can pick locks. This would never work on the powerful sigil, but it might on the slave sigil. They don’t need much power, and with a bit of rearranging…”

She trailed off, absorbed in drawing the sigil. He felt her power like a gentle breeze on his skin as she wove the sigil. At last he felt her power flair, and the sigil activate. He felt a pinch on his neck and then his skin tingled as the power of the slave sigil flowed away. Even the ink disappeared, leaving a faded line on his skin. He sat a moment, hardly feeling different, until he breathed. He felt his full freedom in that breath, all the worry of pain gone.

He turned to her and she jumped, her arms going over her bare chest. Xavier kissed her before she could move, intending it to be quick but he lost to the soft touch of her lips. He felt her relax and even respond, which only made him deepen the kiss, putting his tongue in her mouth. He withdrew, catching his breath as she gasped for her own.

“Thank you,” he said, hovering close to her.

“You’re welcome,” she said breathlessly.

“I should go,” he said but he didn’t move.

“Why?” She asked leaning a little closer.

“You wanted me to,” he answered. She responded by kissing him, a hesitant and soft kiss which he deepened into something more. They spent several hours together, several very pleasant hours. Afterwards they lay in Zaire’s bed, sweat drying on skin.

“I never knew…” she spoke softly in both awe and pain. Xavier held her as her breathing started to hitch and she started to weep. He held her tighter as Zaire wept out her years of pain of what had been stolen from her. He felt a few tears of his own, sympathy for her pain. At last her broken sobs became steady breaths of sleep. Emotionally and physically exhausted he wasn’t surprised she had fallen asleep though it was only midday.

He had planned on it as well. Xavier stood and dressed, being as silent as he could. He took one last look at Zaire, her naked body lying out vulnerable. He covered her gently with a blanket and then left. He paused a moment, guilt and reluctance making him hesitate.

Love was something he had never experienced, not even the love of a mother or father, so when it was looking him right in the face he didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that the Legion of the Creed was after him, and he needed to get out of Myr. Zaire wouldn’t want to go with him; life outside of Myr was something she wasn’t strong enough for. So he had convinced himself he was doing the best by her, though he knew he was a heel for leaving her like this.

He quickly exited her building, luckily no one saw him. The middle of the day was a good time to get about. The craftsmen were all at work while the servants were all at home. He passed more people as he approached the docks again, traffic increasing as he got closer to the busy piers. It was this traffic that saved him, blending in to the crowds so he spotted the bandaged brother before he spotted Xavier.

He stopped when he saw the bandaged brother sitting at the corner with a tin cup. He looked like a beggar, but Xavier knew the man was part of the Legion. His stiff shoulders suggested alertness contrary to the slouched posture of weariness he wore. He was scanning the crowd, looking for someone. Xavier moved back, keeping his head down and trying not to stir the crowd around him by his sudden change in direction. He moved along the edge of the docks, looking for a way in, but each street had either a bandaged brother or another member of the Legion.

They were looking for him. Xavier muttered curses as he started to head away from the docks. The best way to leave the city would be by sea, less likely to get caught or for anyone to send someone after him. He could try a caravan route, or just steal a horse and run, but none of those ways was a guarantee get away. For that he needed the sea.

As he walked down the street he realized he was being followed. He looked behind him and saw a man following him. He didn’t care if he was part of the Legion, he just ran. The man followed and was joined by two others. Xavier took a turn and swore he’d chosen a dead-end street. He turned and saw the three men blocking the only exit. All three were beefy Elmerians; one had a boil on his face telling Xavier his guess had been right.

“Kal Ba’el commands your attendance,” the one in the center said. “You should be honored.”

“Honor this,” Xavier growled as he punched the man. The man took the hit easily and grinned, lashing out as well. Xavier moved back as the other two started to close in on him. He kept his fists up and lashed out with a hook. The man took the punch easily, laughing now. Xavier knew he wasn’t that weak, the man just couldn’t feel pain.

Suddenly a full flower pot flew striking the man on the head and he fell like a ton of bricks. Xavier turned and hit the man next to him, slamming his head into the wall. The third tried to grab him from behind and he danced aside. A brick flew by barely missing him and just missing the third man. The man shouted and dove for Xavier and he grabbed the man’s arm snapping it like a stick. The man didn’t shout, but just kept coming.

Xavier dodged a wild swing and grabbed the man by the throat, snapping his neck like he had snapped his arm. He dropped the body, breathing heavily and his heart hammering. He turned and saw Zaire hefting a water pot, a throwing sigil blazing on her hand. She was staring at the dead man, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.

“Come on,” he growled and hurried out of the alley. She just stood there numb, so he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along after him and she dropped the water pot. He took a roundabout way back to her apartment, checking to make sure they weren’t followed. Back at Peony House, there were more people about, yet none of the women noticed as they quickly slipped into the stairwell and up to Zaire’s apartment.

“What were you thinking?” Xavier growled. Zaire had sunken into her armchair, looking stunned.

“You killed him,” she whispered, and he realized she had just seen him kill another man no matter what that man had become.

“He and his friends were planning a lot worse for me,” Xavier said. “And he is not the first man I’ve killed.”

“All in self-defense?” Zaire asked as she looked up at him. He looked away and she whimpered a little.

“You think I’m Atlas,” he said, and she gasped.

“No, I don’t think that,” she protested. “I just… I never knew anyone who has had to live like that. Xavier, I went after you because I want to be with you I…”

“We only just met Zaire,” he said flatly.

“And you told me your life story and then just left,” she said angrily.

“You skipped the part where we fucked,” he said mildly, and she flushed.

“Are you always like this?”

“Yes, do you still want to be with me?”

“Yes, because you need me. Who were those men?”

Xavier was taken off guard again by her quick turn. She was staring at him now, almost protectively. He stopped breathing when he remembered what Tobias had done to the other woman. If he got his hands on Zaire… He sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands as he tried to calm himself. He felt her sit next to him, and she put an arm around his shoulders. He straitened pulling away from her.

“Those men were of the Legion of the Creed, a cult in Hole. They worship their fake god by raping and sacrificing young girls. They got some stupid idea in their heads that I have Elder Magic, the magic the Atlas wielded, and that I will father a child that can house the spirit of their god. They’re after me and are guarding the docks looking for me. An Aldan outside of Alda is easy to find.”

“But a mage in Myr is a common sight,” Zaire said and Xavier grabbed her arm.

“If they caught you Zaire the things they would do to you would make the pain of that sigil in you laughable,” he said, and she shrunk away from him. He lessened his grip and looked away, afraid she would see how worried he really was. “I don’t need your help Zaire.”

“Let me at least do this for you,” she said thickly, her voice betraying her hurt and tears. “I’ll get you on a ship and you never have to see me again.”

He bit down on comforting words and debated. She was right; she could get him on a ship without the Legion being any the wiser. The idea of just sitting around her apartment while she risked herself looking for a ship galled him.  

“You have to get out of here once I’m gone,” he said at last. “Go to Alda, I’m not sure how they will receive you, but it’s probably the safest place from the Legion and the mages that put that sigil in you.”

“I will,” she said as she nodded a tear sliding down her cheek. “Where will you go?”

“Far,” he answered. She was hanging her head, looking dejected. “I’m sorry Zaire.”

“So am I,” she said, and he winced. He turned to her and pulled back her collar. The bruises on her neck were still dark. He kissed her neck, gently kissing the bruises he had caused.

“It might take you some time to find a ship,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you mind if I share your bed for a while?”

Her answer was a shy smile and he kissed her. A few days turned to a few weeks he spent at Zaire’s apartment, both unwilling to part. He knew she was dragging her feet finding a ship, but his own reluctance grew day by day. Zaire was very smart, and once he got her talking about astronomy she wouldn’t stop.

“What were you doing that night on the docks?” he asked one night as they lay abed.

“I was trying to see the hunter rise in the north,” she answered, her fingers idly skimming his chest. “I wanted a better look without the horizon of land in the way.”

“There are observatories for that.”

“I’m not allowed in them,” she answered sadly. He answered her sadness by pulling her to him and kissing her. He soon learned that in order for Zaire to make a living she had rented her services out to other mages. Servants and slaves were in the thousands, but Zaire could do things they could not. She drew sigils, did research, wrote papers, and even helped mages in their castings. She had multiple customers, and so limited time to go looking for a ship for him. He saw how much she worked, often late into the night on one paper or another.

He often fell asleep to the sound of her pen on parchment, finding the sound almost soothing. One night he dreamed. Slowly he began to dream, barely registering the colors dancing before his eyes. He moved through the colored mist confused, this was a strange dream. He had never had a dream like this, he almost felt awake. He kept moving, yet time seemed meaningless; he wasn’t even sure if he was moving anywhere. He walked for an age, a lifetime, before he finally heard something. It was singing, mournful and sad. There were no words, or if there were they were in a language Xavier did not know.

He followed the sound through the mist until his feet touched water. Startled he stopped, feeling water lap around his ankles. The mist cleared enough for him to see he stood on the shore of a lake, the ripples of his steps shimmering out like lines of silver light. Upon the lake stood a tower, no island or land for it to rest upon. It was built of stone blocks as big as Xavier was tall, fitted together perfectly without mortar. The stones were not square or regular; in fact Xavier could not see any pattern to the shapes at all. The shape of the tower was a round cylinder, the top flat without a minaret or flag.  

There also didn’t seem to be any windows or doors. Xavier walked along the shore around the tower and then saw there was a window at the very top, a light shining from it. The song came from up there, still as soft as a bird call. Xavier walked towards the tower and flinched when he dropped into the water to his waist. He walked carefully after that, but the water never went deeper than his armpits. He realized there was a current though the water had seemed still; it wasn’t a lake but a river.

Reaching the tower, he stood chest deep in the water at the base. It just rose out of the water, Xavier unsure why anyone would build such a tower or how. He looked up and saw he was just below the window and decided to climb. There were plenty of foot and hand holds and once out of the water it became easier to climb. Xavier had never climbed anything so high before, and it was another trial he had to face. It was exhilarating and terrifying.

He reached the top and peeked over the window sill into the room beyond. The room was wide; there was no roof, only the starry sky. Nine pillars stood supporting nothing, looking to be like carven hazel trees rather than pillars. The stone floor was covered with strings of every color, each bright and distinct though they were tangled and matted together. In the center of the room sat a figure, a woman stooped over something in the center of the room. Her ash blonde hair covered her so he could not see her face, falling in waves around her. Xavier thought she was tangled in the many colorful strings before he realized she was actually knotting them together. She was humming as she worked the source of the song he heard. She was gazing down at something and Xavier lifted himself higher to see.

At first he thought it was a well, the water so still it reflected the stars, but then he realized it was a mirror. The silver glass was perfect and clear, Xavier never having seen it’s like before. The woman shifted and her head started to turn, Xavier gasped and lost his grasp. The feeling of falling lasted a heart wrenching moment before he woke.

“Are you alright?” Zaire asked kneeling next to him on the bed. “You were dreaming.”

“I’m fine,” he said as he sat up. “Just a falling dream.”

“I’ve heard theories that falling dreams are caused by your spirit wandering,” Zaire said.

“Wandering where?” he asked and she just shrugged. He looked at her, thinking over the dream. “It might have been about you actually.”

“How?” she asked blushing a little under his direct gaze.

“It was a weaver trapped in a tower, gazing at a mirror of the stars,” he said. “Sounds a lot like you.”

“I could never weave like my mother,” she said shaking her head.

“Why do you use her family name then?” he asked.

“For lower born women use their mother’s name and men their father’s name,” she said. “Only nobles use their family names after marriage and change houses.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said as he shrugged. “I hardly use my family names, but I use both since I’m a bastard.”

“Did you ever want to know your parents?” she asked, only a person who loved both her parents would ask that.

“No,” he said flatly. “My father died before I was born, and my mother died giving birth to me. After that all I knew of family was my grandfather.”

“I’ve heard rumors of Varas Lonelove,” Zaire said. “Everyone says he is the most powerful mage next to the king himself. Some say he even managed to start building a gate between here and Cair Leone. What is he really like?”

Xavier stared out the window, gathering courage to answer her. If anyone else had asked him that question he would have lied or even refused to answer. Not Zaire. He took a deep shuddering breath, resisting the urge to sob.

“He first molested me when I was seven,” he said lowly, head bowed. “To him it was power; he had other boys to serve him. I think he just got the thrill of controlling me in every way he could. It was his real preference, that he has kept a very good secret. I am sure the Myrddins know, as well as some servants, but all his other boys he made sure they disappeared.”

“Not you,” she said softly and he gave a bitter laugh, more of a bark.

“He was careless, probably because I’m his kin,” he answered. “He probably just couldn’t stand killing me directly; it would have meant he was wrong about his scheme.”

She didn’t say anything more as she took him into her arms. He let himself get lost in the intimacy with another person who felt pain much like him, forgetting the past pain in the pleasures of the present.

[fableweaver]

A History of the Nine Kingdoms

 There are several Eras across the history of Miread, though by human kenning these are less. The Phay have longer memories than men, and so they have more Eras. The Phay lived for centuries before men were even born. They had recordings of these times, and in general refer to them as the Dawning Ages. There were more ages before the rise of men, like the Summer Wars, the Spring of the Late Rose, Ages of the Lost, Era of Elder Days, and the Wandering Ages.

The origins of men vary depending on the race. The Aldan came from the beasts, the first of men to come. The Phay took them under their wing so to speak and even occasionally mated with them. The Aldan, known as the Little Kindred to the Phay, learned to use wood tools, taught by the Phay. The Rhodin, Children of Gracelings, were like the Aldan, coming from the beasts, but unlike the Aldan they were aloof from the Phay and remained their own, though there were some that still mated with them.

The Daunish, Mud Men, were the next to emerge, from the mud, and brought stone tools into use. The Hyrians, Water Children, were born from water, about the same time, but they learned to use copper. The Xin, Demons of the Burning Sand, came from the being known as the Serpent King, a creature from another world that the Phay did not know the origins of. The Serpent King taught them how to make bronze and they lived in the southern desert. Lirians, Men with Silken Hair, emerged from the Lake Verde in the east, maybe coming from another world. They knew much for just coming into the world, and even knew how to make iron and steel.

These times were known as the Dynasty of the Phay by men, but many ages by the Phay as they could mark the rise of men much better than the men. These times lasted for centuries as well, nearly ten centuries. Men evolved through stone tools, bronze, and then iron. It was around the time of iron and steel that things started to change. The Phay were not weak at all to iron, but it was just as this metal was beginning to be used that the first outlanders began to arrive. This led to the belief of some that the Phay feared iron though this is not true.

The end of this era is debatable, some say it began the first time outsiders landed in Miread, and others say it isn’t until the last arrive. The Phay start this era at the first of the outsiders arriving calling it the Falling Dusk.

It started with the arrival of the Elmerians. Fleeing an Empire that wanted every last one of them dead, the Elmerians fled over the sea. They came out of the south west, and were known as the Quivering Children by the Phay. The Phay accepted them into their lands along with the Aldan, though the Elmerians spread over much more of the land into Hyria. There were times of peace after the Elmerians; the next outlanders didn’t arrive for another 200 years or so.

The Markians were the next to arrive. A plague broke out in the far north lands, and several ships of refugees fled. Unfortunately they brought the plague with them. The Phay were not affected by the disease but men were, and the Phay watched as the disease ravaged the land. It eventually ran its course, but the population was devastated.

Then Nyrgarders, from the same land as the Markians, arrived about a hundred years later, a blink to the Phay. They had escaped the plague, but their lands were diseased and famine reigned. The Nyrgarders strove hard to conquer the north, driving the Giants over the northern mountains into the lands of the dwarves. They warred not only with the Daunish, the Phay and the Aldan, but also the Markians.

Next the Regarians arrived. Hailing from the land of the same Empire that the Elmerians fled from, the Regarians fled from an earthquake that destroyed half the empire. They were a smaller nation that was friend to the Empire, a small but wealthy nation. When they arrived they began war just like the Nyrgarders but in the south.

Many of the Phay had fled Miread by this point, their fear and disgust of men great. So the Phay marched, leaving Miread behind just as the last race arrived in Miread, the Dridians. The race of mages arrived from the far east, on a lost isle. They fled a warlord, or so they say, one of their own that became too powerful. One of their own died to destroy him, sinking their island as well, the whole tale told in the Epic of Martell.

The Phay marched through the lay lines to Tir Aesclinn, the world where spirits rest so they could still see their mortal kin before they were called back to Fors wheel.

This was the end of the Dynasty of the Phay and the beginning of the Cursed Age. This period lasts for about two millennia, as all the kingdoms define themselves. Recordings of these times are chaotic, as some records were lost and wars were waged. Borders were fluid and nations undefined. For each race this time meant something different and each measured the years differently.

The end of this time was brought about by one man, Absalom of the Deep Woods. He was known by many names, the Peacemaker, Silver Tongue, and Braveling. He is the first High King of the Nine Kingdoms. His life story is told in Absalom’s Saga.  Absalom actually never wanted to be High King, it was Lir’s Emperor Loe who suggested the position be made and Absalom had to accent to keep the peace with the Kingdoms. Absalom also never intended the Aldan to be the only ones to be able to be High King, or for the title to be anything more than a peace keeper. He set out to unite the kingdoms seeking to lure the Phay back by bringing peace to the kingdoms of men.

Boarders were drawn and peace made. The Nine Houses of the Kings were established along with other houses. While united the kingdoms still remain independent, their only due is the taxes to the High King. Time began to be recorded after this in a regular method, the time now called the Era of Kingdoms. The current year is 682; nearly three millennia after the Phay marched.