The Arrival
The sun blazed at the crest of the sky like the eye of an angry god, glaring down at impudent mortals. A solitary figure trudged doggedly across the sand dunes, oblivious to the scorching heat. His clothing, torn apart by the desert winds, hung about his gaunt frame in tatters. The sun had passed overhead twice since his last drink and countless more days had elapsed since his food supply had run out. He had been crossing what he told himself was the last dune for a week now, and still the oasis of civilization evaded his sight. Carrion creatures followed him day and night, by land and air, waiting for the first misstep, the stumble and fall from which the forlorn wanderer could not recover.
It came all too soon, as first his legs, knees, and finally his torso sank down onto the blistering sands. He had lost capacity to feel the heat long ago, and now, face down in the middle of the Colulin Desert, he only felt the calm that comes with a welcome death. He closed his eyes for one final time, accepting his fate.
Above the body, the carrion birds circled once more, preparing for their impending meal. Before they could land to partake of the feast, however, a smoky outline appeared, hovering above the fallen body. It descended slowly; becoming more corporeal as it went. The birds, sensing an aura of great power, turned away in search of easier prey.
Down on the sand dunes, the carcass snakes, or temska, as the rarely seen natives of the desolate plains called them, were not so lucky. The mated pair slithered over and through the sand, one slightly behind the other. The male led, as he always did, urged on by the vibrations they had both felt when the body had fallen.
The temska were dark red in color, approximately six feet in length, with massively strong coils, and even stronger jaws. They were only vaguely intelligent, but their true strength lay in their speed and tenacity when pursuing prey. They had been following the runner tirelessly for almost five days. He would make quite a meal compared to their usual diet of small desert insects and bird eggs. It was a credit to this man, their prey, that he had stayed ahead of them for so long.
Driven by the gnawing hunger in their bellies, and relishing the scent of the dying corpse, they never saw the figure drop softly between them. The male temska howled in pain as what seemed like burning daggers tore him in two. The figure turned, letting the bloody remains drop to writhe on the sands in the throes of death.
The female of the pair had time for only one glance at their attacker, before her head was torn from her body. The dark figure's hands ended in sharp four-inch talons like a carrion bird, but it walked upright like the fallen corpse they were about to feed upon. Her mate's dark blood dripped from the man's talons, and as her many-faceted eyes met the eyes of her killer for just a moment before the life fled from her body, she felt his aura of power wash over her. It was not for her benefit, though, that the figure whispered the words, which floated away on the wind like the dust of a thousand years of desert, "you'll not take him today."
*************
Vael awoke from what seemed like a long dream. Had he died? His eyes eased open, seeing only stone, cracked with age, above him. He felt that same stone underneath him. He found himself in a small room, which had a window located to his left. Was this a tomb?
He remembered leaving his home in Ageero to join the traveling band of adventurers on their quest. They had been beset by dangers almost immediately. During their first night of encampment they were ambushed by...he still didn't know. He had watched as two of the warriors traveling with him were slaughtered instantly by the...apparitions. He still shuddered at the memory. The spell casters had stumbled from their tent, directly into the fiery mandibles of the attacking beasts.
Their screams still echoing in his ears, he had fled, as had another young man...Geruin was his name. His race for safety had been brief, as one of the beasts had sped through the trees, faster than shadows fleeing from the light. The youngster had come along with dreams of treasure and glory, only to find that there was no fame or fortune to be found with his limp form impaled against a tree on those abominations' claws.
Vael had only been able to watch as the creatures, squat, shadowy beings covered in chitinous armor, stopped to survey the camp after his compatriots were dead. Their twin sets of eyes, each burning a bright crimson, stared into the surrounding wilderness. He saw his companions' blood and entrails hanging from their ebony claws and mandibles like beef at a butcher shop. It was all he could do to hold in the bile rising in his throat.
He had listened to them feed on the corpses until late in the morning hours, the sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping effectively keeping any thoughts of slumber from his head. Then they simply disappeared, as if they had never been. All he remembered since that moment was the running. Hysterical fear and guilt drove him on until the tall grass of the plains gave way to the scattered bushes and rocky ground of the flatlands. The shrubs became still fewer, and the hard earth disintegrated into the sandy wastes of the Colulin Desert. He had seen the heat rising in waves from some distance away, but had no way to cease his crazed flight. He had plunged into the sands, never breaking stride, all the while knowing he had no way of stopping. He would run until he died, he understood that after the first day. There was a force driving him that would not allow him to pause, even for a moment's rest.
Then his memories simply stopped. Someone must have found him; it was beyond his ability to fathom what manner of being could have taken him from the midst of that god-forsaken place. He tried to rise, and found to his dismay that his body would not obey his commands for movement. He sensed all of his limbs were intact, and his chest was rising and falling with each breath. He could even wiggle his toes just a bit. He had not perished, he felt relatively certain about that, but it felt as if his body no longer functioned.
Ever so slowly, though, he felt feeling returning. It tingled, as it crept up his legs and into his torso. His muscles contracted and relaxed. He tried to sit up again, and promptly fell from the table he had been laying on. Just reaching up to the tabletop for support was back breaking labor.
"You should take it a bit more easy," whispered a soft voice. As his line of sight again rose above the table he beheld an aged man sitting on a mat, legs crossed, and dirty, twisted hair draping his face and shoulders. "It is not every day one gets a second go at living, it would not be wise to rush it." The man spoke in measured, calm tones. Vael tried to speak, but his tongue would not move properly.
"Relax. Your voice will return soon enough, just as the use of your limbs has returned." The old man continued, "You have been through much, and I would wager that there are more trials ahead. The authorities have been searching for you throughout the city for several days. I can protect you no more, for my Sanctuary magicks are growing weaker by the hour. The one who brought you to my care left you this." The aged man reached out a bony hand that held a piece of rolled up parchment. Vael took it and tried in vain to express his thanks, only to find that he still had no speech. The parchment was a brief note, written with short hard marks, addressed to him. It read:
Vael,
Trust the old man, Arshania. He is an old and dear friend, and a very powerful ally. There will be many aggressors at his door within moments after you read this. The apparitions, called the Servants of Mbala, were sent to destroy you by the High Council of the city. They almost succeeded in preventing all that you might accomplish, had it not been for Arshania's scrying abilities. He located you and was able to hide you from them and send me to your aid. The city has changed in many ways, though you probably do not remember it, as you were very young when we were last here. Do not let the authorities entrap you; they are as corrupt as the Servants from the woods, and no less powerful in their own element. There is safety by the water. Search out the sea, and you will find the path to skale.... Let the winds be your guide.
T.
"They are coming, just as he said." The old man crouched down upon his mat, and before Vael's eyes, seemed to collapse in upon himself. Then he was gone, and only his dirty cloak remained in a crumpled heap on the floor.
There were loud voices and footsteps approaching. Vael grabbed the old man's robe, for the first time noticing that he was naked. He stuffed the parchment into one of the many pockets he found in its inner lining, and tried to collect his thoughts. So many ideas and memories were swirling through his head. He was having serious trouble concentrating on the matter at hand. He quickly took stock of his surroundings. The room was small, and made of stone. A single door was set in the wall behind the old man's mat, and appeared to be fairly thick. He wondered for a moment where one could get wood so thick in the desert. 'Back to the task at hand!' he mentally forced himself to concentrate.
He plainly heard men's' voices just outside the door. They did not sound very pleased. A low chanting began, the arcane words raising the hairs on his neck. The doorway began to undulate and shimmer. Vael remembered witnessing these same effects caused by other spell casters with whom he had adventured. As the door became more translucent, he dimly saw at least six men with heavy steel weapons in the hallway, along with one man whose hands were producing a bright orange glow.
Scanning the room for possible weapons and finding none, his eyes settled on the window. Leaning over the edge, he found himself looking out over an expansive cityscape, full of twisting streets, and enormous three and four story stone buildings. He judged by the distance to the sandy alley below that he was at least on the third story, and looking up, found another stone tier above his position. The building across the way held no windows at all on this floor, and the walls offered nothing in the way of handholds. The twenty-some foot drop was, however, a better choice than the other exit, which was quickly disintegrating. With a muttered prayer aimed at any deity who might be listening, he leaped from the window.
To his abject dismay, his fall was a gradual drop rather than a high-speed plummet, and only when his feet came to rest lightly on the hot sand below did he have time to marvel at the fact that during his hasty prayer, his speech had returned.
Vael knew that the sheer heat emanating from the stone walls and sandy streets would kill a man as surely as a sword blade, and all at once he did recall walking these streets once before. It was fleeting glimpse of an alley like the one he now stood in, and was gone just as quickly.
Filing the memory away for later, he sprinted down the alleyway, turning the first corner that he came to in order to avoid any thrown weapons from the soldiers he expected to be at the window. He heard their angry cries at finding the room empty, and it seemed possible that while he had seen them, they may not have been able to regard him until the door was fully destroyed.
There were so many questions to be answered. Who and where was the old man, what was his name, Arshania? Who was the mysterious letter-writing savior? Who were his pursuers? Why were they following him? What were these strange blank spots in his memory? His mind reeled at the confusion the swirling thoughts created. He dug out the letter, finding the inside of the old man's robe to be remarkably cool. As he read the letter again, he noticed he had not been sweating, either. Even throughout his sprint down the scorching alleyways, he had not broken a sweat. Perhaps the man was a powerful wizard, with a powerful cloak as well.
Vael knew that while he had been in very good physical condition when he left Ageero, he had no extra-ordinary abilities, other than a pair of stealthy feet, quick hands, and an affinity for natural surroundings. He had never really enjoyed the art of thieving, although the challenge was sometimes very invigorating. He had mainly signed on to the adventurers' quest in order to see the sights and serve as a scout. He was good at blending in, though, and that was why he believed those monsters had not caught him. But just the sight of the carnage had driven him almost insane with fear! He shuddered visibly, thinking about the pain and suffering his accomplices had gone through.
He had not known them long, to be sure, but no being should ever have to endure such torment, particularly if the monsters had been sent for him. Those poor souls had only met their doom because they stood in proximity to him. The guilt came crashing down with the weight of the stone walls that surrounded him. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and the whipping wind dried them with bits of sand as soon as they appeared.
The letter was still clutched tightly in his white-knuckled fist, and as he relaxed his eyes fell on final sentences. "There is safety by the water. Search out the sea..." he said the words aloud, relishing in the sensation of his returned speech. He would find the water and possibly the answers he was seeking as well.
He had been walking for quite some time when he found the marketplace. It was a thundering mass of confusion, with humans and many of the rarer races of humanoids everywhere, buying, trading, and hawking their wares. The market must have been more than a mile long, and at least twice that distance in width, and Vael again pondered just how large the city must be. Everywhere there were bodies, most garbed in plain cloaks like himself, but others were wrapped up in flamboyant silks and headdresses. He wondered at the impressive array of races present, and guessed that this must be some sort of port city, to attract such a diverse group. Ageero had been a human-based community, and although other races were not particularly turned away, they were never outwardly welcomed. Vael senses were completely overcome by the enormous amount of noise, the twisting, turning mass of bodies, and the mix of odors wafting from the market. Before he had the chance to contemplate any options, however, he was swept out into the pushing, shoving, swirling throng of bodies by a group of excited teenagers, their purses jingling audibly.
He smelled the sweat, along with other even less desirable scents. The sheer volume of the crowds assaulted his ears. His sense of direction lost, Vael stumbled against a cart, slipped around two giant-sized humanoids, and bolted into a dark opening to his right. Safe for the moment in the cool alcove of a building, he looked out across the crowds, wondering for an instant about the likelihood of his pursuers finding him here.
To his left, an enormous man was selling baked bread and dried meats. The scent was overpowering, and his mouth began to water. Vael had no recollection of his last meal. His physique did not seem to be debilitated in any way, and he suspected he had Arshania to thank for that as well. He absently dug a hand into the pocket of his appropriated robe, and to his surprise, there were several metal coins resting there. He drew them out and eyed them carefully, the silvery metal surface feeling cool in his hands. He didn't recognize the currency, though. The man behind the cart must have somehow seen him, as he was suddenly very near to Vael, asking what he wanted to purchase. "Some meat." Vael responded without really giving it much thought.
"Ah buleeve it will be takin' all you gaht there en yur han'." The man's speech was barely intelligible to Vael's ears, but the meaning was clear as the man's enormous hand closed over the money. Still reeling from the over-stimulation of the marketplace, he dully felt several strips of meat being pressed into his hand. The "trade" was done even before Vael could find the words to object. Even stranger still, the flabby merchant simply left his food stand unoccupied, screaming at the top of his lungs how rich he had just become. Before Vael could react, and possibly get his money back, he saw the man knocked to the ground by several market-goers; the coins went spinning into the air, sending flashing sunlight across the crowd.
Everyone in the nearby vicinity seemed to temporarily lose control, as they tried to punch, kick, and bite their way through the crowds in search of those coins. Vael's suspicions were confirmed that he had been taken advantage of. There was no use drawing more attention his way, however. He maneuvered himself quickly along the wall, putting a good twenty-five strides between himself and the growing riot, and placating his gnawing hunger with the meat.
He glimpsed many weaponsmiths, alchemists, and food peddlers, along with several other more exotic booths. All were turning their eyes quickly to their goods and the growing conglomeration of bodies in the square. Suddenly, though, there were louder yells, and the clanging of metal, rising above the riotous din. Tall humans in black leather tunics were banging metal swords together as they approached the melee. There must have been almost two score of them, surrounding the rioters. One by one, upon sighting the arrival of the newcomers, the citizens found other places to be.
An old woman who seemed to be the proprietor of an animal stall sat on a stool just to Vael's right. She leaned in his direction, whispering, "the city guard. I wouldn't want to be the one who caused that chaos, would you?"
"What do you mean?" answered Vael, a bit more loudly than he had intended.
The old woman shushed him quickly, pulling him into her stall. Animal cages surrounded them, and all of the old woman's "pets" turned to regard Vael. He had always been at home in the wilderness, but had never even dreamed of encountering some of the creatures that now surrounded him.
The woman's soft voice cut through the surrounding silence. Vael's attention was immediately drawn to the ornately drawn dragon tattoo curling around her neck, its head pointing down into her robe. "My pets smell something about you, it is a strange scent, indeed." She seemed to be sniffing him herself. "It is the odor of uncertainty, fear, and trouble. Trouble follows your path like a hunting dog, and I don't need it coming to my shop." Her manner suddenly changed completely. "If you're not here to buy, be on your way."
Vael stammered for words. "I don't even know you, woman. How can you know anything about me? I'm just looking for the path to the sea, or the docks, or-" She cut him off abruptly.
"The sea?" She began to giggle quietly, her stringy hair bouncing from the exertion of holding in her laughter. "Wait about two months, then follow the alleyway beyond this building, it'll take you right to the seashore." She said the last word with a snort of derision.
"Two months? I don't understand. I've never been here, I-"
"You've been here, boy. You just need to remember. But now you've got to go!" She lowered her voice, "The Dictates are on their way. I can see them from here. Now get along, before they steal away your chance to find what it is you're searching for. Down the alleyway beyond this building." Her gnarled hand pointed behind her stall. "To the Vizier's Quarter. There you might see a woman named D’tula. She might help you if she's so inclined." Vael couldn't help but notice her emphasis on the word "might".
She shoved him roughly out of her stall. Stumbling over her cages, Vael regained his balance, only to turn and see his pursuers from Arshania's room making their way through the crowds. They seemed to be searching intently for something. He had a good idea what, or who, that something was.
But why had the old woman helped him? She hadn't seemed too forthcoming, until his life was seemingly in danger. For that matter, it dawned on him, how had she known he had been here before? And where in the hundred hells was here? 'Stay in control, Vael!' he reminded himself. If she was right about the danger, he had to get out of the marketplace, and put some more distance between him and his assailants.
Bolting down the way she had indicated, he was shoved hard against the alley wall by a short, squat figure. "Watch where yer going! There'd be far less trouble if more of you tall buggers would gaze down from yer lofty perches at us stouter folk." The dwarf (at least that is what Vael suspected the man to be, for he had never before encountered one) was not pleased.
As Vael stared up from his none-to-comfortable seat against the wall, the dwarf grabbed him by the collar of his robe, and jerked him up to his knees. Vael was stunned at the strength of the far shorter race. "You'd better be apologizin' for my inconvenience," he looked more closely at Vael's face and neck, "Freewalker." Vael didn't recognize the term, nor did he really care, as he could almost feel the Dictates walking up to the alleyway.
He regained both his footing and his voice. "I don't know where you think you've gained the right to talk down to me, but it is you who should be apologizing. For the shove as well as the verbal mistreatment."
Vael's adventurer spirit was returning. He felt the urge to show this stubby runt who he could and couldn't bully beginning to surge through him. He felt his muscles tensing for a fight-and then the impossibly fast roundhouse caught him directly in his gut. His breath left him as quickly as his newfound bravado had come. He doubled over, raising his head to look into the eyes of his "stubby" assailant.
"This is not the time fer heroes, boy."
The dwarf seemed much bigger now, and as his fist connected with the bridge of Vael's nose, the taller man wondered, not for the last time, whether any of this was worth the trouble. "Freewalker." This was his last thought as he surrendered to the black sea of unconsciousness.
*************
“Wake up!" Vael opened his bleary eyes to stare directly into the face of that very same dwarf who he had last seen beating him in the alley. The dwarf, seeing that he was waking, moved a step or two back, and began pacing around the small room they occupied. "I saved yer life you know." Vael's face hurt almost too much to listen, and he was having trouble finding his balance. He could feel a crusty scab under his nose, which he promptly flicked off. A slow trickle of blood made its way across his lips. "If I hadn't come along, them Dictates surely would have had you in their slave pens instead of mine."
The words hit Vael harder than the punch had. He was no man's servant! He surged upward, propelling himself from his seat against the stone wall to stand face to face with the dwarf. "How dare you presume that I--" The dwarf cut him off, both physically and verbally, with a pincer-like grasp on Vael's throat. The dwarf dropped him to the floor then, and Vael sank to his knees, his breath coming in short labored gasps.
"I'm not here to hurt you, fool! Didn't I just say I saved yer life!?!"
"Could've fooled me," Vael croaked.
"Ha! You haven't been in the city long enough to know how the place works! Everyone is someone's slave in Tela-saer!" Vael's eyes glazed over at the word. He saw the desert again, and the enormous gates, and the market. His mother's leg rubbed against him as they walked up the steps to...Tela-saer. The desert city, the land-locked island...the slaver's capital. It all came flooding back with that singular word. He had been here before. Tela-saer. He could remember-
"Hey! When I talk, you listen! That's part of the deal." The dwarf was standing directly in front of him.
"No deal." Vael spat the words, as his right hand came swinging up to cup the dwarf's groin. His left hand circled the stout humanoid's throat, and Vael rose to his full height, with the dwarf’s dense frame flailing above him.
"Put me down, dammit, er I'll have the whole city guard in here to tame you!" Vael obliged by heaving the dwarf across the room to rest at the base of the stone wall. Only then did he stop to ponder how he had achieved that feat of strength. Surely the dwarf weighed at least two hundred pounds, if not more. Vael attributed it to the aggression, and hoped that there was more where it came from, because the rugged dwarf was getting up, grumbling the whole time.
"Look," the short one said calmly. "I don't keep slaves, not really. It's all fer show. This place is called the slaver's capital fer one reason, and one reason only. Everyone here is in servitude to someone. Freewalkers like you, the people who just wander in out of the desert, they either get caught and chained, er caught and-"
He left the statement to hang between them in the sultry air. Vael was beginning to understand. The dwarf continued. "You'll be my servant, my slave, fer about two months, until the work is done. If you feel like staying on, and I think you can do something to help me, then we talk pay. Otherwise you'll be free to go. While yer here, you'll work fer me, you'll do as I say. You'll speak when spoken to, you'll beat who I tell you to beat, and you'll take what beatings I see you needing. You'll look at the sand fer two months, and if yer eyes rise up, I'll cut 'em out!"
His tone had changed drastically at the end of his speech, suggesting to the now fully understanding Vael that it was all a dramatic act, one that the dwarf had recited countless times before today. "Then, I'll grant you yer freedom, you'll be one of the Released. You'll be free to walk the streets without those." He pointed to the bracers around Vael's forearms. They were made of leather, with a simple design tooled into each of them, and so lightweight that Vael had not yet felt that he was wearing them. "My name is Dunum, and that is my mark. You'll wear it fer as long as you serve me, and when you become Released, you'll have yer own mark to wear, in whatever way you wish. Now, what's yer name, slave?"
Vael bristled at the term, and from his knees, stared into the face of the dwarf. Dunum's face was round, and showed the wrinkles and tanned skin of many days under the sun. The dwarf's coal-black eyes stared back into Vael's own green pupils. Dunum knew that he saw something there. Something different than other Freewalkers he had saved, something...powerful. "I am Vael, of Ageero." The words sounded almost foreign to Vael's ears.
The dwarf continued, "I don't care where yer from, just the name I'll be yelling. You'll be working on my barge, and until the barge is ready for passengers, you'll be sleeping here." His thumb indicated the floor where they were standing.
"Anything else, before we go, slave?"
"The barge," Vael began, "is it on the sea?"
Dunum chuckled. "It will be in about two months, when the sea gets here." Vael still didn't understand. It was painted clearly across his face. "The sea," Dunum began, as if he was speaking to a child, "only reaches our fair city every ten years. The tides are such that they slowly ebb in, and then, after at most thirty day's time, sweep out again. Ten years later, it begins again."
Vael muttered, "the land-locked island."
"It's been many years since I heard it called that, since before the slavers moved in."
Vael blurted out, "I'm here on some kind of quest, looking for the sea, and skale, and--"
The dwarf bolted forward, shoving his hand over Vael's lips. To his credit, Vael did not strike back at him immediately. "Do not utter that name again, until you have left my service and are far away from anything I own," Dunum's words were harsh, and carried the weight of a threat behind them. "I don't know who told you that, but they have all but dug yer grave in these sands. I'll not hear it in my presence again, slave." Dunum turned on his heel and marched from the room. Vael had been about to hand him the letter from his robe, but thought better of it, and followed Dunum out the door, a respectful pace behind, with his eyes burning into the hot sands.
**************
Up and down the docks sat all manner of water-going vessels, some large, some small, others gigantic, dwarfing their tiny neighbors. Each ship was tied to the wharf with thick ropes and chains to hold it upright in the blowing, slowly shifting sands of the harbor. Slave crews bustled about the dock area in a flurry of activity, and while the general noise of level was dull and quiet, it was occasionally punctuated by the sharp crack of a whip.
Dunum needed no such whip to keep his slaves working; they all knew that they worked towards freedom, which to most of the crew was a greater prize than the money the dwarf paid them. Dunum's ship, The Bella, sat near the middle of the seemingly endless row of vessels. It towered over most all of the boats in attendance, its mainsail rigging high enough to stir and snap in even the slightest breeze.
Directly overhead, the sun was scorching the tar that slaves were spreading on the deck of the great ship, melting it into the cracks before it was properly spread. Sweat poured off of the assembled workers, and above, on the foredeck, Dunum stood facing the horizon.
It had been six weeks since that fateful day he had saved the one named Vael. To this day he had not yet decided whether it was a blessing or a curse. Looking down on the length of the deck he could see the man's figure outlined against the railing. If Dunum had gotten his wish, he would have asked for a crew of such men...or could he call Vael a man?
It had become increasingly clear that the man was not of pure human blood, but he was too tall and strong to be of elven blood, and too quick and lithe to be of any of the stouter races known to breed with humans. Saurian, maybe? Lizardman? It seemed a far- fetched dream to think that a half lizard union could produce something as handsome as Vael. His face was somewhat angular, with slanting, almond-shaped eyes like an elf, slightly pointed ears, and dark, close-cropped hair. He stood every bit of six and a half feet, and while he was deceptively quick, his strength was second to none on the ship. Dunum had seen weaker half-giants. But no giant-kin had ever moved with such fluidity and grace as this one.
Even now, as he not only directed the workings of the tarring crew, but also held the prow in both hands above his head while it was lashed into place, Dunum wondered how this Freewalker had gotten to be his second-in-command in only six short weeks.
Vael had spoken little of his journey here, although Dunum knew firsthand that the Dictates had been pursuing him. Many times during the past six weeks, Dunum had greased particular palms to keep the pursuers at bay.
The dwarf, on the other hand, had talked to Vael at length, sometimes until the earliest hours of the morning. He had instructed Vael on the workings of Tela-saer and had finally explained in detail the workings of the sea. Vael had been incredulous when Dunum had made it clear that while there was only dust and sand right now, in just a few weeks the waters would flow into the harbor as well as the lower levels of the city, the beggars' tier.
Vael had naively asked what the city rulers would do to protect the beggars from the incoming floods, and Dunum had only to look the younger man in the eye to communicate his point. It had almost sent Vael into the streets and straight to the palace doors. The young scout's naive conceptions of honor and righteousness would have had him starting riots, had it not been for Dunum's convincing bear hug. "The waters will come, and we will sail, and the High Council, as well as the beggars, will find their own way to cope. It will not be a time fer heroes, Vael" Dunum had signaled that there were no other options, and so Vael had indignantly let the matter drop.
"Why does the sea leave and return?" Vael asked.
"Some will tell you it's a legend, but I've seen the reason with my own eyes." Dunum began ominously. "There is a beast, a beast whose name you know but will not speak," he stressed this heavily, "and that very beast controls the water that comes into our seaport. Every ten years the beast rises from those sands," he had pointed out to a grouping of rocks south of the harbor. "And with it comes the sea. The sea stays fer thirty days, and we sail and fish as long as our boats will hold us, and take all that we can from her, all that will last us fer the next ten years."
Dunum's voice softened as he continued. "I saw the beast from my father's boat once. Shaped like a dragon, only bigger, so much bigger!" Dunum was barely whispering now, "With teeth the length of spears, and leathery wings the size of our sails! It searches the city fer nearly a week after it comes; the viziers say it hunts them that said its name during the past decade. It's true, that they're never heard from again, although I've never heard that the beast was seen taking a single kill. After the week is over, it flies away, and we sail until our holds and nets are full." Dunum's weary eyes drooped after he had told Vael the story, and while Vael knew that there was more to it, something personal, no doubt, he didn't press the issue.
There were gaps in Dunum’s story, and while Vael trusted the dwarf, he wasn’t sure everything was quite as he had said. Just the same, he had not slept after hearing the story, and he had been plagued by doubts and questions about his letter, and his future. If he was to find this Skale, but he couldn't utter the name, and the beast was so gargantuan, how could he ever hope to fulfill the letter's urgings? The next day he had imbedded himself in the workings of the ship, and so far the weeks had passed slowly since that day, almost without incident.
************
Vael stood at the head of the ship, hoisting the prow above his head, while two of the shorter crewmen, a gnome and a halfling, lashed it into place. It would be sealed with a minor spell after they had it in place. The man who had been hired to do that stood stoically to Vael's right, completely covered in a heavy cloth robe.
Vael knew better than to think he was sweating under all of that fabric, though. He had learned much from his own garment, tucked safely in the lockbox in his quarters below decks. Throughout the past four months, he had found that in addition to the seemingly endless storage space it afforded him, it also provided near-perfect climate control, and on one occasion, which he would not soon forget, had rendered him almost invisible.
The robe had camouflaged him against the wood of the deck cabin when the dictates had come looking for him last month. There had been no escape route from the inner bowels of the ship, and they had even looked directly at the place where he stood. Later, Dunum had told him that he had all but disappeared against the grain of the wood panels.
Raising the prow another three inches, Vael looked around the deck. They were ahead of schedule, he knew. With nearly three weeks before the sea arrived, the prow and the deck tar were the last steps to take before they were ready to sail. They would be finished within the hour if all went well.
Ren, the halfling, had leapt down from the spear of the prow, his bare, tattooed feet landing lightly on the deck. Ren was short, barely clearing four feet, and swirling tattoos covered all the visible skin on his body. His unkempt hair writhed in the wind like the grass of Vael's homeland. The halflings were a wild race, very in tune with their natural surroundings. They held no particular affection for the other races of the world, and Vael wondered idly how Ren had come to be in Tela-saer.
The gnome, Erth, followed less gracefully. Erth, true to his name, would have been far better suited to mountainous excavation than ship building, Vael realized, but slaves don't get such occupational choices. The gnomes were a shorter, less stout version of the dwarves. Their greyish skin, hair, and eyes matched the surrounding that they loved most. The mountain ranges, located far to the West, were home to the short humanoids. Vael had heard that a gnome could create virtually anything with only their bare hands. From the perpetually solemn look on Erth’s face, it had been many months, maybe years, Vael thought, since the gnome had crafted anything.
The three workers stepped back to allow the vizier to provide his enchantment. Vael kept a close watch, for it had cost Dunum no less than two month's salary to afford this relatively low level casting. The robed man began chanting softly, running his long fingers over the ropes holding the prow. Wherever he touched, the ropes disappeared, and glowing lines of silver took their place, securing the spear shaped prow to the hull. Barely five minutes had passed, when the vizier stopped murmuring, lowered his palms, and turned to go.
As Vael stepped forward to thank him, he dimly heard the sand off the bow shift. He swiveled his gaze over the magician's shoulder, shoving the skinny man out of his way as a giant tentacle shot up from the sand, driving into the deck where the mage had just been standing. It was inky black in color, and as it retracted itself from the deck, Vael grabbed the knife he kept at his side for cutting rigging, slashing it once and then back across the tentacle, about a foot up from the deck. A column of sand shot up from beyond the prow of the ship, accompanied by a roar of pain. A purplish liquid poured out of the two slashes Vael had made, but even as he watched, they began to seal up, healing before his eyes.
"Blades!" Vael yelled. "And fire!" He had fought regenerating monsters before, and knew that fire was the only thing that could destroy them.
A soft voice at his elbow whispered, "I will provide the fire." Vael looked down to see Ren, his tattooed face grim and his eyes shining bright with an inner glow. The halfling stretched out his hands, the tattoos seeming to write beneath his skin, and spoke an eerie sounding word in his own language. The hairs on Vael's neck rose up, as cones of flame shot from the halfling's hands. Ren stepped forward, and stared over the rail, shooting his magical flames down into the sand. More tentacles stabbed up out of the sand, followed by an immense mass of flesh, now charred and bubbling in places.
Vael heard his name being yelled, and turned to see his crew returning with weapons. Erth, his form belying his strength, tossed a heavy axe in Vael's direction.
Vael snapped it out of the air, and in one fluid motion, leapt atop the prow, balancing on the spear, fully five feet from the ship's hull. The monster rose up on the tentacles under its body, towering above the ship's rail. It's gloomy gray eyes, watering from the heat of Ren's fires, zeroed in on Vael's form, and the remaining tentacles streaked forward, trying to impale or entangle the man on the prow.
Every eye on the ship was glued to the figure balanced on the prow, and the beautiful, deadly dance that had begun. Vael skipped up and down the length of the eight-foot spear, nimbly placing foot over foot and warding off every attack. He struck once, then again, and one tentacle fell to the sand. The beast howled again, dropping lower, its many limbs drooping momentarily. A rousing cheer went up from the crew of the ship.
Vael tensed, and sprang from the prow, roaring a battle cry as he flew onto the beast's body. As he landed he drove his axe blade deep into the monster's eye, and was bathed in acrid, steaming blood. He tugged on his blade, but it would not come out of the pulpy flesh. The beast screamed again, this time in terror, as Ren's flaming bolts found its other eye. Vael leapt for the deck as his footing disappeared, the monster sinking into the harbor, losing the strength to keep it above the sands.
Dunum was at the rail to grab his forearms and tug him up on to the deck, accompanied by more cheers from the other crewman. Blood-spattered and exhausted, Vael turned to see the vizier approaching. "I owe the two of you my life, particularly you," he said, indicating Vael. "If I can be of any service, you have only to name it." The vizier regarded him with unconcealed interest for a moment, and then turned to thank Ren for his efforts as well.
Dunum clapped Vael on the back. "You have my thanks as well, Vael. I would grant yer freedom early if it were up to me."
"I only did what any of your crewman would have done to protect your investments," Vael replied, "just doing my duty."
The dwarven captain smiled, knowing that no other crewman could or would have even attempted the battle Vael had fought. The crew's loyalty was not the issue at hand, though. He was deeply troubled by the appearance of the monster in the bay. "It's going to be awfully tough fer me to hide yer presence after all this."
"We've got a deck to repair," said Vael as he turned towards the splintered hole, ignoring Dunum's worries.
Later that evening, the sun sinking low on the horizon, Vael stood at the same railing, mulling over the events in his mind. Word had spread quickly, to be sure, and rumor had it that the High Dictate was coming down to the docks tomorrow to investigate the attack. He would be found, he knew. The crew, while loyal to him and Dunum, could not be asked to lie for him, nor did they truly know why he was being pursued. They may have seen him as a very competent second-in-command, but he was a slave nonetheless, and therefore expendable.
***********
Berji was running. His heavy robes whipping around him, he cursed himself for not preparing a Swiftfoot spell. It had been years since he was forced to physically run, but the news was far too important to worry about his own frailty of health. He rounded the corner of the vizier's quarter, passed his own hovel without giving it a second thought, and headed for D’tula's shop. She must know the news! The Arrival had occurred! On the docks, under their very noses! He hadn't believed his eyes when the deckhand had leapt atop the prow, axe in hand, to defeat the monster in the bay. It had taken a spell of Truesight to make it utterly clear to him. As he burst into D’tula's shop, nearly tripping over her collection of caged pets, bypassing all formalities that he normally owed her, he felt the Change coming. The magic that the viziers sensed in everything around them was growing, changing. With only two weeks to go, he prayed they had time to implement their plans.
************
Kellen Asgar, the High Dictate of Tela-saer, sat in his study, listening intently to the messenger who stood on the other side of his desk. On the outside, he appeared, calm, stoic, even noble. His short black hair was swept back from his face, his mustache impeccably groomed. Inside, however, his stomach was churning almost as much as his thoughts. He had waited a decade for this chance, a chance to thwart the High Council, a chance for him to rule in truth, rather than as figurehead! The slave in the story being recounted to him struck a nerve. He would visit the docks in the morning, but it would be far earlier than his emissary had informed the High Council. "And if the legends were true, if this truly is the time of the Arrival," he thought, blocking out the continued yammering of the messenger, "Then Lord Kellen Asgar must be near enough to profit from it."
*************
Vael had always loved the hour before dawn. In Ageero, when he had been a fledgling scout, working for pittance serving as a guide for travelers, he had always risen early to watch the sunrise. It seemed to him that all the world was at peace for just an instant, a fleeting moment that passed like faerie breath on the wind. This morning, he stood on the deck of Dunum's ship, letting the calm night air wrap him up in its starry blanket. The deck was cool beneath his bare feet, the ancient wood polished smooth by years of sailor traffic. Stars were rarely seen in the desert, or so he understood, because of the sand lifted in the air by the night winds. This morning was, then, an exception in more ways than one.
His thoughts were in turmoil, in direct opposition to the calm of the natural world around him. Rumors had reached the ship yesterday that the High Dictate was to visit the docks this afternoon, and Vael knew that he would be under heavy scrutiny. He was still no closer to ending his search than before. He had hoped against all the fates that he could lose himself in his work, but to no avail.
The letter fairly burned within his robe, making his guts churn. He sensed footsteps approaching quietly, too quietly for most to hear, Vael noted. His senses had been steadily growing stronger ever sense he had been indentured to Dunum. Vael suspected it was his connection to the outdoors, which had always been a strong one. He saw it was the halfling, Ren, as the shorter crewmen settled against the railing to his side.
To any other observer, Ren would have been as silent as the night itself, his every movement made with quiet, dignified grace. "They will arrest me today." The words came from his mouth calmly. "When I called down the flames to slay that beast, I went against the Law of Magicks." Vael had heard of the law, which prohibited any practice of the arcane arts by the citizens of Tela-saer. The viziers were allowed to cast minor magicks and spells of seeing, but only those in the employ of the High Council could use sorcery.
"You will flee," Vael reasoned.
"No. I will stand trial and die for my actions. I will not dishonor my beliefs."
Vael had never heard Ren profess to believe in anything, but time for philosophical talk was limited during the workday. He looked down at his crewmate, who stood staring across the harbor. The sun was just about to break the horizon on the other side of the city. Vael could feel the warm glow, which would later turn to the searing heat they were accustomed to, building up behind them.
"Why did you help me, knowing that it would cost you your life?"
Ren looked up at him, his yellow eyes shining in the morning dawn. "Because I believe you are He-Who-Comes, you are the one who was foretold by my Order, the Keepers-Of-The-Sands. I did not believe it was true until the battle yesterday, but the vizier who was here confirmed it with his magic. You have the power to lift the Law of the Levy and destroy the High Council's power over the city. I would gladly give my life over and over until eternity for the chance to deny them their power."
He moved to turn away, but Vael caught him by the shoulder. "I don't understand, Ren. Everyone I meet tells me I've got this quest to fulfill, this grand destiny, but no one will point me where I need to start!" His voice cracked and trailed off. Vael was visibly collapsing; he leaned heavily on the ship's rail, beads of sweat glistened on his skin even in the cool of the morning air. The same weight that had settled upon him after the deaths of his comrades was slowly creeping back onto his shoulders. Vael shuddered, watching them die at the hands of the Servants in his mind's eye. Over and over he watched their blood pour onto the forest floor. He pitched forward against the railing, his body precariously ready to fall overboard.
Then Ren's small hands pulled him back, pushing him up to a standing position. There was a warm glow emanating from Ren's palms, and Vael began to feel the calm solitude of the morning again. "I never asked to be anyone's hero," Vael blurted out, staring down at the halfling.
The halfling's eyes glared back at him. "The fates choose who they choose. I have my destiny, and you have yours. There is no choice involved for either of us. You will find Skale. It is the weapon that will free the great beast. You will speak to D’tula, for she is the most powerful of the viziers. She alone can tell you where the weapon lies."
"Dunum has told me never to speak that name," Vael countered. "How can I find something without being able to ask for it by name?"
"Dunum is a good person, but he is simple, and does not know the ways of magic." Ren's voice began to rise, but he quieted. He knew he had little time to tell Vael all that he would need to know. "Skale is the name of a magical artifact. It is a powerful weapon that can control the beast that sleeps beneath the harbor sands. The name of the beast itself cannot be pronounced by human mouths, and so the humans," he spat the word with distaste, "call it Skale. You must hurry and speak to D’tula; that is the only course upon which I can guide you. Walk well upon the sands, Vael." Ren turned to go, but stopped short when he saw the tall figures walking up the gangplank, heralded by the morning sun itself.
*************
"High Dictate, Lord Kellen Asgar !" The guard's voice penetrated every board of the ship, rousting many slaves from their slumber. Ren and Vael stood on the deck, as Lord Asgar boarded Dunum's ship. An entourage of guardsmen, an even dozen in number, accompanied him. They all wore the same grim expressions; only the High Dictate seemed in good spirits so early in the morning.
The captain himself stumbled up from the lower decks, rubbing his eyes and grumbling, "he was supposed to be here this afternoon!" The dwarf realized he had spoken too loudly when he stepped on to the deck and regarded the sullen faces of the High Dictate's guardsmen. He could hear what sounded like another whole squadron of the bastards waiting on the dock, out of sight.
Lord Asgar spoke, "Yes, well, I found it most important to pay my visit early this morning. It is not every day that we have a hero in our midst." Turning his eyes to Vael and Ren, he added, "and it appears that they never sleep." It took Asgar three quick, measured strides to stand between Dunum and his two crewmen. The glint in his dark eyes was a dangerous one. Asgar had taken great pains to look as royal as possible this morning. Even the morning breeze could not force a single strand of hair from its position on his head. He folded his arms into the soft black fabric of his waistcoat, knowing that his diamond buttons would shimmer in the morning light. His mouth opened, and his words slithered out from behind perfectly formed teeth.
"Which of you slew the monstrosity?"
Vael could almost smell the acid in his tone.
Ren stepped forward before Vael could find the words. "It was I who slew the beast, in the name of-"
"I don't care for your pathetic religious drivel, slave. Are you not aware that spellcasting is unlawful in our fair city? Particularly heretical magicks." Lord Asgar sneered. How he loved crushing the religious resistance in Tela-saer! "You will, of course, submit to lawful trial and punishment." It was not a question.
Ren calmly replied, "I live under your rule, and so abide by your laws." His eyes burned with their yellow fire. "But I could never be forced to consider it lawful."
"Your considerations are no affair of mine. Take him away." Ren walked slowly towards the gangplank, and the waiting guardsmen. Vael stepped forward to protest, and was met by Lord Asgar's hand, pressing firmly against his chest. "It would not do for our hero to get into legal difficulties, now would it?" The noble's whispered words froze him where he stood. Lord Asgar turned and loudly declared to the amassed crew of the ship, "Let it be known, that the High Council sees great worth in those that defend the borders of Tela-saer. The High Council is prepared to offer you," he said, turning his focus to Dunum, "the sum of five hundred silvers in reparations for our confiscation of these two slaves."
Silence dropped on the deck like the canvas of an unstrung mainsail. Five hundred silvers could buy a whole boat and a crew to man it! Vael looked to Dunum, whose face was taut, brimming with anger, barely held in check. He looked at the rest of the crew, then, and saw an even mixture of greed and pity. Erth, Ren's closest companion in slavery, stood next to Dunum. His gray eyes, almost matching Dunum’s, followed the halfling's exit, glistening with fear for his friend.
Vael watched as Dunum slowly stepped away from the crew, and stood directly in front of Lord Asgar. "These are my slaves," Dunum began evenly, "and so they will stay, no matter what price you offer." Some of the crewmen quietly voiced their disapproval, but Dunum silenced them with a single look. Each of them had been saved by the dwarf once before, and realizing that, not a single slave would speak against their owner and captain.
"Then we will take them by force." Lord Asgar replied calmly. The remaining guards each drew their twin sabers and advanced to surround Vael and Dunum. The crew was becoming uneasy, the morning sunlight flashed off of the curving steel blades, sending piercing shafts of light across the deck. A tense silence hung about the ship, just waiting to explode into action. Lord Asgar leaned over to speak quietly to the short captain. "You see, once you've been a slave, you always follow your master's orders."
Vael heard the words clearly, as did the rest of the crew. It was obvious that the High Dictate wanted Dunum to lose control. The dwarf peered up into the taller man's face, as if suddenly noticing something that he hadn't seen before. Lord Asgar leaned a little closer, looking quizzically at the captain. It was all the attention the dwarf needed. Vael could only watch, rooted to the deck, as that impossibly fast roundhouse came about, the same one that had once brought him to his knees. The heel of Dunum's hand struck the High Dictate's side. Lord Asgar dropped to the deck, gasping for breath.
"I thought you nobleman all stood tall amongst us slaves," Dunum spat into his face. The guards reacted quickly, leveling their sabers at Dunum's throat.
Lord Asgar slowly regained his posture and his breath. Dusting off his knees, and noting with no small amount of anger that one of his buttons had fallen off and was now rolling along the deck, flashing in the ever-growing sunlight.
Looking down his patrician nose at the shorter dwarf he politely retorted, "You should keep your deck a bit cleaner, captain, it seems to have gotten blood all over it."
The High Dictate swiftly drew a short blade from the scabbard at his side and plunged it into the dwarf's belly. Dunum let out a short scream, but somehow stood upright, knowing that if he fell, the guard's keen blades would take his head. Asgar grinned; this was his favorite way of dealing with impertinent slaves. Then he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned to regard Vael, unsuccessfully trying to brush the hand away.
"Let him go," the calm in this slave's tone bothered Asgar.
"You will remove your hand from me, slave, or your captain dies." There was a short cough from behind the High Dictate, catching both of their attentions.
Dunum's eyes were glassy, and thin lines of blood were tracing tiny rivulets down his neck and chest. The wound in his belly was dark, and a pool of blood was collecting between his feet. His words were calm, though and echoed across the deck in the morning air. "Vael. Now is the time fer heroes."
**************
Vael sat upon the hull of the capsized ship. Seated beside him were all that remained of the crew: Erth, Ren, and two other men, whose names he remembered were Lovis and Ektal. The sands around them were streaked with the blood of both their comrades and enemies. The bodies had long since been covered by the blowing harbor sands, and it seemed that the sands were trying in vain to pull the bulky ship under as well, as the breeze slowly blew the sand into drifts. Vael's voice cracked with exhaustion, "We must move, this waiting will only get us killed."
Lovis and Ektal both rose unsteadily and walked carefully along the cracked hull to the abandoned docks. They said no words of farewell, seeming to blend in to the sand and stone.
Vael turned to the others, who were still staring into the sands that were gently creeping up the hull. 'Not quite the fitting resting spot for your ship, eh Dunum?' Vael thought to himself. He looked across the sand to the remains of the shattered gangplank, where Dunum's wind-battered corpse lay atop the wreckage.
His eyes misted over, as he remembered Dunum's last words, before his throat had been cut, "Vael. Now is the time fer heroes." At those words the crew had burst into action, attacking the guards that held their captain even before Vael had moved. He had seen the blades crease Dunum's throat, had seen the dwarf's body crumple to the deck. Vael had grabbed Lord Asgar, spinning him around, putting the High Dictate's arm in a lock. He had driven his other fist into the small of the nobleman's back, never once taking his eyes from Dunum's body. There had been no joy when he felt Asgar's arm break at the elbow joint.
He had seen the oncoming pair of guards through his tears. Vael had shoved the limp, screaming form of the High Dictate at the first one, who stopped his charge just before impaling the nobleman. The other guard dove into Vael with one saber leading, the other blade trailing in the odd case that the first didn't kill. Vael didn't remember trying to block the attacks. He knew he had stepped to the side, faster than his attacker had expected. He saw his right hand grab the officer's left arm, breaking the bones with a quick twist. He had caught the dropping saber with his left hand, and swinging it in a wide arc, had taken the man's head from his shoulders. He shouldn't have been able to do it at all, but it came easily, smoothly. Looking back, Vael had no recollection of trying to attack the man. It had just happened.
When he looked up from the body, more guards were advancing. To Vael, it seemed like the whole army of Tela-saer was advancing upon him. How many guards did the High Dictate need? By the end of the skirmish, it appeared that many more had boarded the ship and died. The people who lived near the harbor, unsympathetic to either side, really, either vanished or joined in the battle for the chance to vent their aggressions on the ruling body. The people of Tela-saer's first level were not very sympathetic to the High Dictate or his guards.
The deck ran red with a tide of blood. Vael made his way to Dunum's body, and standing over it, executed whirling defense after defense, holding off two and three attackers at once. He had caught sight of what was left of the crew, fighting for their lives, mauling the guards in groups of three and four. He had seen fire and lightning exploding from the gangplank, where Ren had been. That was how the ship had gained the gaping crack in the hull.
The deck had tipped quickly once the ship had begun to fill up with sand, and had it not been for Vael, Dunum's body would have followed the many other corpses overboard. Vael had scooped up the dwarf's body over his shoulder, and driven his saber into the chest of the guard in front of him. Leaping across the deck, he had skipped off the gangplank as another spell fired from the halfling's outstretched hands, forcing the ship all the way over.
Vael lost his grip and his balance; he had fallen on the slowly rising hull of the ship, and he could see Dunum's limp form lying on the wreckage of the gangplank. Two pairs of tiny hands lifted him to a seated position on the hull. Erth, seemingly untouched by the battle settled down next to him. To the gnome's right sat Ren, his eyes lacking their usual luster. He was covered in gouges and scratches, and held his arms tightly against his chest.
Two more crewmen had crawled across the hull towards the trio; Vael dully remembered their names. The group had stared at the broken body of their captain for what seemed like hours.
***********
Vael turned to his companions. Erth was still, very still. His dull gray eyes were puffy, his tear-streaked skin slowly turning to a darker hue. Ren sat huddled with his head resting face down on the tops of his bent knees. His gnarled hair reminded Vael of the twisting tree limbs from the forests of his home. The halfling wasn't breathing.
A shadow passed over them, and Vael was forced to look up to see what had occurred. Clouds blanketed the sky above them. Dark clouds, the kind Vael had seen in Ageero before a storm. The gnome's soft voice broke through his reverie. "He was a sacred follower of the Keepers. They are connected body and soul to the natural world around them. It is that connection that gives them the power to wield Nature's Magic. The world mourns the loss of its Keepers the way people mourn the loss of our loved ones-" Erth’s voice cracked, and tears fell from his eyes.
No, Vael saw then that they weren't tears.
All over the harbor, soft sheets of water fell from the skies, washing the blood from the sands and piers. Vael and Erth stood on the unsteady hull and let the stains of the battle be washed away. They watched as the bodies of their friends, one a captain and one a slave, slowly slid into the quickly collecting pools, and then deeper, out of sight. The harbor was beginning to fill up with the collecting water. Rain had come to Tela-saer.
**********
"You lost him."
The voice echoed ominously within the large room.
High Dictate, Lord Kellen Asgar raised his bloodshot, glazed eyes to stare dully in the speaker's direction. Seeing nothing but shadows creeping ever closer towards him, he glanced about the room instead.
They were far beneath the Grand Palace of Tela-saer. It was a room known only to members of the High Council, and to Lord Asgar himself. It was a place of devious plottings, and even more tortuous meetings as well. The cavernous, vaulted ceiling, with its single globe of light in the center unnerved the High Dictate to no small degree. The floor was clammy and cold, and the air hung thick within the chamber, forcing his limp body lower. He knew from prior visits that the room swelled out beyond his sight, ending in walls of an inky black rock. This room had been hollowed out long before his time, and would still stand for many centuries after his passing. Every time he was here, which thank the gods wasn't often, he felt tiny and insignificant. Perhaps it was those that stood in the shadows rather than the room itself though, that made him feel that way.
Lord Asgar's broken arm hung limply at his side, shards of bone piercing the skin in several places. The agony associated with its movement was almost too much to bear. He unwittingly bent lower, and another searing pain ran up his spine, where that upstart slave had smashed his backbone.
"You lost him."
The voice had not changed its tone, but Asgar knew that the speaker was much nearer. He could not raise his eyes to look at the man addressing him. What he could see through the haze of pain, were the tips of soft leather slippers in front of his face, covered by a thin robe of a strange, dark material. The fabric seemed to ebb and flow like the tides that were quickly gathering in the harbor of his city.
His city! He chuckled inwardly at the jest, despite the pain.. It had never been, would never be, his city. It would always belong to the High Council. The seven sorcerers that he knew were somewhere in the room controlled all of Tela-saer, just as they controlled its figurehead, High Dictate Kellen Asgar. In their absolute sovereignty and benevolence, they had even allowed him to press his title of "Lord" upon the populace. The bile in his throat ran like spilt wine.
“Raise your eyes, High Dictate, that you may look upon me as I speak." The voice was deathly quiet, and Asgar knew if the instructions weren't followed swiftly...he raised his head awkwardly, banishing the thoughts of punishment from his fevered mind. "You were to visit the docks this afternoon, High Dictate, so that we could view the imminent battle. Yet you ventured out early this morning, so as not to wake our delicate slumbers, I would guess." The derision in the sorcerer's tone was evident.
"I simply thought-" the High Dictate began, barely able to form the words.
"Silence!" The robed man roared with fury. "You impudent fool! You think that you could bend the slave to your will and strike at us in our moment of supposed weakness! You are more the pitiful fool than our last High Dictate. Look into my eyes!" The sorcerer had seen Asgar's head slumping between his shoulders, and with a wave of his robed hand, the High Dictate's head jerked up at an uncomfortable angle. Asgar thought he would pass out if the pain didn't abate. His thoughts and vision swam, the shadows of the room swirled, slowly growing ever darker.
"I will fix him High One," stated a far off voice, deceptively lilting in its femininity.
"Do so quickly, Indira, before he expires. This one has been weak from the start," spat the first speaker. "Then we will try again."
High Dictate Lord Kellen Asgar screamed as the pain blossomed in his arm, slowly spreading, not unlike a poison throughout the rest of his body.
***********
The mists curled about, dancing across the tiny pool in eddies and waves. Within the fog, there was a picture, beautifully rendered in its realism. Two figures, one tall and strong, the other short and slim, were standing at the edge of a gradually filling harbor. The sands at their feet were being slowly eroded away by the approaching tides. Then the figures in the scene spoke, and their words carried into the little space with the pool, "I've got to move on, to speak with this D'tula," said the taller figure. "Where will you go?" The question was directed at the shorter companion.
"Ren would have followed you, and Dunum, who was like a father to me, would have supported you as well. I have no choice at all, really. My destiny is tied to yours, as theirs were. I will follow whatever path you make." The taller figure gave a brief nod, as if he wanted to reply, but thought better of it. The companions turned, and trudged deeper into the city, the misty paths swirling around them.
Two sets of eyes watched the picture intensely as it faded, to be replaced by another city scene, not so far in distance from the first. A group of guardsmen, their weapons ready, advanced in the direction of the oncoming duo.
"I fear that they will capture them this time, old friend." The voice was deep and resonant, and seemed to fill the tiny space.
Arshania turned away from the scrying pool to face the man at his side. "There is nothing we can do at this juncture. They will be taken alive, that much is certain. I understand that the High Council convened in secret this afternoon to discuss Asgar's failure." His wizened face creased with worry. "Vael and his companion must be allowed to enter the palace. Our accomplice will try and make contact with them there."
"What about D’tula, can't she come to their aid?"
"She is a seer, Torr. Nothing but a powerful vizier. She commands much respect, as the leader of the viziers, but to take offensive action against the High Council would only forfeit her life and the lives of her followers." The old man turned back to stare pensively into the scrying pool. The mists were opening again, letting the picture form between the curling arms of fog.
Torr was on edge; Arshania could feel the tension in the small room. Soon it would boil over, and Arshania would have to prevent him from doing something rash.
"I can't take this waiting, Arshania! What if he fails? What if he cannot complete the task?" Torr seemed ready to dive into the pool itself in order to aid the companions.
"Settle yourself!" The sorcerer snapped, cutting off the larger man's tirade, before damage could be done. "He is the only one who can retrieve the staff from its location. I cannot touch it, no matter how rich in power I become. You cannot wield it, for she herself told you that your hands would never again feel the power that lies within it." At this, the great warrior's countenance fell. For all his bravado, he knew that the old man was right. If it was to be retrieved, it would be by He-Who-Comes. Vael would find a way to succeed, this was his task. They could only watch, and pray that they could help when they were needed.
The one called Torr looked around their tiny living space. "I just desire the open air again. This cramped style of living is driving me mad!"
"Your kind can hole up in dark caves for centuries," the old man replied, letting a slight smile creep onto his features. "What should a week or two inside my pocket bother you? Besides, old friend, this is the only way either of us is going to get into the Palace, where we can be of any service to the boy."
***********
Evening was falling rapidly on Tela-saer. Although the rains had ceased to fall, the tides still crept closer to the walls of the lower level. Beggars could be seen in droves, hastily gathering their meager belongings, and making their way to the far side of the city. Above them, on the second and third tiers of the city, the rest of the population watched in fascination. Some eyes contained pity, others, fear of revolt, and still others, hatred for the lowest class of inhabitants of their fair city. To them, these beggars were not even usable as slaves. The cripples, the elderly, the insane; they were gnats and fleas in the eyes of the rich, and the coming tides were the hand that would swat them from the city.
It was among this throng that Vael and Erth wound their way to the Viziers' Quarter. Vael would have been lost without the help of the gnome. Had he been alone, he could have searched for hours through the twisting alleyways of the Beggars' Tier, and never found the street. The Viziers' Quarter, although located on ground level, actually took up the second and third tiers as well. There were entrances to each shop on all three levels of the district, so that the viziers could attract business from all members of the population.
Tela-saer had been built long ago, when water still covered the Northern sea and harbor. It had been lush and fertile, and history claimed that the eastern part of the city, now the Palace Grounds, had actually been swampland. Then the beast had come, so said the history scrolls, and the sea had receded, eventually turning the surrounding lands to the desert sands of the present.
When the tides had begun to come back after the first decade had passed, those that had not yet starved, along with the newer inhabitants, could only watch as the overflow of seawater washed away their homes and possessions. Those newer inhabitants were slaveholders. They had ventured here from all parts of the world, using roadways that had since disappeared beneath the desert, to mine the treasure that were rumored to be found where the sea had been. They had been severely disappointed. There was no treasure, nor was there a way home, for the desert seemed to be extending further and further away, leaving the city a forlorn captive of the sands.
The slavers had commenced to plying their trade. They forced the entire remaining population to construct new homes, using the remains of the flooded city as the foundation. This lower level quickly became home of thieves, bandits, and those without the ability to do honest work. Decades passed, and the city grew up rather than outside of its walls. A third level was completed for the families of those first slavers, and the Royal Palace, which included a fourth and fifth level, was completed soon afterward.
Now, the buildings that Vael and Erth observed were decrepit, and most of the inhabitants lived in squalor. As they entered the shop that they assumed to be D’tula's, (the sign bearing her name lay in the midst of an alleyway, with vizier's shops on both sides) the stench of death weighed heavily upon them.
The shop was in chaos. Refuse and animal dung covered the entire surface of the floor, and piles of rotten commodities, broken plates, and bowls littered the area. Resisting the urge to vomit, Vael gestured to the ladder leading to the second floor. Erth approached it hesitantly. Had the inhabitants of the lower tier sacked the place in their frantic retreat to safety? Had the High Dictate's guards somehow learned where they were headed and gotten here before them? Their answer would lie on the upper floors
Erth climbed the ladder slowly. If they were going to be ambushed, they would have no way to defend themselves. Their only possessions were the clothes on their backs. Vael, of course, wore his gift from Arshania, the robe's magical properties would aid him somehow, he felt certain. Erth, however, wore nothing more than his deck sandals and pair of short leather breeches, pants cut off at the knee for ease of movement along the rigging of the ship.
Cresting the lip of the second floor, Erth motioned Vael up. The carnage continued. Everywhere they looked in the small room, there were broken cages made of wood and iron. This was where the smell had come from. Bodies of exotic animals littered the floor. Some were pinned to the wall with short arrows, and some were so dismembered that their true identities were lost forever.
Vael's breath caught in his throat. He recognized many of the cages and corpses. "The old woman at the market-" his voice trailed off. Why had she not helped him then? Silently, he cursed himself for not acting more quickly. His head snapped around as he heard something stir near the ladder to the third level. He met Erth at the base of the ladder; the gnome's excellent hearing having also picked up the slight noise. The remains of a small cage lay at the base of the wall, and a small bundle of rags, tucked behind the ladder, rustled softly.
Vael knelt, as Erth carefully surveyed the opening above them. He slowly pulled the rags away, and stared at the creature he had uncovered. The purple-hued, scaly skin glistened in the heat. Scintillating colors shimmered back and forth along the raised spine scales. A pair of dark wings, a bit longer than Vael's outstretched hand, rose from the shoulders, and a long, smooth tail curled about the shaking body.
Vael had comforted animals since he was young. He had initially tried to enter a scout training program in the Ageeroan military, but had been rejected. That had not stopped him from learning all that he could about the flora and fauna of the surrounding townships, though. If only people were as easy to deal with as animals. He continued to marvel at the destruction that the two-legged beasts were capable of. Now, as he reached forward to sooth the frightened beast with calming words and gentle caresses, he remembered why he loved the wild things in nature so much more than the so-called civilized inhabitants.
The reptilian head swiveled up to look at him. Its pointed snout was lined with tiny teeth, and two tiny nostrils flared at the tip. It had two pointed ears set on the side of its head, but both were drooping in what looked like both fear and exhaustion. The eyes looked at Vael, and the man could see his own face reflected in the clear crystals. The mouth opened slightly, and a small forked tongue swept across its lips. The tiny dragon opened its mouth to speak.
**********
The sound that came from the dragon's mouth was the voice of the old lady from the market. "Vael, if you are hearing this from Jerhyl, then I am lost to this world. I saw it happen last night, in my scryings, but could not tell the time it occurred. I am sorry I could not help you sooner, but we all have our dunes to cross, don't we? There is much you need to know, and I cannot send you all that I could have told you in person. Time is short now that the tides have come."
The dragon closed it mouth, licking its drying, cracked lips. Slowly, the reptile opened its jaws again. "It pains Jerhyl to speak to you this way, and so you must endure a bit of the same pain to learn that which you need to defeat the High Council. My presence will enter your mind shortly, and you will know all I can tell you in such a short time. It will hurt..." Her voice trailed off as the dragon again closed its jaws. Exhausted from the spell, it collapsed in a heap on the floor, its long jawbone resting on the pile of rags it had been hiding in earlier.
"Defeat the High Council," muttered Vael incredulously, "what does that have to do with the beast and the staff?"
Erth eyes flicked from the opening above them to Vael, to the mysterious creature at their feet, and back. "What did she say about entering your mind?"
At that moment Vael crumpled to the floor beside the sleeping dragon, leaving Erth staring alone into the many grim faces of the men on third floor.
***********
"Ho there, short one! It'd be in your best interests to climb that ladder nice and slow."
Erth stood very still. His gray eyes stared glassily up through the hole in the ceiling. Above him, several dark-headed men were crowded around the top of the ladder. One of them held a crossbow. The man who held it left no doubt as to the nature of his target.
"Hold your fire. I'm coming."
Erth had never been one to waste words. While other gnomes were known to be talkative and happy-go-lucky, he had always been solemn and silent. More like his father, Dunum had always told him. Erth had been born a slave. His mother had been sold when he was very young. He could not even recollect her name, but he felt her sometimes when he slept. In his dreams she was the most beautiful gnome-woman he had ever seen. Her hair was a silvery gray, her eyes bright, and her touch soft. He was too old for tears, he always reminded himself after those dreams.
Dunum had been like a father to him. It appeared that the dwarf had known Erth's father, but not very well. He had taught Erth how to work on his ship, and even though the gnome had been granted his freedom, he had not moved on. The Bella was all the young gnome had ever known. When the ship had been destroyed, he had not only lost a job, but a home, and more importantly, two dear friends.
As the gnome climbed the ladder now, he felt the same resignation that accompanied his every task. Dunum had told him once that every dwarf accepts a particular fate in life. Whatever it may be, that fate, that destiny, is the only thing that each dwarf strives for. Erth wondered if gnomes were the same way. There was something pushing him. He had felt it every day since Vael had come aboard. His destiny was somehow entwined with the man who lay crumpled below.
When he crested the top of the ladder and stepped within the circle of bandits, he knew that he must buy Vael enough time to escape.
************
Vael didn't know much of anything.
As he stood facing the old woman from the market, whom he now knew as D'tula, leader of the viziers, this fact alone was clear.
"Do not be alarmed, Vael. We are inside your mind." The old woman's voice was calm, and had an otherworldly quality that Vael could not quite place. "This is my last spell, and it will communicate much of my knowledge to you in a short amount of time. There is no time to tarry, you have much to see."
"How can you expect me to 'not be alarmed'?" Vael imitated the old woman's hollow tone perfectly. "All you and your kind have done since I got here is tell me half-truths and send me on my way!"
"Then perhaps you should learn all you can now." D'tula would have empathized with the man's predicament, had she been alive to do so.
With a wave of her hand, they stood in a square courtyard, covered with sand. The buildings around them reminded Vael of Tela-saer, but there were minute differences. The stone, for example, was fairly new, not pitted by all of the flooding the city had gone through.
"Long ago," D'tula began, "there was a prophecy made in this courtyard."
The pair was suddenly surrounded by crowds of people, intently listening to a speaker who stood on a raised platform in the center of the courtyard. The aged speaker was a halfling, and reminded Vael of Ren, with the many tattooed whorls covering his body.
The halfling was speaking, "...and one will come who will deliver the Beast from the yoke of the oppressors. And the Faithful and the Faithless will watch with unwavering eye as He-Who-Comes will free it from its hiding, for only then can He walk the steps to freedom. And this too shall pass, that many will lay down their lives that others may walk freely under the sun, and the rivers shall flow, and the sea shall rise, and a new Ruler will come with wisdom, who shall release the slaves from their bondage!"
The people slowly faded away, and Vael and D'tula were again left standing alone.
"This is the prophecy of your arrival, Vael. Arshania suspected it, and I did not believe him. I can only hope that I am not too late in my assistance. In what is left of my home, you will find Jerhyl, my most trusted familiar. Allow him to bond with you; it should be easy considering your nature. He has many abilities that will be of use to you, and is a loyal companion. Also, trust the gnome, Erth Glaywar; he has much to discover about himself, as do you. You must find your way into the Palace. There is one inside who can help you. I know very little past that, and can only say that Arshania had long ago placed someone on the inside, who has the important task of transporting you to the Beast itself."
"How do I get into the Palace, D'tula? Vael was overwhelmed at the task set before him. It seemed as if the weight of many generations sat upon his shoulders.
"Do not let the fear get the best of you, Vael. There are many who will come to your aid. I am sure of it. You must go; our time is ending."
She faded from Vael's mind, and he allowed himself to relax. Vael closed his eyes, thinking that this might be the final time he would have such a moment of calm and clarity.
When he opened them, he was lying on the second floor of D'tula's ransacked home. A small purple dragon was staring into his face.
He heard voices from above, and managed to pick out Erth's deep voice, speaking calmly,"...and we came here to get our fortunes told, being out of work and all."
Vael smiled grimly, and reached out a hand to caress the small dragon. "Jerhyl?" He spoke softly, not wanting to frighten the poor creature. "She's gone, little one." With a sigh of resignation, Vael accepted all that he had to do.
The dragon crawled onto his outstretched hand, laying its body along his forearm. It's tail curled about his bicep, and the soft skin of its bottom jaw pressed against the back of Vael's left hand. Then it was gone!
Vael looked incredulously at the amazing dragon tattoo now displayed along his arm. He had thought something was different about D'tula during the vision. He hadn't been able to place it then, but now it was clear. Her neck tattoo had been gone! This must be the bonding the vizier had referred to.
'Thank you for your care, Vael.'
Vael almost jumped in surprise as the words appeared in his mind.
'You may call me Jerhyl; it was the name she preferred to use.'
"How are you speaking to me?" Vael whispered.
'You have only to think the words you want me to hear,' came the reply. 'My race normally communicates by thought. D'tula cast a spell to allow her voice to come through me. It was...painful.’ The last thought reverberated, echoing heavily in Vael's mind.
"I'm-"Vael began to say, but instead thought, 'I'm sorry.'
The dragon's words formed in his mind again, 'We must get upstairs, your friend has been up there for some time with the bandits.'
'Bandits!' Vael thought. 'I assumed that the city guard sacked the place.'
'They were guided here by two men, and I overheard your name mentioned before the slaughter began.'
'I don't understand.' Vael again resigned himself to the course that had been prepared for him. 'Let's get upstairs.'
***********
Lord Kellen Asgar hurt. Pain was all he had felt for the last several hours. It had felt like hours, at least. He had lost all sense of time since Indira had begun her work.
'I will fix him,' she had said. Not 'I will attend to him,' or 'please let me help you Lord High Dictate, sir.' Asgar cursed silently. He was face down on a padded table of some sort. There was a padded circle that his head rested on, allowing him to breathe through the opening. His eyesight was blurry from the pain, making the distance to the floor waver unsteadily. The room was lit with candles, but they were placed far enough away that everything he saw was sheathed in shadows and gloom.
Not that he had the capacity to care where he was, anyway. He felt the witch behind him, physically straightening his broken spine, mending his shattered arm.
Her soft voice slipped in through the haze, "you'll be better than ever before."
Asgar heard her intoning words of power. The energy crackled around the room, standing his blood-encrusted hairs on end. Indira's words rose to a fevered pitch, and then ceased. All was quiet. Deathly quite. An aura of evil filled the room, and Asgar saw, clearly now, cracks appearing in the stone beneath him. He was frozen in place, although the pain had virtually disappeared. Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the room, and the cracks in the floor became wider fissures.
Indira's hands caressed his sides, and she rolled him over to face the ceiling. Her delicate features moved to the side then, out of his range of vision. He heard her whispered words, "I have done as they have commanded."
The visage that filled Asgar's sight was from nightmares. As the demon bent over him, as if inspecting his prone body, tears came unbidden to his eyes. Without the strength to move, the tiny rivers ran down his cheeks, to pool up in his ears, and finally to spill out onto the table beneath him.
Its face resembled a bull, although the snout had been shoved back into the face. Two pairs of horns protruded from the forehead and the sides, and curled around the ebony skin of its face.
"This form will suffice." The guttural sound of the demon's voice had Asgar imagining the cries of the damned.
More tears. His body began to involuntarily convulse.
"Be still!" The demon roared.
Asgar's body shuddered once, then froze. Even in this motionless state, he felt his innards quivering in terror.
The demon's face plunged out of his line of sight, and pain erupted where his ribcage should have been. He passed into unconsciousness quickly this time, trying with all his might to grasp hold of the darkness and remain there.
***********
When Vael stepped off of the ladder onto the third floor, he had ignored the two corpses shoved against the wall. He had looked past Erth's sweating face. He had not spared the six dark-haired, leather-clad, individuals surrounding the gnome a second glance.
His gaze had been drawn to the two figures seated on what must have been D'tula's sleeping area. They lounged on the pillows as if they had lived there for their whole lives. They had found new clothes, and no longer wore the mark of the slave. Their names sprang easily to his mind this time: Lovis and Ektal.
‘They did this!’ Jerhyl's voice screamed in his mind.
A seething rage enveloped Vael like a second skin. Like the very blood in his veins, it coursed through him, striving for an escape route.
The room exploded into action.
One of the mercenaries pushed Erth against the wall, his head striking hard against the unforgiving stone. He slumped to the floor, blood oozing from the wound.
Vael took a step towards the traitors.
They both leapt to their feet, searching for an exit. The terror on their faces brought Vael no sense of pleasure, no release from his anger, as he took a second step in their direction.
One mercenary drew a long, slender blade. He thrust forward, aiming for Vael's heart.
Vael stepped forward and to the side, faster than the eye could follow. His hand gripped the attacker's sword arm at the wrist, and he threw a left cross into the man's face. Vael felt the mercenary's wrist snap under the pressure, felt the fracturing of the man's skull, felt the body go limp.
Another step.
The one Vael knew as Lovis dashed for the ladder, trying to slip by him in the confusion. The dead mercenary dropped dully to the floor as Vael spun to his left, catching the fleeing ex-slave by the collar of his expensive new robe.
With a quick twist, Vael's eyes were locked on the eyes of the traitor. The man fainted dead away, and Vael left him in a heap on the stone floor. His eyes flicked up, focusing on the window, where Ektal was trying to escape.
His heart bursting from the carnage surrounding him, Vael impulsively reached out his arms toward the fleeing man. Silvery energy exploded from his outstretched hands, streaming across the room to engulf the man. Like parchment in a desert wind, his body was blown through the window and was carried across the street to smash into the wall. The smoking remains hung across the way, head and shoulders inside the far building, legs still dangling into the street. It formed a grisly picture, perfectly framed by the square stone window.
All of the inhabitants of the room were very still, transfixed by what had occurred.
One of the mercenaries slowly spoke, "perhaps there has been a mistake."
***********
Indira stared hard into the crystal. She held it tightly in her hand, squeezing so hard that it had cut her soft skin in several places. She didn't care. The tears streaming from her hazel colored eyes painted her cheeks with wide strokes. She was whispering the same words over and over, scrutinizing the glowing crystal in her hand.
"How could I have done it?"
A voice rose from the depths of the stone, flowing into her ears like beautiful music. "You were told never to use this, Young One."
She knew what the voice meant. She was in very real danger if she were caught.
If.
Indira believed the man on the other end of this magical communication would forgive her after she delivered her message.
"They summoned a demon, Wise One. A beast called Ner'kl'tethies." She pronounced the word badly, having very minimal training in the language of the lower realms.
"This is grave news, indeed." The musical quality had degraded now, to be replaced by a melancholy dirge. "He-Who-Comes will find his way to the palace shortly. You must complete the plan."
"Wise One," her voice caught in her throat. The tears began again. She had thought them all cried. "I assisted in the summoning. Also with the placement." She spoke the words slowly; it was a confession, and she knew the penance.
The other voice hadn't changed. "Who is the mortal coil?"
"Asgar."
"Your soul is lost to us, Deera." She nearly stopped breathing at his use of her real name. "Do what must be done. We still may prevail."
The stone dimmed, and her meditation room grew dark. She slipped the crystal back into its hiding place, and replaced the magical wards guarding it from discovery. Her shoulders sagged, and her tears fell like the rain in the harbor.
**********
Silence reigned supreme in the shambles of D'tula's former home. The band of mercenaries were very still, fearing to even breathe, as Vael lowered his arms. His eyes were glazed, still feeling the aftershocks of the power that had coursed through him. Lovis groaned as he stirred at Vael's feet. The sound freed Vael from his internal reveries, drew his attention back the matter at hand.
He lifted the former slave by his collar, feeling the expensive threads unwind beneath his grip. The man's eyes fluttered open, and fear emanated from his tense body.
Vael's tone was even, and his eyes promised death as the simple question slid from his lips.
"Why?"
Lovis wasted no time in trying to save his skin. "We were hired by the Dictates, as were they." He motioned in the general direction of the mercenaries. "We were to lead them to the vizier's home, and kill all that we found here." He left no doubt that Vael could include himself in that grouping.
Vael unclenched his grip on the man's collar. Lovis stood on unsteady legs, wondering if there was a chance of freedom after all.
The silence was broken again by the crisp twang of a bowstring, and a quarrel burst from Lovis' chest, just to the left of center. His face still hadn't registered the hit as his body crumpled to the floor.
Vael snapped his head toward the mercenary who still held the spent crossbow aimed in his direction. The man spoke, his even white teeth shining, "once a traitor, always untrusted."
"He may have had more to tell." Vael retorted, preparing to engage the remaining five mercenaries. His eyes caught Erth's prone form against the wall. One of the mercenaries moved in the gnome's direction.
"If he is harmed again, you will follow Ektal into the alley," Vael promised.
The longhaired mercenary, still grinning, motioned the man to stop. "We have erred, so it would seem. My compatriot only wishes to heal the gnome's wound, which he himself caused."
"Forgive me if I don't trust your suddenly benevolent intentions." Vael glanced to the floor, indicating the mercenary he had killed earlier. "That one didn't seem to intent on doing me any favors."
"Bainn was faster acting than he was thinking; these things happen in our business." The leader seemed unconcerned with his comrade's death. "By all means, though, if you have more powers at your disposal, it would seem that your friend is in need of the healing arts. It matters not which of us takes care of the wound."
Vael acquiesced with a grim nod. The mercenary who had first moved to Erth's aid continued to the gnome's side, where he knelt and began binding the head wound.
"Who are you?" Vael was still tense, both from the strange battle and the current situation.
The mercenary stepped forward, his hair touching the floor in an elaborate bow. "My name is Zellot, and these are my band of Runners. We happened to be headed this way, when we were approached by a pair of traitors for a high-paying endeavor."
Vael cut the soliloquy short, "Lovis said you were all hired by the Dictates."
"Only in that they were paying our fees, I would guess," explained Zellot. He paused, "Or one of us is lying, and since he cannot defend himself, I say it his him." The mercenary gestured towards the corpse at Vael's feet, a black quarrel with small silver fletching still protruding from it.
"It seems that more than simple distrust fired your crossbow." Vael let the matter drop, as Erth was being helped to his feet. A cloth covered the wound on his head, but only a tiny spot of red marred the white surface.
The gnome moved to the ladder under his own power as Vael backed up slowly. "We have pressing matters to attend to. I don't expect that we'll meet again, Zellot."
"Actually, it would seem that I'm headed to the very same destination that calls you and your comrade gnome. I have some business at the palace myself, and would be happy to lead you there, as I know the shortest routes. It would seem that you're in quite a hurry, with 'pressing matters' and all." Zellot had stepped forward as he spoke, closing the distance between himself and the exit.
‘He speaks the truth,’ Jerhyl's voice echoed in Vael's head. ‘He was not completely truthful earlier, but he could be of assistance.’
Vael found himself trusting the dragon's advice. "Fine." He replied, somewhat enjoying the stunned look that shot across Zellot's face. The mercenary hid it well, though, the calm grin returning instantly. "Just you, though, no friends."
"I wouldn't expect you to have it any other way," the mercenary replied calmly.
As he turned to give orders to his men, Vael sent his thoughts to Jerhyl. 'Truth?'
‘Yes. He actively desires to accompany you, without his band of mercenaries.’
'Thanks for the assist with Ektal,' thought Vael.
‘The energy came from within you, not by my doing. I have comparable abilities, but they are not energy based.’
"From me?" Vael spoke the words aloud.
*************
It had taken a little under two hours to get into the palace. Most of the time had involved simply finding the appropriate place of entry, as directed by Zellot. An hour had passed, winding there way down into the depths of the place, and now, surrounded by hundreds of feet of solid rock, they stood before a doorway. This doorway, as indicated by Zellot’s contact, would lead them to the item they sought. That’s what she had said.
Vael would have been surprised if any of their party had forgotten those words. They had been spoken from the most delightful mouth, centered on the most delightful face, right under the most perfect nose. He was genuinely surprised that he could remember anything but her eyes, though. He could have spent eternity staring into their depths.
Depths. That brought him back to the present dilemma. The door they faced was simply an archway. The tunnel led up to it, and abruptly stopped. Their torchlight could not penetrate the depths of blackness, nor could his and Erth’s heat sensing vision. Jerhyl’s abilities had been of no help, either.
“This would seem to be the end of the line, for me at least, friends. No sense in walking where you can’t see the nose on your own face.” Zellot was turning to leave.
Vael’s hand shot out to grasp his turning shoulder. “You’ll be entering at the same time I do, my friend.” The last word dripped with sarcasm. “Your contact said, ‘take them as far as you can,’ remember?”
“And this is as far as I can, obviously. Look!” He stuck his outstretched hand into the doorway, where it disappeared completely. ‘That’s a magical darkness, more powerful than any I’ve ever encountered. I’m not willing to risking my neck for something that you may not even be able to find or use!”
“That’s just it,” muttered Erth from behind him. “You don’t have to be willing.” The shorter gnome shoved against the taller mercenary, taking him off his feet and through the curtain of darkness. Vael followed them through, albeit slowly. As he crossed the threshold, he felt a stinging sensation all over his body, and then, as he emerged on the other side, his breath caught in his throat.
The cavern, dimly lit in a blue phosphorescence, extended up into darkness. There was no ceiling that could be seen by human, or nonhuman, eyes. The trio stood on a small outcropping, and on further inspection, noted other such outcroppings dotting the circular cavern here and there. Erth eased up to the edge on his belly, peering over it far more calmly than he felt. “There’s water below us, maybe two hundred, three hundred feet.”
“What,” there was a tremble in Zellot’s voice that had not previously been there, “is that?” He gestured towards a peculiarly floating chunk of rock. It hovered in midair about one hundred feet above them, and looked to be directly in the center of the cavern. “Something is sticking out of it,” whispered Zellot.
Erth looked up. Vael’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the spot where Zellot was pointing. It came to all of them at once. “It’s a staff.”
**********
