ROOTS RUN DEEP

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. All characters belong to their respective authors. All hail the Black Jewels!

The Beginning

The room is beautiful. And big. Really big. Furniture older than many nations is arranged elegantly about. But the central piece is the desk. Off to one end, almost tucked away against the wall, it still manages to dominate the room with its presence; the magnificently detailed carvings revealing separate stories on each panel and support piece, stories the wise would do well to pay careful heed and the foolish will recreate one painful step at a time. Pain, power, joy, despair and hope; all entwined with a single theme… warning. Warning; of the consequences of poor choices, of the sign posts along the trails of despair, of the price to be paid. The entire desk, from carvings to the neatly stacked pieces of paper and most especially the man seated behind it all scream with deafening power into the silent elegance of the room the same warning: "Everything has a price."

Two men occupy the room. Any predator would recognize both as fellow predators. But, most people would simply feel fear and confusion. The men are sitting quietly, apparently totally at ease. Where is the threat? No weapons or overt aggression is present. Why the fear? Yet the back of their brains, back so far the conscious mind doesn't venture, the part that whispers fear of high places and dark alleys to keep them safe, is screaming. It screams for an exit, cries for a dark corner and whispers for total stillness in the hope they will go unnoticed. That quiet little space is right. Listen to it carefully. These two men, save one other, are the most dangerous in three realms. And they both know it. In a fair fight, the older man would enjoy a decisive victory, should they war against each other. Neither has fought a fair fight… ever.

So, they sit quietly, watching each other through seemingly sleepy eyes as the room gets colder. So cold the younger man notices his glass of yarbarah has frozen solid as he tries to take a sip. With a disappointed sigh, he begins the exchange.

"High Lord, at the Order of The Queen, I present myself for the official investigation of the events in question which led to the death of 'Prince Jerzon'". The word "Prince" infused with such contempt, when spoken by such a man, curled a shaving of wood from the edge of the desk. With exaggerated slowness, he reached out and smoothed the curl back into the desk, healing it with dark jeweled craft, sensing this was not the first time the desk was damaged and repaired in such a manner.

High Lord Saetan Daemon SaDiablo watches through heavily lidded eyes. He had promised Jaenelle he would listen before passing Judgment. Watching this young Warlord, he had taken his measure. If it came to a fight in this room, the High Lord would win, but not without cost. "Everything has a price." The room would be destroyed beyond repair. The fight would be short but brutal on a level unimaginable by most. Even the solid walls of SaDiablo Hall would not contain it. And this young warlord, well young by the High Lord's standards, was far too powerful to divert power to shield the room and its contents. A more 'diplomatic' course of action was required.

"You refused to discuss the death of Prince Jerzon with The Queen and appealed to her to be sent to me for Judgment. I don't believe that has ever happened before. She asked me to remind you in the strongest possible terms that, 'The Dark Court no longer exists.'".

Jaems smiled slightly, exactly the amount protocol would allow, to indicate he heard and more importantly understood exactly what was said and what was unsaid. "It shall be as The Queen wishes."

Saetan maintained an implacable face, yet within he raised a mental eyebrow at the sheer deviousness of such a statement. Protocol governed every aspect of Blood interactions, but most especially those between Queens and Warlords. In a single phrase Jaems had acknowledged, dismissed and reinforced Jaenelle's Court. If the Dark Court doesn't exist, it cannot recommend Saetan conduct an investigation. If it doesn't exist, there is no Queen, thus there can be no "Queen's wishes". Yet his presence for the investigation the 'non-existent' Dark Court 'didn't order' underscored The Truth everyone pretended to not know, "The Dark Court still exists". His presence and manner loudly proclaimed the existence of The Dark Court and his recognition of its continuing power.

Warlord Prince Jaems recognized his possible death before him. "Everything has a Price." His childhood taught him death was part of life, no more to be feared than sunset. He could choose to continue to behave with honor and dignity… or use Protocol to extend his existence a bit more at the cost of his honor. Those with the Honor to trade would never choose to do so. Those without honor can gain little in the attempted bargain. As so many things in life, it was a choice that was never a choice.

"So, do you want the long or the short version?" Jaems asked.

Saetan considered briefly, after all, you can always get the long version if the short is too short, "Short version, if you please. Why did you kill Prince Jerzon?"

"He was too stupid to live."

Saetan clenched his jaw in frustration. He promised to investigate. He promised. And truthfully, there were people he had considered killing for the same reason. With some reluctance, "Is there a 'slightly longer' version?"

Jaems took a deep breath, visibly composed himself and began in a monotone voice, as a soldier reporting to a superior, "The Blood male known as Prince Jerzon was in possession of certain memorabilia, including his father's personal diaries, obtained by his father during his tenure as Chief Administrator of a hospital in Chaillot. Jerzon, after reading the diaries and reviewing the other 'memorabilia', had decided his father's idea did not receive a fair trial and evaluation and was in the process of recruiting less honorable males to assist in the reconstruction of the principles of his father's legacy."

Saetan steepled his fingers and touched them to his forehead as he thought. After some thought, he rose and poured himself a stiff shot of scotch before returning to his seat. Jaems remained silent while the High Lord thought quietly. Some would mistake Saetan's quiet for calm. Some would be mistaken, but not for long. Jaems recognized the anger of the High Lord no longer seemed focused on him, but apparently upon a dark memory instead. Saetan's voice, deceptively soft interrupted the silence, "I think I will have the long version now."

Jaems raised his still frozen drink and with a raised eyebrow requested permission to use Craft to return it to an enjoyable temperature. A raised eyebrow from Saetan provided permission and shortly after the frozen liquid was steaming in the glass. Jaems took a healthy sip, mulled it about in his mouth a moment longer than necessary and swallowed, enjoying the tingling sensation.

"Well, it started off as a pleasant enough day… As I am sure the High Lord is aware, I am adopted." Jaems paused for confirmation.

A negative shake of Saetan's head denied this.

"Oh. Well. I am adopted. I was raised by different families. That whole 'it takes a village' thing, except with me it was more or less true. I was a bit 'difficult' at times, to use my Nanna's words."

Saetan interrupted just a little too politely, "Is this strictly necessary for your report? I asked for the long version, not your life story."

Jaems stopped to ponder. "This part explains why I was where I was when I killed Jerzon. If you like, I can skip straight to the end."

Saetan, remembering his promise to Jaenelle, reluctantly motioned for Jaems to continue.

"Ok, so NOW you know I am adopted. My parents died when I was very young. Yes, they were murdered. Yes, their murderers have been dealt with. No, I did not kill them. Yes, I owe a very large debt to the person who did. No, I don't want to talk about it."

"It was a beautiful spring day. Draca had graciously given permission to research my family history in the Keep's records."

Saetan raised an eyebrow. Draca doesn't let just anyone into the Keep Records. Jaems noticed the raised eyebrow and paused, non-verbally asking the High Lord if he wanted to ask a question at this point. A small shake of the head and circling motion of his hand indicated Jaems should not stop.

Jaems nodded his deference to the High Lord's decision and continued.

"Upon hearing Draca would grant access to the records, I sent word to my daughter to meet me at SaDiablo Hall." Jaems paused and sheepishly admitted, "Her calligraphy is much better than mine and it is her line also. Yes, I asked Draca for permission. So, we, and her escorts, met at the landing web near SaDiablo Hall. It was such a beautiful spring day, as I mentioned earlier, my daughter gave her escorts liberty and I accompanied her on a shopping trip in Halaway."

"The day was beautiful, as mentioned earlier, but all that walking and shopping… required a bit of liquid courage, especially the shopping part. Have you been shopping with a young woman lately? No? Don't. I love my daughter dearly, but shopping with her is more work than playing 'stalk and pounce' with an Arcerian warlord… and a good deal less fun."

"Since we would be recording much of what we were hoping to find in the records, calligraphy supplies were first on the agenda. I didn't mind shopping there so much. I do enjoy making paper, so the supplies gave me something to compare my efforts against. Nibs are easy enough. Some quill feathers taken from large foul and sharpened appropriately do rather nicely. But my daughter would not hear of it. She wanted 'professional supplies for our genealogy'". Jaems shrugged, "It was not worth discussing further."

Saetan interrupted, "So you bought everything she picked out." It was not a question, rather a statement of shared pain of the 'shopping' variety.

"It seemed the most efficient way to begin the day." Jaems replied with an embarrassed smile.

"From there we continued to the book store, where she insisted on reading passages from 'Sceltie Saves the Day' and other works of High Literature. It took me an hour to pull her out of there."

"And more purchases I wager," Saetan snickered. Having overheard those same stories during Jaenelle's time with the puppies, he sympathized.

"Indeed. And then, as I was being forcibly ejected from the dress shop to allow more space for the fitting…" Jaems paused and gestured to his body, "I was in a corner, out of the way, not moving and not talking. HOW do I 'take up too much space' in a shop full of mannequins?" Jaems was obviously reliving the day, moment by moment and this moment apparently annoyed him greatly! He suddenly remembered he was providing evidence in an investigation.

Jaems continued more soberly, "As I stepped out onto the porch, a very strange witch bumped into me and said, 'Oh, there you are!'"

Tersa had been looking all day for the red and black wolf. She knew he was here in Halaway. Never sure how she knew such things, but she knew with the same certainty of the sun's warmth or the wind's caress. He was here… somewhere.

She moved into the shade of the porch. The Sun had a bit of cheek today! And the things the wind whispered! It was indecent! Tersa smiled. It had been a long time since she had been 'decent'. But sometimes, even the best of companions must be avoided for a time. While thinking this, she bumped into the wolf! "Oh, there you are!"

Knowing some people have difficulty understanding her and this was very important to get right, Tersa said very slowly and clearly, "There is a young man here in gold livery, who wants to revive Briarwood. Kill him."

Tersa rummaged through her basket and pulled a coiled wreath out and handed it to Jaems. The wreath was made from a single root, twisted upon itself many, many times. In the center, seemingly growing from the wreath, was a single plant, the other end of the root. To make sure he understood, she spun the wreath so the thorns of the briar scratched a circle of blood around the warlord's wrist. There. He can't fail to understand that!

Tersa was smiling, content in the knowledge her message was understood, as she stepped back into the caress of the afternoon sun.

"She smiled at me and then said very slowly, like she was talking to a child, 'Briars have long roots. They must be carefully pruned or they return.'"

"And then she reached in her basket, pulled out a woven wreath and held it out to me. When I went to take it, wondering what she intended, she moved it past my hand onto my wrist and spun it, leaving bloody scratches all around my wrist!"

Jaems pulled up his sleeve, displaying the circle of bloody scratches. "And I can't heal it! No one can!"

As Saetan looked, a single drop of blood fell to the floor. It had to be Tersa. Perhaps Janelle can heal him, if he survives the investigation. Which was growing more unlikely as the length of the story produced increasing annoyance in the High Lord.

"Anyway," Jaems began, "after that I decided I wanted a drink and something to eat. Ardanna came out with more boxes than one woman should be able to handle and let them spill in my general direction. I vanished them all and suggested a drink and a light meal might be in order before returning to the Gate. I swear, she looked disappointed I did not want to continue shopping." Jaems took a deep breath and returned to a pedantic monotone. "We then proceeded to the local inn and requested a table. We waited while an appropriate table was vacated and cleaned."

Saetan smiled. Having been to that inn many times, he knew which table was "an appropriate table". It had line of sight on all exits, solid walls to place your back against and far enough from most light to be a bit shadowed. It really was the perfect table.

Jaems continued without noticing Saetan's mental side trip, "After we were seated, Ardanna noticed my wrist bleeding and insisted on attending to it. She has some gifts in healing, but was unable to do much for it. It annoyed her greatly. She insisted on seeing the wreath, so I called it in for her inspection. She noticed it was a single briar with several roots, braided into a circular wreath with the yellow leafed plant itself emerging into the center."

"As she was examining the wreath, the briar and my wrist, I was watching the room."

Saetan nodded absently. Of course he was watching the room; he was a Warlord Prince escorting a Queen.

"As I was watching the room, I became aware of a pair of Blood males at the bar. They were speaking in low tones and seemed very intent on their conversation. I was about to turn my attention to sweep the room again, as my daughter continued to fuss over my wrist and the wreath, when I swear I heard one of the men say 'briar'. Now, with my wrist bleeding as a result of the briar in the wreath and his tunic nearly the same color as the leaves of the briar, my curiosity was more than piqued. I used a little basic craft to eavesdrop on the two. Apparently they had not thought to shield their conversation. As I listened I began rising to the killing edge. The man in the yellow tunic, 'Prince Jerzon'," Jaems snarled and the desk quivered in spite of the black shield Saetan had placed upon it, "was discussing his 'inheritance'. Apparently his father left him some gold and a small library. The library included the father's work journals and personal diaries. The young man had read all the books, more than once according to him. He decided his father had a great idea and it was a shame the Witch Storm had killed so many of the men involved in the project. He lamented not being able to speak with anyone who was present to witness his father's 'great work'."

A crack of wood was heard. But this time it was not Jaems' fault. The black shield on the desk prevented accidental damage by Jaems. However, Saetan had failed to shield his chair… from himself. He looked down at the arm of the chair, well at the remnants. This would take a craftsman to repair. He now knew the shape of the story and its ending, but protocol dictated he continue the investigation to its end.

"My apologies for the interruption Prince Jaems. Continue." Saetan sighed.

With an understanding nod and a moment to shield his own chair, lest he make the same mistake, Jaems resumed, "At this point, I swear upon my Jewels, I planned to bring him in. I planned to bring him before the Territory Queen for Judgment."

"Then the other male said, 'You could talk to Janelle. I heard she wa-"

Only uncounted years of discipline saved the room from destruction. Ice covered every surface, frozen from the water in the air. Black Jeweled shields snapped into place to protect from the cold. Daemon Sadi stood at the back of the room. He seemed calm, yet the intense cold did not radiate from Saetan or Jaems, but from Daemon. Daemon Sadi SaDiablo, son of the High Lord of Hell, the single most powerful male in all the realms, stood at the back of the room and looked… sleepy.

"Did you finish the kill?" the Sadist purred.

"Yes", Jaems said quietly. "I did not want to chance The Lady might happen upon him in Hell."

"So," purred Daemon, "We have only your word for his conversation and its content." The room seemed to grow even colder.

"Not so. I ripped his memories from him, before I completed the kill. I shall open my barrier to show you his thoughts." Jaems said as he poured power into the lower barriers, expecting Sadi's rage at the knowledge to be shared. What he never expected was… nothing. Sadi grew quiet. Stone statues would envy his stillness.

"The other man, the one who spoke Jaenelle's name, he is a nephew of Lord Menzar. Stories of his uncle are whispered among certain males in courts throughout Dhemlan. They are not pleasant stories." Jaems said solemnly. "Perhaps he bears investigation."

"I will pay him a visit," Sadi whispered.

"No," Saetan said quietly. "Tersa has chosen Prince Jaems to weed this garden. He will find the roots of Briarwood, wherever they run and he will be a patient and thorough gardener. Won't you Prince Jaems?"

Jaems was never young enough to have considered that for anything but what it was; an order.

"Yes, High Lord. It will be done," said Warlord Prince Jaems.