The little man pulled his robes about him furtively, adjusting the material of his turban so that it covered the lower half of his face. The dusty streets of the port city were crowded with people. Dark skinned, black eyed people who scurried from place to place, eager to be out of the harsh sun. Even in the shade it was hot here. There was no comfort. There was no winter.
Checking to see if any eyes followed his passage, the man slipped into the atrium of a thick sandstone dwelling. He rapped sharply at the door, twice. Almost immediately it was opened, and he found himself facing the intimidating stare of a black robed, black turbaned man. A host of similar men glowered at him from within, their dark faces, covered with thick beards, their eyes the only white within their countenance.
"Abu." From their midst a white robed man stepped forth. Portly, with gray streaking his dark beard. His face lined and almost brown, from many years in the harsh sun.
The little man, Abu, bowed respectfully, skirting past the door guard towards the white robed man. "Moulay Zainab, I have news." Abu said eagerly.
"What news?"
"The brother of the sea we hired to find the artifact has met with success. He will have it soon and be able to return. Within months- if that long -- and it will be in your hands."
"Are you sure? If this is another false hope, my patience with you will be at its end."
"No. No. He sent word via a trusted comrade."
The Moulay's hard mouth turned up in a smile. His dark eyes glazed as he looked into his future. Abu knew not what he hoped to gain by this particular artifact he had spent mountains of gold and gems to find, but he supposed it would lead to power and wealth. If Abu could share in some part of it, he would be content.
"Soon, my faithful." The Moulay said, more to his men, than to Abu. "Soon and the way to the Black March will be opened again."
Abu didn't know why, but at the sound of that name, which he had never heard the Moulay utter before, he shuddered.
The wind off the ocean was starting to grow cold. Not frigidly cold as if it had swept down from the northern mountains where even summer was a chilly prospect, but more a subtle reminder that summer was long past and fall beginning to bleed in to the months of winter. It was never perilously cold on the coast below the northern divide. Even the winter was mild. Only freakish storms of unnatural natures might cast snow upon those bright, sandy shores.
Such a storm had hit, half a year past and though its ice had long melted, the wreckage of its passing was still a thing to be reckoned with. Kelededra had been hit moderately hard. It was the jewel of the coast, the sparkling center of wealth and luxury for folk from all across the lands. And even its red tile roofs and white marble villas had not been safe from the creeping ice. Buildings had toppled from the weight. People too stubborn to run had died, encased in ice. The lovely blue harbor had hosted floating ice and expensive yachts sunk to the bottom from their own frozen ballast. It was not a total loss. It had been a good distance from the center of the storm, on the out reaches of the devastation. But still it reeled. Its beautiful greenery destroyed, the lush forests outside its borders blackened by ice as badly as if fire had ravaged them.
Nature sprang back of course. The undergrowth eagerly thrived again to life. In months it was recognizable as a forest. The city almost livable again due to the industrious labors the wealthy hired to make it so.
The folk who drifted back to live in the tattered paradise were as wary of the wizard who had set up residence in the large villa at the far side of the cove as they were of more unpredicted turns of weather. None of the present residents recalled the day he had taken the city for his own. Plunder of war. He reminded them of his ownership with a decided lack of tact, sweeping down on Kelededra with a convoy of men at arms, servants and carts. He made a tremendous amount of fuss over the state of his villa. The skies darkened and stormed from the extent of his anger. He put his own followers as well as workers commissioned by other town patrons to work putting his estate in order. The town fathers were not at all happy with his disruptive and frightening presence, but his lady, who was not frightening or abusive charmed them into passive acceptance.
Most of the carts and servants and men at arms were here at the behest of the lady, who gathered friends and followers like a flower attracted bees. They followed her out of love. They followed her wizard out of a certain grudging respect and the desire to be on the winning side of whatever conflict he decided to engage in. He was after all, a most astoundingly powerful wizard.
It was a terribly good thing the servants -- some eight of them -- had decided to accompany the lady Yoko, from the chill northern city of Sta-Veron. The wizard, Schneider, sometimes called Dark Schneider, sometimes called Rushie or Darshe, sometimes called worse names uttered with the flavor of a curse, seriously thought he might not have been able to survive had he to eat Yoko's cooking. Yoko had a serious deficiency when it came to certain domestic things, cooking chief among them and Schneider had never bothered to cook a thing in his life. So her servants -- which she named friends instead of underlings -- were welcome. Them and the ten men at arms which the captain of the Sta-Veron guard had insisted go along to guard the carts of supplies Yoko had thought and wisely so, to take along had been put to good use fighting the ravages of the ice storm that had put the villa in such bad order.
Everyone in Kelededra called the storm a freak of nature or a curse from their elusive gods. Schneider knew better and narrowed his eyes occasionally, laying curses at the feet of those responsible. He had left a very nice villa and come back to one sagging and water logged. Yoko had seen it as a challenge. It gave her something to do, directing the restoration, sending out orders to towns further south up the coast for furnishings. She had discovered a great passion for decoration. She spent gold as if it were sand in the buying of domestic things.
She loved the ocean. She loved the white sand beaches. Her eyes when he'd first taken her down the path from the villa to the shore had grown huge and inspired from the rosy hues of sunset over the endless sea. It was worth it just to get that look out of her. Pleasing her had become addictive, something he needed to do to satisfy himself. An odd thing that, since he had never put anyone's pleasure above his own in the past. She made him do strange things and he found that it bothered him not. It didn't make him any more tolerant of the scurrying townsfolk, or the nobles and wealthy men who thought they were as good as he was. They weren't of course. His sense of self-worth had never been a thing to suffer a moment's doubt. He was the most powerful wizard in the world after all.
"I think you should go and make sure the rugs get here all right." Considering what he was, it was not a task he found suited to his status.
"But, Yoko ---"
She was delicately picking through the bones of a poached fish. They sat out on the broad verandah overlooking the evening sea. Her long, reddish hair was caught up with a silk ribbon at her neck. Since she'd been recently replanting the flower beds around the villa she was dressed in boy's trousers and a dirty tunic. There was a smudge of black dirt by her nose. She looked charming. He never could look at her without wanting to tumble her. Even when she was screeching at him, or suggesting he perform menial tasks.
"They're very expensive rugs." She reminded him, pointing the prongs of her fork at him for emphasis. She had a thing for rugs, which he did not in the least share. He liked to walk on them, and had no hesitation to make love upon them, but what they looked like had never been a pressing concern.
"They're rugs." He sniffed. "They can get here on their own."
"The last shipment -- which I remind you had all the fabrics I wanted to use for curtains and bed coverings, of which we only have the one set -- was hijacked by pirates before it even got half way here. I really want those carpets. The merchant promised they were of the highest quality."
"But why do you want me to go? Send Kiro's men."
"They're retiling the roof. You certainly wouldn't stoop to doing that. If you even knew how. You do know how to keep pirates from stealing my rugs." Her voice turned a little sharp and she fixed him with a glare. He sat back sulkily, crossing his arms. He resented the claim that he couldn't fix a simple roof leak. Which, he had to admit, he most likely couldn't.
"It's only three day ride to Parthos. You were complaining of being bored anyway, remember?"
"I was not." He said automatically, then recalled that he had two days ago when he'd accompanied her into town to look for some drab household item. He'd tried to pick an argument with an overbearing noble, but the man was wise enough to keep far from confrontation. Schneider's reputation had spread the length and breadth of the town. Everyone deferred to him now. Yoko had bitched at him all the way back for being rude.
"Maybe you'll get lucky and pirates will try to hijack the shipment. Then you could get to destroy things. That always makes you happy. Its been months since the last batch of them tried to sack Kelededra."
Well, there was that prospect. He supposed there was some sort of informal system of communication among the buccaneers, because obviously the warning had been passed that Kelededra had a powerful protector. After two attacks earlier in the summer, not a single skull and cross bones had been seen cruising the waters around the city. Though they had been hitting up and down the rest of the coast. It was getting worse now, so the merchants said. With winter coming and the sea storms that accompanied it, whatever safe passages the pirates were using would be difficult to travel. They would go back to their elusive homeshore and wait out the winter storms, but in the meanwhile they seemed in a frenzy to reap all the rewards they could from the people of the coast before they were forced away.
"Well, maybe --" he said.
She smiled at him, looking like a dirty, beautiful urchin. There was an enticing smudge on the lobe of one delicate ear.
"You're filthy." He remarked, with a lazy grin. "How did I ever get saddled with a filthy girl?"
"Saddled?" she lifted both brows at him. "I'm sorry, but the more appropriate question is how did such a nice, honest girl like me get stuck with a blackguard like you. Besides, I was thinking about going down the shore and washing it off. You do want to come, don't you?"
The secluded shore below the villa was a favorite spot. The servants knew very well not to venture down when Schneider and Yoko were there. Schneider had made that abundantly and frighteningly clear the first time they'd been interrupted in an amorous position. It was a very private beach now.
Yoko shed her clothes and waded into the surf. It wasn't cold, even weeks into fall. He followed suit and helped her scrub off the dirt, then covered her in sand at the edge of the surf, the two of them rolling about like a pair of new lovers, even though they'd been sharing a bed for almost a year. They had to go back in to rinse off the sand.
She sat on her pile of clothes afterwards, wringing out her hair. His own dripped carelessly down his back, as long as hers, wet darkened silver against smooth bronze skin. He sat beside Yoko, sated for the moment and content to just feel the warmth of her shoulder against his. There had been a time when he'd shared this beach -- this pretty villa and its spectacular view with another woman. He didn't know whether Yoko knew that this had been his and Arshes Nei's house, but he thought she suspected. She hadn't mentioned it. As long as it was past tense, Yoko would deal with it. She had made that abundantly clear. He had promised her he would not touch another woman. She had promised him that if he betrayed that confidence, he would loose her. He wasn't willing to risk that. He felt no need to with her in his arms. She was as hungry for his touch as he was for hers.
Well, almost. She was a woman after all. She could go a week, or a month or a year without it and not loose her mind. He doubted his own strength in that area if no other. Arshes had been the same way. Months, years sometimes used to separate them back when they were campaigning and he knew -- absolutely knew -- she hadn't slept with a single man until they were reunited. Well, she had Gara now. He still wasn't entirely happy with the notion of the big ninja sharing her favors. He didn't think he'd be happy with the thought of anyone having Arshes' love other than himself. She was content at any rate, back in Sta-Veron. They had bandits to fight and the responsibility they both seemed to crave since the northern city had lost its lord to the charms of a traveling minstrel.
Irritating notion that. Kall-Su was completely lacking in wit, as far as Schneider was concerned. The girl was irksome and snide and in no wise on the level with the ice lord. Yoko said he was just being jealous, to which he had immediately and vehemently cried denials. She made no sense whatsoever. She would glare at him when she accused him of jealousy towards Arshes, which was justified, and smile when she claimed it of him over Kall, which was ridiculous.
"I wonder if winter has come early to Sta-Veron?" Yoko mused.
"Of course it has. Its a dreadful, cold place and we're we'll rid of it." It always snowed at least half a season early in the lands beyond the Northern Range.
"Oh, no it's not." Yoko poked him in the ribs with her sharp little elbow. "And I miss Keitlan and Setha and all the friends I made there. I miss Gara too, but I imagine he's happy as a clam with bandits to fight and -- um -- Arshes for company." Even Yoko knew not to bring that subject up too frequently.
He shrugged at the moment, too warm and content with her next to him to care. "I suppose."
"We can go back in the summer and visit, right. You promised."
"Did I?"
"Don't be an ass, Rushie. You know you did. Maybe Kall will have come back by then."
"Maybe." One might hope he'd healed enough to think he had justification to go back. Schneider knew very well Kall-Su wouldn't step foot back in Sta-Veron as long as he had no power to protect it. It was why he'd given it over to Gara and Arshes Nei. One hoped after all this time, the injuries induced by the damnable Prophet had begun to mend. One worried, even though to admit so was intolerable.
"Don't you like it here?"
"I like it here." She agreed.
Good. It was one of the few places he had left to him from the days of old. The rest were gone, destroyed by Ansasla's final little spree of destruction, or taken over by the Alliance of Southern Kingdoms. He might take those few places back, if he wanted a fight. But Yoko would have fits. Better to let it rest for now. If boredom became too great of an encumbrance, he might rethink his options.
"The people here are a little stuffy." She admitted as an afterthought. He laughed outright.
"Let's put their heads on stakes."
She rolled her eyes at him, then reached around to pull his hair. It was fine and silvery white against her skin now that it was dry. He turned the motion into a kiss, pushing her down against the sand, pressing into the soft curves of her body. Her arms went around him, she rubbed her legs against his. It was pure bliss. Everything from the feel of her skin, to the taste of wine and spices on her tongue. Her inviting warmth was unbelievable -- he never got tired of entering her, of possessing her, of giving to her of himself.
But of course it had to end. It always did, and the vast satisfaction he felt at the culmination of the act was always marred just a little by the disappointment that the sensations had drifted away.
It was getting dark now and the stars were beginning to shine in the night sky. The quarter moon was a distant arc over the ocean.
"You'll go tomorrow won't you? To get my rugs?"
Her hand was languidly stroking a now flaccid part of his anatomy. It perked with interest even after so recently being put to the test. She could be, he had decided some while back, as manipulative as he could, when she put her mind to it. It made for rather interesting times.
"I'll go." He sighed, allowing the manipulation.
The moon hung over the dark sea like the slitted pupil of a cat's eye. A thin string of clouds half obscured the lower edge. Tomorrow night it would be gone all together. The docks of Talmuth port were crowded with fishing skiffs and rafts. The smell of fish and crabs was overpowering. It reminded Kall-Su disturbingly of the fishing docks outside his childhood home. He hadn't liked the smell then either.
There was little choice in being in the little town. It was the next in line of a string of towns and villages along the coastal road that the minstrel's wondered to ply their trade. From what little coin they received in such poor little settlements, it hardly seemed worth their effort. But as the old master minstrel had preached, time after time, until one wanted to strangle him, it was not the gold that lured a bard to his trade. What lured Kall-Su, who certainly had better prospects, was one slim, dark haired harper girl, and the strange, but admittedly potent talent of the old man Selephio.
Without the old man -- the cranky, irksome, rude old man -- who had the voice of a mellow angle, Kall-Su might not be able to whisper a word and cause a breeze to wisp away the worst of the fishy smell coming in from the dock. He took great pleasure in doing it. Lily didn't notice, sitting next to him, her back to the table, watching the antics of a pair of drunken dancers in a space cleared of tables in the outside patio of a dockside tavern. Two of her minstrel cronies were playing a jaunty tune to which quite a few of the fisherfolk who lived in this town were kicking up their heels to.
Two months ago he hadn't been able to even summon a little elemental. Now he could hardly feel the edges of the scars. Oh, pouring out the power needed to control a big one made him a bit wary, but he thought with time it would be possible. The ice magic, the elemental magic came back the easiest. He had always had a rapport with the elements of cold. The other magics, the ones that required different channels of power and different levels of skill were slower to heal. Healing was damned near impossible. He'd never been good at it anyway. He had a gash that was a little infected along the back of his hand even now that he'd gotten untangling Brawaith from a clump of nettles the horse had gotten himself caught in. Simple force spells, like levitation, implosion and explosion, anything that didn't rely on one of his elementals to carry out, were painful to work. He could feel the strain readily enough when he tested those waters.
And he tested them constantly. Enough to make himself sick sometimes, to make Lily frown at him in worry and the old man to just shake his head and remark caustically that if he pushed it too hard, any good his wishsinging was doing, would be counteracted.
Sometimes Kall-Su just didn't care. He had gone too long without feeling powerful or in control of his own existance. He needed to feel the song of magic flowing throughout him as much as Lily or her harpers needed to hear the music of a lute's voice. He wanted to slip away, out from the town and flex his long dormant magical prowess now. He thought he could manage a greater summoning. He wanted to try and call Ketheiro, an ice elemental he held long association with. He'd been contemplating the attempt for the last two days, as he began to feel more and more sure of himself.
"Lily." He leaned forward and gently touched her shoulder. She turned her great dark eyes upon him, a questioning smile on her lips. "I think I'll ride out along the shore."
She frowned a little, knowing what he wanted solitude for. "Be careful." She said simply. She never harped. Though she worried, she trusted him without question. He loved her for it.
He let his hand trail down her arm to her hand, squeezed her fingers. He was by far too reserved to comfortably show more affection than that in such a public place. She was not so prim. She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers, eyes sparkling.
"I'll wait up." She said and her look promised things that he still blushed about when openly discussed.
He weeded his way out of the press. His great bay warhorse, who had certainly seen more illustrious situations than this, waited patiently outside the tavern, hitched beside a swaybacked gelding and a long eared, evil tempered mule. Brawaith perked his ears and very eagerly broke into a canter as soon as they left the pitted streets of the portside town and set upon the trail that led along the bluff overlooking the ocean.
He rode a long ways, merely enjoying a brisk gallop with no ground bound harpers to slow him down. Miles and miles out from Talmuth, a distance safe enough so that if his play with magic went awry, no destruction would bleed over into the fishing town. He let Brawaith loose to graze, making sure there were no nettle patches near by for the foolish animal to wander into and sat on the sandy bluff, a great swatch of beach separating him from the noisy ocean.
He played at the small magics first, building concentration and renewing familiarity with the mental rituals that were necessary to control the larger ones. He had felt this last month or so, like a novice, just learning the byways and paths of wizardry. Gods, when he'd been twenty, some of these things had come easier.
Brawaith rustled in the marsh grass behind him, content and peaceful, only occasionally casting nervous glances at the magics his master conjured. The sky began to lighten perceptively, the moon fading with dawn, before he finally spoke the words of conjuring that would summon the ice elemental Ketheiro.
The air grew chill. Brawaith let out a little nicker of distaste and moved off a few paces, ears back and tail swishing. Something tested Kall's strength. There was the tautness of newly healed skin over a wound, but it was all in his head. All insubstantial and incorporeal. A swirl of sand and wind and something twice the height and width of a man hovered in the air before Kall. He remained sitting, hair whipping into his face, grains of blown sand getting into his eyes. A shield was an added strain, but he put one up anyway, not willing to be inconvenienced by this thing.
What do you want, little one? The voice sent cold lacing through his head. It was an ice elemental, after all. The elemental pivoted, taking in the place it had been called to. I cannot make ice out of the brine of the ocean.
"No." Kall-Su agreed. "It has been a long while since you bowed to our pact."
The face of the thing shifted, ice forming over ice, forming over ice. It pressed against the bonds of summoning magic that held it here. Kall felt the strain of it. They never went passively into submission, elementals. They tested the strength of their master's at every chance. Kall knew this one would. He welcomed it.
It rushed against him, and ice and snow formed in the wind. The marsh grass grew stiff with glittering ice crystals. Brawaith screamed his discontent and ran off a few lengths. Kall shut his eyes, summoning will and power and met the challenge. It was not a terribly huge one. He had not called forth one of the greater elementals. He was more than a little wary to do so, having had disastrous luck the last time, when he'd had more control of his powers than he did now. This was a moderate one at best. One that even if he lost control of, would not wreck havoc to more than its summoner. It could not overwhelm him. Its will, if not its innate raw power was not a match for his.
The wind subsided and the elemental hovered, complacent once more, before him. It held no hint of disgruntlement in its bearing. They never did. They accepted, and bowed down to a greater force. It was the way of nature. Kall sighed in satisfaction and waved a hand at it.
"I don't want anything. You can go."
No complaints for wasting its time. It merely faded away, the only sign of its passing a swirl of snow in its wake that was soon eaten up by the mild fall air.
He sat for a while longer, thinking about the next hurtle he might attempt. The rosy hue of dawn was dark to the south. The sky was almost red. It occurred to him after a moment, that dawn did not usually appear in that particular direction. The rosy hue that graced that horizon was accompanied by a thin cover of dark smoke. He rose, to get a better view, squinting against the distance. Talmuth lay in that direction.
A tingle of apprehension traveled up his spine. A premonition of ill omens. There was nothing between here and Talmuth to burn. Nothing but marsh grass and beach. But at such a distance, for so much black smoke, if it were the fishing port, the whole of the town must have been up in flames. Two weeks ago, they had passed the charred remains of a tiny village, ransacked by pirates. Nothing but blackened corpses and shattered dreams had been left in the marauder's wake.
He whistled for Brawaith and grudgingly the stallion loped towards him, still wary of the scent of elemental presence. He swung up into the saddle and urged the horse into a gallop. Miles to travel and he was sorry he had let himself go so far out to practice his craft. It took by far longer to return that it had to leave. He kept hoping to pass a brush fire, but by the time he reached the bluffs overlooking Talmuth, that hope was dashed. He reined in Brawaith and looked down in dismay at a harbor full of burning ships, and a town smoldering with black curls of smoke and flames.
It appeared that Talmuth was the most recent victim of merciless pirate attack.