AN: I feel inspired!
And i need to thank each reviewer individually, so please log in for reviews or leave an email. I'm not too good about leaving messages in the stories itself. I feel...i don't know...embarassed...shy...
Someone 6
Mike, or Leonard, as he was used to being called, was sitting at one of the many tables in a tavern in Caleria. There was a small folded paper sign that said, "Card game for money," right in the middle of the table. Three packs of cards laid in preparation for a game. Mike was wearing his usual slacks and button-up shirt, eyes observing the people in the place.
Dark-skinned Calerians milled around, chatting constantly about the latest gossip. Some Le Buque mentor riders were at the bar, sipping the sweetened carbonated water called soda. One of the Southern Frontier Defense Force Units was at a table of their own, their leader clamoring for another drink.
A waitress, completely shrouded by rough linen so that only her dark eyes showed, came with a tray of soda and set the glass in front of Mike.
"Your drink, sir," she said in the meekest voice.
"Thank you," said Mike, putting some coins on the table.
The waitress scooped up the money, looking around like a thief for a brief moment before scurrying away.
Mike absently took a small sip of the drink, listening intently for anything of interest. People sure do talk about the most important events right at a tavern. Just from sitting here for the last hour, he learned who had been the mistress of some Frontier Units captains. A few merchants were boasting about tax evasion and the one drunk confessed that he once betrayed someone. Then there were the rumors concerning the priesthood.
"Hey, did you know, Bishop Mitchel is visiting Caleria?"
"Really? That sniveling snot?"
"Oh yes! I heard from one of the Frontier units that he has temporary power over the Harmonian legion now."
"What? That's supposed to be Bishop Sasarai's position!"
"Yeah. I know. But Bishop Sasarai hasn't been out of the capital for over half a year."
"Really? Is his holiness alright?"
"Who knows? I do hope his holiness is alright."
"Me too."
There were many more conversations pertaining to the new appointment of Mitchel as general. People expressed their doubts of change and concern of their beloved Bishop Sasarai. Many sincerely prayed to the Circle Rune to bless and return Sasarai to the people.
Mike listened to them all, learning something that was not new. The priesthood was generally the weakest of the three major power groups of Harmonia. The Howling Voice had their near impossible training. The aristocrats had their ambitions. The priesthood had the faith of the people. Control over the military and other internal affairs was by appointment or selection from the three power groups. Traditionally, the priesthood always had the upper hand, with overt support from the One Hero himself. However, their One Hero had not been seen by the people for the last eighty years or so, causing the shift of power to Howling Voice and the Aristocracy.
That is, until the holy twins were conceived.
Mike was not there when the twins were born. He was not sure if they were even born. The information he received later about their origin were scratchy at best. The ones present there either disappeared or were sworn to secrecy. Any paper records were destroyed, the truth forever buried with silent people.
Mike was there when the two were made into bishops. One had the love of the people. One had the loyalty of the powerful. Both were overwhemingly intelligent, and worked tiredlessly to realize their ideals. Above all, both cared for humanity. If only they had cooperated and not opposed each other, they would have strengthened Harmonia to the glorious state it once was before.
Then, the place was hushed for a moment as a new patron entered. It was a woman, an obviously Kage woman named Ayame.
Mike raised his eyebrows but otherwise kept his usual smile.
Ayame strolled across the room, her muscles rippling underneath the skin-tight clothes, only covered by a heavily overlaid short cloak. There were a few scars, though faint, on her neck.
People stared. Ayame was beautiful even with her face half-covered by a cloth guard. She moved with cat-like grace, evidencing significant training as a warrior. Even the one Defense Force Unit whistled at her.
Ayame ignored them all, and walked toward the table where Mike was. She seated herself briskly across from him.
"Cards?" asked Mike as he opened a deck of cards. Ayame shook her head but Mike started to shuffle the cards anyways. The smile on his face never faded in spite of the growing frown on Ayame's face.
The meek waitress from earlier scrambled over expectantly.
"I don't want anything," said Ayame quietly, staring intensely at Mike.
"Don't listen to her," interjected Mike. "Bring out your best drink. She's my guest."
The waitress nodded and scurried away. The card player had been a decent customer, always paying more than the cost of the drink. The more expensive the drink, the more money into her own pockets.
Ayame shifted ever so slightly to indicate her agitation. She watched the waitress's eagerness to serve Mike and shook her head. Only stupid shrews could be bought by a man with money, especially by a man as treacherous as a Guild Elder.
Mike was still smiling when he passed out the cards. "What can I do for you?"
Ayame reached into the extensive folds of her garment. A piece of parchment, neatly folded, was slipped out in between her fingers. She slid the sheet across the table.
Mike glanced down at the sheet. It was a letter, a written correspondence between the intended receiver, "Elder" and a sender, "Alexander."
"What's this for?" asked Mike, looking at his cards. The pair of aces was much more interesting than a scribbled piece of paper.
"You have become careless," commented Ayame. "We intercepted the nasel bird."
Mike snorted. With Bishop Alexander, seemingly careless mistakes were often traps for unwary enemies. Only idiots would celebrate a small victory against him. "And your point is?"
Ayame's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. "My sources confirmed that the sender is indeed the Arch Bishop."
"Okay." Mike shrugged.
"The Kage had gotten rid of him more than fifteen years ago."
"A knife in the back, then gore out his innards?" sang Mike as if he was in a comedic play. "Blame it on a boar. Found the body and burned it. Am I correct so far?"
"I am only a messenger," said Ayame crisply, annoyed at Mike's joking tone. They may have been allies during the Second Fire Bringer War, but that did not give him the pleasure to assume such a relaxed tone. She was here on business. "He isn't dead?" she asked again.
Mike snorted. "That isn't the question you should be asking."
Ayame did not say a word, but only gazed at Mike with piercing eyes. She did not like mind games. Any mind game is dishonorable, an act only a traitor would utilize.
The Howling Voice was an exception. They picked only the gentlest children. Then they broke their minds. They did not need humans; they needed drones, children and adults who would do all that was necessary to accomplish the mission. It would be a shame not to use the fragile human psyche to their advantage.
"So, is he?" asked Ayame.
"Depends on if the Kage want to survive or not," said Mike, putting down a pair of two's.
Ayame scoffed. "You speak in meaningless riddles."
"And apparently, it's so meaningless that the Kage had to send a lapdog to Caleria."
Ayame's hand visibly clenched her muscles. Only Watari had ever spoken so disrespectfully toward her.
Mike sighed and waved a hand. "Fine, He's alive."
"Good." Ayame said in between clenched teeth. She abruptly stood up, nearly knocking the chair over. She brushed past him, urgent to send the confirmation back to the Kage.
"My advice to you," said Mike, catching her wrist. He flashed a full house at her. "Is to stay out of Crystal Valley for the next month or so. He may not believe in personal vengeance, but earn his ire, and his retribution cannot be withstood even by immortals."
"That's an empty threat," said Ayame with a chilling smile. She randomly picked out five cards from her pile. "Bishop Alexander never killed, nor even paid a Howling Voice for assassination." She threw down the cards and stalked out of the tavern.
The waitress waddled out of the kitchen with a fine bottle of chilled wine. She shuffled past the whispering patrons. "The finest of the..." she began to introduce the purplish bottle partially wrapped in a plain clothe.. "Where did the lady go?"
Mike flipped over the cards. It was a king, a queen, a jack, an ace, and...a joker. "She's gone to provoke hellfire."
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"Tomorrow, estate freemen will show up in the early hours of the morning," declared Borus. "We are to entertain a guest for the Guilds in a few days."
Everyone at the dining table looked at each other expectantly. It had been a while since Borus had entertained people right here in Vinay. Down on his south estates, it was a common occurrence. His family fortune required constant interaction with the snooty people and those who worked on the land. Here in Vinay, though, Borus never bothered throwing grand balls. Corruption within the guild members who lived in the city made him wary of any snooping dogs right here where his daughter was.
"May we inquire as to who will attend?" asked Virgil.
"A few notable dignitaries, Guildsmen, The Zexen Six," answered Borus tersely.
Lotty accidentally dropped her fork, making an awkward clattering. She glanced sideways to Rakasvi who was not even paying attention to her. No, he was poking despondingly at his steak in the same manner Morgan was poking at her peas.
"Meaning, Lady Chris asked you to throw this party," said the all-knowing Rakasvi still prodding at the piece of meat, not bothering to return Lotty's gaze.
For a moment, Lotty was concerned. Rakasvi had not been looking well for the last couple of days. Her culinary creations were usually fit for kings, so why wasn't he stuffing his face like the others? He seemed deeply absorbed with something, like he was plotting something. Perhaps he was in pain? Lotty never saw how the cut from two days ago healed.
Borus turned his attention toward the young man. To the knight's knowledge, the young man had been mysteriously quiet the entire night. Usually, Rakasvi took the liberty of informing Borus on his daughter's progress, ending the habitual nervous silence. He would often say how brilliant that Morgan was, if only she had started structured education earlier. At first, Borus thought Rakasvi was lying. Borus had no proof that his daughter had learned anything. When she was tested six months ago, she failed miserably in each subject area, much to Borus's disappointment. Therefore, when Rakasvi first started to talk about Morgan's progress, Borus decided to promptly test her, beginning with the prayer memorization from the books of St. Loa.
Morgan was not a girl to disappoint her father. She recited in a precise, clear voice, the entire section without halting. Borus did not believe it. Morgan's former tutor could never get Morgan to memorize even the multiplication table. Virgil barely had her learn the alphabet. Now, she babbled about account ledgers and even knew how to splint broken bones. Borus was very much pleased. If everything continued the way it should be, Morgan would become an excellent bride for a Lord of an estate.
"How did you know that?" asked Borus, puzzled at how Rakasvi knew about the upcoming ball. As Borus could recall, Lady Chris herself had personally came to him just that afternoon with her request, in private. There was no one she trusted who had the facility for a showy gala. She did not want it in the Guild Halls where the councilors could meddle with their own personal agendas. Percival had a large home, but his home was in Iksay. Leo's and Salome's humble abode was just that, very humble. The Lady's own home was too small and she too inexperienced in the matter. So she came to him, asking him for the usage of his mansion and his help.
Borus, being the devoted knight, agreed. So now, he was given official leave so he may man the Vinay estate and prepare for a showing to impress the foreigners, a task as normal as drinking wine for him.
"Melville told me," Rakasvi answered.
"I see," muttered Borus. Melville had definitely been informed of the up coming event. Borus had assigned Melville to be one of the demonstrating swordsmen. Rakasvi probably bumped into young knight during one of his market trips. Melville did have patrol duties.
"I have a request," said Rakasvi suddenly. He picked up a glass of water with both hands and placed it right on his forehead. The damn humming from the magically forged earrings had been a constant background for a week. The humming somehow induced a mild fever and variable headache. Those were sensations he had more or less learned to ignore, as the same conditions persisted for a long time during his youth. He would be concerned if there was no side effect. "I need a three week leave."
Several people said, "What?" No servant, tutor, or any attendant could just take off when ever they wanted. Rakasvi, who had been the model servant up to now, should have known better than to state that.
Borus, overcoming his impulses, kept silent. When he was younger, he would had smacked the table and had been the first to demand an explanation. Instead, some semblance of thought was in his eyes when he asked calmly, "Why so sudden?"
"Personal reasons," replied Rakasvi with a wince, hoping that Lord Borus would accept his wish to be secretive. "I do not wish to reveal it here."
"Speak with me in private then."
"When?"
"Before Light's out, in my study."
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After dinner was eaten and the dishes washed, everyone retreated to their pre-slumber routine. Virgil sipped his tea as he refilled some lamp oil. Lotty went to prepare Sir Borus's bedding. Rakasvi and Derek were out in the front gates, moving some of the necessary materials for the upcoming gala.
Borus, having rare father and daughter time, was reading a bedtime story to Morgan.
Morgan yawned, trying to stay awake as her father was trying to get her to sleep. Papa rarely came home, always away at work. Before, when she was about seven, she used to beg him to stay home, often clinging to his leg right before he left for Brass Castle or the Tinto Border. Virgil had to pry her off of Papa's legs many times, and she protested with screaming, crying, and the occasional glass shattering. Worse, she would sometimes paint his armor with paints from Goddess knows where. Then at times, she deliberately messed up her appearance or faked illness to make him stay.
Now, everything was slightly different. She would still beg, but did not scream or cry. She would pout and give him puppy eyes when he left, but otherwise kept from vandalizing and lying. Rakasvi threatened to leave her alone with her lady-manners teacher for days if she did that.
"You should get to sleep," said Borus, closing the story book and prayer book. He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long tiring day training new squires, and his conversation with Lady Chris wore him down further. The room only dimly lit by one candle lamp did not help either. This was his daughter though, the one person he loved more than anyone else. She was worth more than measly lost slumber.
"But if I sleep, I won't see you or Ra when I wake up," complained Morgan in a small voice. She actually wanted to talk about how great Rakasvi handled those alley miscreants, but at each moment she wanted to mention it, something came up, like how Rakasvi had to help Papa take off his armor, or Lotty rushing Morgan off for a bath.
"Well, I will have to be here tomorrow to coordinate the men. Rakasvi can be here if you want."
"Well, you are letting him go on a trip, right? He had been really nice to us."
"He's a servant. He is also paid," reminded Borus.
Morgan shook her head in disagreement. "No. Remember Jenna, my first nanny? I know you give her the same money you give Ra now. I saw it in the number books."
Borus frowned upon that. He never expected her to be looking in the account ledgers. That was personal information with many implications that Morgan would not understand.
"Jenna was mean," said Morgan, her lips curved downward. "She's as dull as Virgil and makes me do those number thingies. Where did she go?"
"She got married," answered Borus. He actually wished to keep Jenna...until he found out that she was pilfering from his treasury.
"You know...Ra looks very lonely sometimes," said Morgan, changing the topic. "He talks about this girl named..." she paused, thinking."...Sana, I think that's her name."
"Really?" That name sounded so familiar, but Borus could not recall where he had heard it from.
"Yes. He told me she was really pretty and he really liked her. I asked him why he didn't marry her. And he said that his friend needed her more."
"Love for a friend..." commented Borus noncommittally though he understood the feeling.
Morgan crawled out of her covers and pulled her father close to her. She whispered to his ear, giggling slightly, "I think he wants to go see her. Isn't it romantic?"
Borus gave her one of those bemused looks. He did not expect his daughter to fully understand the concept of romance, but from the sound of it, she probably did not understand. "Who put that idea in your head?"
"Um...I don't know..." she said, slightly defeated.
"Go to sleep, Morgan. Papa will be here when you wake up."
"Alright, I'll go to sleep, but only if you pinky swear," she demanded with all the serious formality she could muster. She held out her enclosed right hand with her pinky finger out.
Borus chuckled lightly. How long had it been since he pinky swore? He did hook her tiny finger and pressed their thumbs together, his thumb was at least three times larger than hers. "I pinky swear that I will be here when you wake."
Morgan smiled winsomely and pushed herself up with sleepy strength. She encircled her arms around her father's neck and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "But you will honor Ra's request, no?"
"Don't worry about it Morgan," said Borus, tucking his daughter in comfortably in bed. She obediently wormed into the covers, blinking her tired violet eyes. She was still a very small girl, adorable and precious like a treasured gem. She snuggled, her features devoided of all worries. She was content in the innocent belief that Papa could do no wrong to people. "Good night Papa."
Borus stroked her blonde hair, marvelling at how soft and pale it was. She will be shockingly beautiful someday just like her mother, he thought proudly like all fathers do. He bent down to kiss her good night on the forehead.
"Sleep well, my Morgan."
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Rakasvi held a lamp up high for Derek to see.
The cart was nearly empty as the two continuously transfered the supplies from it to the granary inside the mansion. Derek did most of the heavy lifting, as Rakasvi was a scrawny youth who possessed a cut on a hand.
Derek did not mind at all. He was a healthy middle age man with a lot more strength than someone half of his age. Besides, Rakasvi was trying his darnest to carry as much as he could. Derek always believed that if a person tried their best, then he could ask no more.
Rakasvi was a puzzling young man. Even after three months, Derek still knew little to nothing personal about the youth. Rakasvi had no origin, no family to speak of. He never wallowed in self-pity, rarely thought ill of people. He could be sickeningly happy or unwholesomely unexcitable at times. Rakasvi acted too normal, too calm for a professed war orphan.
"Sorry that I'm not much help," apologized Rakasvi again. "Those sacks of potatoes must be heavy."
"That's alright lad," said Derek, waddling through the kitchen path with a large potato sack in hand. "We all have different strengths. I am strong physically, but you know swordplay."
Rakasvi looked at Derek critically. "So you can tell, huh?"
"I served the Redrums my entire life," explained Derek. "I was here when Sir Borus was still Squire Borus. He had private instructers too. Three of them. They all have similar calluses in the same places you have."
"Hum," intoned Rakasvi with a shrug, though he did look down at his hands. True, the calluses were there, though they had softened due to lack of actual practice.
"Who taught you? You seemed to know what you are doing."
"The people who picked me up from the ocean."
"From the ocean," said Derek thoughtfully. That little piece of information eliminated many areas east of Zexen. "I thought you were a war orphan."
"Well, I was told that a merchant ship came across a baby crying at sea. They tell me that there was a war in the islands nearby and I was lucky enough to float away in one of the spare rafts."
"A baby huh?" Derek dumped the sack into the storage area. He patted his hands, dusting off the soil and dirt. "So you never knew who sired you?"
"Oh, I learned who sired me later on," answered Rakasvi with ease. "He's dead though."
"And what of your mother?"
"My mother..." for an odd moment, Rakasvi looked slightly pained. He looked down and held his clenched left fist to his heart as if he felt hurt. "She's...not of this world anymore..." Rakasvi blinked and looked back up. Eyes faded from green to blue and suddenly back to green.
Derek rubbed his eyes, thinking that some lint had made him to see things.
"What about you Mr. Derek?" asked Rakasvi wanting to turn the attention away from himself. "Where's your wife? Your daughter said that she has passed away."
Derek snorted. "Estalla? No, she did not pass away. I just can't stand her anymore."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because she lied constantly," said Derek, raking his hair with one calloused hand. "Don't get me wrong, I loved her, and she is one sexy woman. But I would rather that Lotty doesn't end up like her."
"Oh."
"Don't tell Lotty about that, okay? It's better that she doesn't know."
Derek turned out leave the storage area. "Anyways, you probably want to go see if Lord Redrum is ready to receive you. I can do the rest from here."
"Thanks," said Rakasvi relieved. He paced steadily away from the storage, and back into the main hall of the mansion.
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When Rakasvi showed up in the study, no one was there. The room was still completely dark. An ultra fine layer of dust revealed how rarely people ever came in here. It was to be expected though, since the Master of the mansion was often away at Brass Castle. Feeling slightly lazy, Rakasvi sat down as he released a little magic of the rage rune in his hand. Each of the six wall candle lamps and the two oil lamps were lit instantly. He turned his head to observe each wick, looking for any overspill of wax and oil. He was pleased to see all of them were the same as if they were gently lit by hand.
Good. Control is coming back, he thought with certain satisfaction. A rage rune was brutish in its execution. It wanted nothing less than a conflagration; a useful rune to incinerate enemies if one wanted total annihilation. But to use such an overpowering rune for a simple task of lighting a candle was true skill. It was a skill that Rakasvi normally did not have if he did not use the magic amplifying and head-ache inducing jewelry.
A few more seconds had passed, and Rakasvi's usually active mind began to wander. He looked to the decorative framed images on the wall. The ancient map lacked the accuracy of the newer models. As he recalled, Scarlet Moon Empire was no more, and the Kooluk was a little bit more north than originally drawn. He did get a better look at the portrait of the white-haired woman. It did not surprise him that it was a portrait of Lady Chris.
Lady Chris...Thinking about her made Rakasvi wary. No doubt that the True Water, no, the soul of Wyatt, had recognized him as plain as day. It must be hard for Wyatt to forget someone who blasted him with icicles the first time they met. It was harder for Rakasvi to forget the first guy who put a hole in his stomach with a spear the moment after. Magically, Wyatt avoided some of the more important organs and bones and was nice enough to heal Rakasvi with a handy water rune. Then they resumed fighting right afterward.
Wyatt was actually pretty good...
One day, he would probably have to come clean about all this before Lady Chris decides to investigate on her own.
Or not.
Hello Lady Chris, I'm also known as Julian. You know, the magician who almost accidentally killed your father so many years ago, which could have invariably denied your existence and cost the war of the First and Second Fire Bringer?
Rakasvi cackled to himself, running the possible confession sentence, amusing himself with the possible reaction. How will she take it? Would she be shocked? Would she be angry? By his luck, she would probably try to cut him down right then and there, and if not, have some subordinate cut him down instead. Then Sir Borus would probably dismiss him as tutor and he would still end up poor. I probably don't want that. Thinking about money made Rakasvi depressed. He had so much time to accrue money but he happened to always spend it or put it away somewhere he couldn't get to as easily. Being the lazy bum that he was, he did not want to go to Falena to withdraw potch. They might still have that price on his head... And I'lll be even poorer after this trip, he thought with a pout.
Feeling poor gave him a dry taste in his mouth. He wanted enough money so he could pay for a decent suite and actual hot meals on a ship that didn't look like it'll sink at any moment. Sitting among the damp crates with the rats for freeloading definitely sucked the last time he tried.
But he'll probably dismiss me as is. I am asking for a lot of time off. Rakasvi realized that he had only worked here for a little over a quarter of a year, hardly enough time to inspire confidence. Look at Virgil, who had worked probably more than thirty years for Redrum and never took a day off. Or Derek and Lotty, both having worked without complaint since their memory began and never having left the job. Rakasvi's request was like asking a bear to juggle six chain weight balls while standing on a rocking chair and balancing a stick with a plate on top; in other words, stupidly impossible. In all his careful preparation, Rakasvi had forgotten to even ask for permission, which made him want to kick himself. Then there were his own wishes to stay here, since the pay was decent and he did live in relative comfort and anonymity. Morgan was perhaps the best pupil he had in a long while. Lady Chris was taking her sweet time to discover another True Rune right in the capital of her beloved nation. Even the hound dogs had yet to find him.
"But you are what you are. You cannot turn a blind eye like all the others," a jovially incriminating voice in his head reminded. "Other bearers never appreciate the incredible good they could accomplish with their Rune. They fear the result if they lost control. They fear for their close friends, fear for their nations, fear for the self-destruction if the Rune turned on their owner. But that fear incapacitated them! Think of the good! The good! The good!" The voice chortled happily.
"Just like that time when I annihilated eight thousand lives just so that Leknaat could have her wonderful Wind Mage?" Rakasvi asked the voice sarcastically. "Who happened to betray her and destroy himself like I said he would."
"So? It was only eight thousand lives. What of the millions dead with Luc's little ordeal? He was only seven times younger than you with that tally mark."
"You are heartless," said Rakasvi.
"What can I say? I am you," said the voice in a sing-song way. "Your fear overcomes you, like all others."
"I am not afraid," said Rakasvi tartly as if to assure himself. "I just think those idiots should take care of themselves for once."
"No. You are right. You are not afraid," the voice corrected himself, "You just hate Harmonian winter."
Rakasvi grumbled to himself. It was one of the many reasons he never liked living in Harmonia. It was a little past mid autumn right now in Vinay, which meant full snow storms were merrily burying all of old Harmonian territory in knee-high snow. Worst of all was that it wasn't the light, fluffy, nimbus-like snow. It was still the half-melting, half-dry snow, excellent for slipping and getting comfortably dry and warm toes miserably wet and cold. That happened to be his worse pet peeve.
"You're committed anyways, stupid. You already asked during supper," the voice reminded him.
"Oh...shucks..."
His conscience probably wanted to torment him more with self-righteous speech, but it shut up as soon as the door opened.
The door opened with a click, and Sir Borus entered, wearing normal civilian clothes of a loose shirt and slacks. He wore soft boots and walked as silently as a cat. He looked taller without the hulking bulk of armor, and even slightly soft and weak like an accountant of a bank. However, there were two daggers tucked right on the side of his boots that did not escape Rakasvi's attention.
Respectfully, Rakasvi stood up. "My Lord," he addressed formally.
Borus nodded. He went behind the desk and sat down. "Have a seat," he said in the usual deep commanding voice.
Rakasvi smiled humbly and seated himself. He looked nervously at his Master, wondering what Borus would say.
Borus settled in the slightly dusty chair. It had been about two weeks since he came into this room. Each time when he had the chance to stay in Vinay, there would be a mountain of paperwork. Permits to sign off, ledgers to notarize. This room was first furnished with the idea that he could do most of that here, until he found it more efficient to do most of it at Brass castle. Trafficking paperwork was definitely no fun.
"When and where do you wish to go?" Borus finally asked, getting straight to the point.
"Tomorrow," answer Rakasvi clear and concisely. "Budehuc castle."
"Budehuc," repeated Borus. Budehuc was a merchant center, as well as the neutral fortress between all factions. It had been put into excellent service as the headquarters of the second Fire Bringers ten years ago, home to some of the most eccentric people Borus had ever met. However, it would be good if some of those notable people were brought here. That would certainly impress if not amuse their foreign dignitary.
"I understand that I have only been here for three months and I have no right to ask something like this," Rakasvi said, taking on a more humble voice, "and it's rushed. But please grant me this leave. I swear I will return and continue to serve you with all my heart."
"Alright."
Rakasvi blinked. "What?" There was no way that Borus could be letting him off that easily. Borus had not demanded for the specific reason, or who was to be visited. He did not even sound curious! Rakasvi thought his hearing must have finally failed after all these years.
Borus leaned back on his chair. "I have a document that I need delivered to Master Thomas, Lord of Budehuc castle as is. I will let you go if you are willing to take it to him."
"Oh." Upon hearing the catch to his release, Rakasvi relaxed.
"I will have to dock you 750 potch of pay during time of absence. If you agree, then you may return after three weeks."
Rakasvi did not believe his luck. He thought it would take more convincing. "YES of course!"
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And Rakasvi's luck did not end there.
...sort of.
Lord Borus had provided him with a new fur-lined cowled cloak and a fine chestnut horse with coal black mane from his own stables. Borus did not want his messenger to show up in Budehuc looking like a common wretch off the streets. He had no doubt that the Guild Masters had sent invitations to Master Thomas and his notable associates. Unfortunately, Thomas still had doubts about the graciousness of the Zexen council since they did continuously attempt to impose ridiculous taxes on all the lands surrounding Budehuc. All those untaxed trades among Zexen border groups made the guild masters nervous. They were convinced, even after Thomas had so amicably showed them the meager account books, that Thomas was hoarding all the profits underneath that patched-up castle of his. The council's orders to the knighthood to seize the castle had more or less been ignored since the Captain of the knights or Mighty Six always love to stupid and the parchment that contained the order to besiege the castle always mysteriously ended up in the pig slops. With that aside, Borus had predicted that any actual message from the council would not end up on Thomas's desk until months after it was sent. Since Rakasvi was going to Budehuc, he might as well carry a formal invitation.
Rakasvi shifted in his cloak, feeling rather happy that he felt particularly warm in fur and the fresh set of clothes. His pack fit snuggly close to him under the cover of the cloak. Summer here was much like winter back in the islands, cool and rainy. The fur of the coat was water proof; he would have no troubles with rain. Rakasvi thanked Borus again for such a great gift. However, the horse was another matter.
Rakasvi gazed in the horse's black pupils, troubled with what he would do with it. Rakasvi had originally thought that Borus would just let him go and take it on faith that he would return within the agreed-upon three weeks. He did not think Borus would give him a horse to speed his travels. It was a good steed too, muscles so obviously firm underneath the finely groomed coat. Its breath was hot and slightly stinky with vigor. But what was a teleporting mage going to do with a horse?
"Take this to Master Thomas," said Borus, handing over the delicately bowtied heavy envelop. It was fairly early in the day, at a time when the light from the sun should barely peak over the eastern plains. There was no sun right now, however, but ominous rolling clouds threatened a damp morning.
Rakasvi ignored the distant rumbling of thunder and accepted the paper with all the careful piety of a Liberian.
"Tell Thomas that Lady Chris has a request for him and that he is to reply within two days," commanded Borus.
Rakasvi nodded seriously. This was an official task that he must not fail or else he may lose the money and roof over his head permanently. "I will not fail you, my lord."
"You sure you do not require an escort?" asked Borus. "One of the squires would not mind accompanying you."
Rakasvi shook his head. They had the discussion last night. There were dangers outside in the wilderness, dangers that no soft lad from the cities could withstand. "I will be fine. I can protect myself." Rakasvi said, showing off the rusty and disgustingly ornate sword that Borus did not knew Rakasvi had.
"Owning a sword does not mean talent," said Borus coolly. There were many rich yuppies of Guild Master's children who tried out swordsmanship with their showy blades.
"Well, with me, you might be surprised," said Rakasvi with a smirk. He hopped on the horse with the natural ease of an equestrian. He felt the muscles of the equine fidget right beneath him. The horse snorted aggressively, wanting to burst into a charge as soon as it could. Rakasvi put a hand on the horse's neck, telling it to calm down. He might still have a usage for the animal on the return trip and did not want it to run away.
"I wish you a safe trip," said Borus, looking up at the youth on the horse. For an odd moment, Rakasvi looked different. High up on a horse, he seemed to change into a different person. A silver ring with a small red gem on his finger sparkled. The regal bearing was impossible to deny.
"My wholehearted gratitude for the gifts," said Rakasvi, breaking the illusion. "I shall return as soon as possible."
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yawn I'm sleepy since it's about 1am and I have to studyat some point for an exam that I missed this morningXX
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's no fun reading something that makes you feel ill afterwards. Like reading some of my assigned readings that gave me the feelings of "those are manyhours of my life that I will never get back..."
Suikorin
