The Blue Fabrial

The highstorm loomed above the city, a massive whirling hurricane of rocks and ice. The winds that raged within howled like angry spirits. Its presence was severely pronounced by the vividly clear stormwall of clouds that seemed solid enough to be made of marble.

With this tempest on his heels Aristide Valentin, Alethkar Highprince of Information, Brightlord of the investigative branch of Alethi government, was on the prowl, his hands at the ready to summon his ancient Shardblade. Such a sword was a great distinction in itself, for men would trade kingdoms even to gain one. Such were their might.

He had a few days ago received word from the Alethi Ardentia, that one of their Soulcaster fabrials, a singularly beautiful cobalt and silver one, was missing after being transferred from Shulin to Kholinar, and from there, if it hadn't gone missing, would be up for transportation to Urithiru.

A device worn on one's hand, the Soulcaster itself was constructed of three metal rings worn on the middle three fingers, connected to delicate chains that wound their way to a central plate inset with three gemstones. The device was used to transform whatever the wearer was touching into a different substance. Even air could be transformed. As these devices were considered to be holy, only ardents, the intercessors of the Almighty were permitted to use them.

On his way to the palace at Kholinar to check the details of the shipping arrangements, he had been notified of two rogue ardents and he thought that they might have some bearing on the case.

As the roiling storm pounced upon the city, the men and women of Kholinar slipped swiftly into their homes to avoid its wrath. Valentin himself found a nearby restaurant and stepped inside just as the massive cloud swept through the street. This was fortunately his next stop in his search for the two ardents. He had already followed them on their way through Kholinar and hoped to find more information here. So far, the only clues he had been given was that one of the ardents was extraordinarily tall and the other extraordinarily short, and also that the shorter one was continually making a mess of the shops they entered.

As he strode towards the counter the man working it sighed and pointed at a seat in the back corner. The man's red beard either Horneater or Veden he couldn't tell, bristled with annoyance. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to dislike the prospect of spending the many hours of the storm with an unwanted visitor. Looking at Valentin he said, "If I'm gonna deal with ya fer the whole stormin' highstorm, yer gonna sit in the back where I can deal with ya the least." He grunted, small bits of spittle catching in the tangle of his beard. Valentin ignored this and walked up to the counter anyway. "What did I tell ya," the man sputtered, "Ya can sit in the back!"

"I won't be here long, and you would do well to talk with respect to your superior, Darkeyes." Valentin stated tersely. He used the term "darkeyes'' with a sinister derision, not as the man's actual name. He didn't care what that was.

Being a Darkeyes, as opposed to Valentin's status of Lighteyes meant that the man was required to do whatever Valentin said, without question. Valentin summoned his shardblade, the long, elegant, and slender blade coalescing from mist, condensation dripping from the hilt and tip. Not as a threat, but a reminder of the man's low citizenship.

The man coughed and suddenly bowed with a newfound reverence. "Oh, Brightlord, sorry Brightlord! Er⎯⎯⎯ I didn't mean ter offend ya! Please! I have children to feed!"

"Oh it's quite alright Darkeyes," Valentin replied dismissing the Shardblade. "Now, between you and I, let us never speak of this again, I should not like you to look upon that blade again, it would not mean well for you." He looked the poor restaurant owner over with a swift glance that seemed to size him up to the man's confused terror. The restaurant keeper offered a response, "Would ya⎯⎯⎯ Er, you, care for some food, I've got some lovely⎯⎯⎯"

"It's not about food, I just want information." Valentin harshly interjected.


In a few minutes, the man quickly offered all that had happened that day to Valentin's contemplation. The two ardents had certainly been here and the shorter one had smashed a hole in the window, but it was well that it couldn't be seen through the steel Storm-Shutter. Apparently after the two had left, the shorter one had run back in asking after a parcel he thought he'd lost. He had said that if it was found it was to be sent to Urithiru by the Oathgate in Kholinar. The owner had subsequently found the parcel and followed the ardent's directions.

Strange. . . That was exactly where the missing Soulcaster fabrial was supposed to be sent. Was the ardent trying to replace it with a fake? The restaurant owner had also mentioned they were on their way to the palace. So that was where Valentin went.


When he found the two ardents, they were sitting on a bench in front of the palace, wet with the water from the trail end of the preceding storm. He slipped behind a nearby tree to spy. They were discussing some matter concerning Battar, the deity of wisdom and reason. The tall ardent wore a hood, and seemed to be arguing against Battar, saying that she herself denied the Ardent Theology by holding reason to be higher than faith.

Valentin would never have spoken publicly something so heretical, he left that to Jasnah Kholin, his cousin and professed heretic. He, like her, denied the divinity of Honor, the widely accepted Almighty, but unlike her, would never directly endanger his reputation.

Suddenly he heard something he never expected to hear. To his great surprise, the tall ardent leapt up from his seat demanding the Soulcaster. The shorter ardent sat still, smiling. The tall ardent again made his demand, "Give it to me!" he hissed. Then his countenance changed.

"Ah. . . But there is something wrong, no? Something different about the one you carry, no?" He then answered his own question with a dramatic flourish. "Yes, yes, it is different. For I Hercule Flambeau have changed the parcels while you, Brother Brown were distracted. Foolish man! And it is against the Ardent Code to hurt⎯⎯⎯"

"No, no, It is not like that, you cannot take the parcel from me, not because it is fake, but because I haven't got it, you see." The short ardent replied. Flambeau guffawed.

"Why then you have sent in a fake you celibate simpleton!" He chuckled heartily.

"Why no I haven't. I believe that I saw you change the two parcels at the coffee shop, and so I switched them at the restaurant. From there, I had the owner send it to the Oathgate."

"So that is what you went back in for!" Flambeau laughed. And then he suddenly extracted from his pocket a brown parcel, and tore off the paper revealing his fake soulcaster. His jaw dropped.

"Yes. and another thing," Brother Brown continued. "I believe that you are in a very bad position, not really being an ardent, but rather being a slave with a Shash brand on your forehead covered by your hood. I wonder what you did to get that?"

To have a Shash brand on one's forehead was a mark of ultimate shame. It meant that the branded person had committed an extremely terrible act that should have been paid for by execution, but denied such an easy punishment, and forced to be humiliated for the rest of their life.

Flambeau gaped at Brother Brown, and checked his forehead, and found that the hood had not slipped to reveal the brand as he thought in that moment.

"How in the Almighty's tenth name do you know so much?! It has been covered for the whole time!"

"You continually checked that very spot, something no one would do, save a Shash branded slave who had run away, or a child with horrible acne, as you are obviously not a child then you must be the other option. But anyway, I don't think it matters at this point, considering all the pandemonium I have caused on the way here. By now, it should have attracted the attention of the very Highprince of Information sent to recover the Soulcaster."

Valentin stepped out from behind the tree, Shardblade summoned. Flambeau wheeled about, saw the Blade, and being a man of theatricality and artistry, gave a great bow, as if he'd finished a grand act. Valentin, thoroughly impressed by the Brother Brown's skills, chastised Flambeau saying, "No, no, do not bow to me, for you and I, we shall bow to our master. The two men looked at Brother Brown, and bowed deeply, despite the man's status as Darkeyes, while the little man stood, blinking in the fading rain.