It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)
Episode 12: Long Live the King
By Sulia Serafine
[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.
E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.
IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.
Rating of this episode: Let's say… borderline PG-13/R… Why? Because there's a little bit of everything, all wrapped into one. Wah. I'm pretty sure I just quoted a song and I don't know which. *frown* Anyway, there are some dark tones to the episode at the very in. Nothing obscene, just slightly creepy. That's what the R rating is for, just in case someone gets too spooked.
~~
Since they arrival at the Palace, Joren and Neal took it upon themselves to practice with their weapons of choice whenever they had a spare chance. They had no idea how difficult their enemies would be. Yahiko's instructors helped them train without protest. He had adamantly demanded their help. And if there was one thing about being a prince that Yahiko didn't mind, it was always getting whatever he wanted. The prince adored both foreigners without question. But they still considered him a child, despite his true age, and were hesitant to reveal too much of their plans to him.
Two other warriors were chosen to go to the Black City. The first was a man named Borealize [Author's note on pronunciation: bohr-ee-ah-leez] who was of a very distant relation to the royal family. He had dark brown hair cropped above his ears and had astoundingly bright blue eyes, a sign of his bloodline. He was perhaps as tall as Faleron, but stockier and more reserved. It was also hinted that he was of partial western origin, but that he was a closer relation to Shinkokami than to the pure royal line. When Neal heard of this, he warmed up rather considerably to the warrior. He even visited Borealize in his home in hopes to hear more about Shinkokami herself.
The second was a man named Selirithel. He appeared to the two DJPF officers as a tall willowy man that glided across a room like a shadow. His cloak was midnight black. The hood covered his head, barely allowing them to see a few long strands of silver white hair. Looking into his deathly pale face was like staring into death itself, they mutually decided. Even his coal black eyes seemed to absorb light so that the room dimmed whenever he entered. It was rumored that Selirithel had been in a branch of the royal family that had suffered disgrace by producing a number of half western bastards, Selirithel included, but Enishi had pardoned him for reasons unknown.
Liam remained aloof during those days of preparation. He never strayed too far from his master's side, but didn't engage in any conversation with the king himself. He seemed to be angry with Enishi and didn't know how to properly show it. He threw Joren and Neal as many dirty looks as he could, and often snapped at Yahiko if the prince came within close range.
Imrah had been duly compensated for his troubles. While at the Palace, he had been given small gifts of silks and incense. For some reason, however, Joren and Neal had not been permitted to see him after that first day in the library. Yahiko later told them that the guide had been in private conference with the king before being escorted back to the outpost by Shinkokami.
Joren had his suspicions. In the pre-dawn of the day they were supposed to leave, he sat with Neal in the garden. He was perched on top of nine feet tall arch made out of white, diamond-flecked stone that and stretched over a gate while Neal sat atop a shorter wall that divided the garden into its many different sections. It had been an unspoken fact that they could only trust each other in this strange new land hidden in the mist. And so, they were prone to seek each other out for company, whether the other wanted it or not.
"Do you think they brainwashed Imrah before they let him go?" Neal asked quietly. He had drawn his knees to his chest, idly fingering the slingshot that was stuck into his belt. He looked up at the dark silhouette of his partner against the pink and purple colored sky. It would be half an hour yet before sunrise.
The blond sat precariously on top the foot-wide arch with one leg tucked underneath him and the other swinging freely in the air. He shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me. But then, I don't care anymore. That's not our focus."
"I still have a lot of questions to ask, but Yahiko seems scared to say anything."
"I have questions, too. There's no use in asking them, though. They're not so important anymore."
Neal frowned, deeply troubled. "I've been thinking about the cultural make-up of the City. In such an isolated place, after a few centuries, wouldn't you be worried about inbreeding? I'm sure they've taken that into consideration. So maybe every now and then, they take in some foreigners. New blood. Whether they're travelers or treasure hunters… they forget all about their homes and stay blissfully ignorant here."
"They don't forget. Whatever this City does to them, it keeps their memories," Joren replied. "Think of Gatekeeper. He remembered where he came from. The only change… was his desire. He no longer desired worldly things. He only desired the lot that was cast to him and no more, no less."
"What about the lifespan of these people? Is it just the royal family, or does it apply to everyone here?"
"Something's in the water," Joren mused, a smirk threatening to appear on his face.
His partner cracked a smile. "I probably wouldn't enjoy it anyway. Look at Yahiko. He's been a kid for at least forty years. I wouldn't be able to stand being on the verge of puberty that long. I'd probably have apoplectic fits."
After that, they remained quiet for several minutes. The darkness in the sky was beginning to recede. Underground, the crystals would slowly come to life again one by one. A new day was beginning and the City would become a vibrant, bustling collection of wonders once again.
Joren stretched out both of his legs before jumping off the arch and landing in a crouch on the ground. He raised his arm over his head and caught the sword and scabbard that Neal tossed down to him. Securing it to his belt again, he also waited for Neal to jump down from the wall and land beside him. His partner grabbed his steel reinforced quarterstaff, tampered with magic so as to be extremely lighter in weight, from the wall that it leaned against.
The two men watched the horizon a bit longer. They could barely see it over the tall leafy hedges of the garden, but there it was: a sliver of yellow and orange light that would soon guide their way east to the Black City.
"We're never going to see a sunrise quite like that again," Neal said softly.
Joren nodded. "We have other things to think about, our priorities."
"Of course."
"It's not going to be a glorious, history-making rescue."
"I didn't expect it to be."
"We're more likely to be miserable than triumphant."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
Joren turned his gaze away from the dawn and studied his partner. Neal had toned down his attitude tremendously since their arrival at the Palace. It surprised him how mature the infamous flirt could be. A shadow passed over Neal's face from a bird flying above. The distraction caused him to face his partner. His green eyes met Joren's blue ones. The bright, grassy color had faded somewhat. After a moment's consideration, Joren held out his bare hand to him.
Neal hid any reaction of surprise, but accepted it and closed his own hand firmly around Joren's.
As dawn came, they went to the eastern side of the Palace that bordered the Valley Plains. Waiting for them were five mounts, wolves even larger than the ones that Shinkokami had summoned. The five beasts lay down on their bellies, chewing raw meat and sometimes snapping their jaws at each other for pieces. Neal took the time to walk in front of them, trying to pick out the least dangerous one. He finally selected a white juvenile male with one golden eye and one gray eye.
Enishi, Yahiko, and several of his advisors came to see them off. Liam did not bid farewell to either the king or the prince. Instead, he focused on taking inventory of everyone's supplies and packs while reinforcing the lightening wards that would alleviate the wolves' burdens. He did not bother to glance at either Joren or Neal, but spoke instructions to Borealize and Selirithel as if they were the only other men in the party.
Yahiko ran up to Neal, a war of emotions flickering across his face. The tall officer ruffled the boy's soft white hair and smiled.
"I want to go with you there, where all the adventure is."
"It's not what you think it is," Neal told him gently. "There's no fun, no glory. It's just a dirty job." He cuffed him lightly in the shoulder. "Work hard and listen to your uncle. I'll do some target practice with you when I get back, okay?"
The prince's eyes lit up. "Promise?"
"Promise," Neal nodded. He faltered a bit when the boy took it as a cue to throw his arms around Neal's waist and give him a hug. When Yahiko released him, Neal crouched to the prince's level and whispered, "Now, do me a favor?"
"Sure!"
"Put in a good word for me with your cousin Shinko, okay?"
Yahiko pouted. "No offense, but you have better luck attracting a milk cow."
They both looked up when they heard Joren masking his laughter with coughing a few feet away. Neal straightened up and imitated a superior pose. Only partially offended, he grumbled. "Yeah, who needs any of you?"
While the three were gathered at the mounts, Enishi approached Liam. Not until the fifth time that the king cleared his throat did the man turn around and face him.
"You forget your duties."
Liam lifted his chin higher in a show of defiance. "On the contrary. I remember my duties just fine."
"Then stop acting like a brat," Enishi hissed only loud enough for him to hear. He stepped closer to Liam, his eyes burning with a wildfire that Liam had seen only once before. "When his business is done here, he will go home. And I will not pursue his loyalty any longer."
"Do whatever you want," Liam replied, as if acid dripped from his tongue. "I am merely servant, not son. I am not of the original blood, nor do I care to be."
"I could put you back in the gutter where I found you, flies buzzing around your gray flesh."
"It would be a welcome gesture," the younger man snarled before picking up his pack and stalking away.
Time came for the five men to mount up and depart. Neal and Yahiko waved enthusiastically at each other while the others bowed their heads courteously. Joren caught Enishi's eye and glared at the king, turning his head away and goading his mount to move to the rear of the pack. With a sharply yelled command from Liam, the five wolves bounded away into the Plains, following a path that would eventually lead them out of the Valley and into the colder region beyond.
~~
Nearly a week later, Keladry woke up groggily to find herself in a holding cell. The cell seemed to be carved out of the side of cave, leaving only an opening on one side where iron bars stretched vertically to prevent her escape. Despite that, she found amenities such as a bed covered with soft quilts, a small table and chair, and a curtain in the corner from behind which she found a chamber pot.
Across the way from her, she saw Faleron in a similar cell, though he was still fast asleep. Keladry got out of bed. Most of her layers had been stripped off and hung on the back of the chair. She now reached for a jacket and put it on. The floor was cold on her sock-covered feet. She glanced around for her shoes and eventually located them underneath the bed.
Dressed, she tentatively touched the bars. Keladry half-expected them to give her an electric shock, like she'd seen other prisons have. Assured of their harmlessness, she leaned against them and decided to wake her companion up.
"Psst. Faleron! Faleron, wake up!"
The young man groaned and moved slightly. She called to him again. On her third try, he opened his eyes sleepily. Yawning, Faleron sat up and looked over his shoulder to see her.
"Officer? What are we doing here? What happened?" He rubbed his eyes. "The last thing I remember is being captured by those wretched mountain men."
She pressed her face against the bars and strained to see anything else outside their cells. "I don't know. That's the last thing I remember, too. I've felt like I've been asleep for a decade."
Faleron did as Keladry and dressed himself. He rubbed the back of his head where he had been struck with the spear. "Me, too. Hey! Where's Kennan? Isn't he here?"
That detail had gone unnoticed by Keladry. Now she frowned, shaking her head. She hadn't thought at all of Cleon since she woke up. It made her feel slightly guilty that his welfare hadn't been the first to spring to her mind. Keladry began inspecting her cell. She felt around the pockets of her other parka and was pleased to discover her energy glaive. Perhaps the hunters had thought it was just a silly useless metal cylinder.
She pressed the button that extended it, smiling inwardly as the pole arm extended. She pressed another unnoticeable button and suddenly, a bright lime green flame burst into illumination at the end of the glaive. She slashed forward with great ease. It was fluidity in the motion that she had missed dearly. The iron bars made many sharp clangs on the floor as they dropped.
She cautiously stepped outside of her holding cell and looked both ways down the hall. All the other cells were empty. The doors at the far end of the hall did not open. She nodded to Faleron. "Step back."
Faleron pressed himself against the far wall and held an arm over his face to protect himself from any sparks. Keladry lashed out again, in two broad sweeps of her glaive to take out another dozen or so bars. She jumped back reflexively as the bars came clattering to the ground.
"Get your stuff. We have to find Cleon as soon as possible."
The two gathered their belongings quickly. Keladry extinguished the flare at the end of her glaive, but kept her hand near the button should she need it. They moved toward the doors slowly, still unsure if anyone was monitoring them. It seemed very abnormal to leave prisoners unguarded. But then again, they had been in some sort of drugged sleep for a week.
Keladry tested the doorknob, which was surprisingly western in style. There was even an oval shaped hole for a key underneath. She turned to Faleron. "It's locked. Can you pick it?"
By the look on his face, she knew that it was not something the he liked being asked of him. Since the incident and Galla and his reformed life working for Daine, Faleron had not preferred to use any of his old skills. Even little favors asked by his friends brought on a tinge of pain somewhere deep inside. He hid it well, most of the time, but every now and then he slipped, showing how he truly felt about the subject.
Keladry began examining the keyhole herself. "It's all right if you don't want to. I can try—"
"No," Faleron interrupted instantly. "No, I'll do it. It's fine." He knelt down in front of keyhole and studied it. He patted his sides. "I don't have any tools, though." He eyed her glaive. "That thing slices through metal like a hot knife and butter, right?"
She shrugged. "If I adjust it to do so."
"Can you minimize the flare into a fine thin flame?"
She seemed confused by his request, but collapsed the pole back to its thick cylinder shape and started to match his description. After twisting parts and fiddling with almost microscopic shaped buttons on the ends, a tiny needle-like green flame appeared. She showed it to him for approval.
"Can't we just melt the whole thing or force the door?"
Faleron was still peering at the exterior of the lock. He then put his ear to the door and knocked softly. He repeated this process in several other places.
"No. The door is too heavy to force and the bolt is not going to move by melting the entire thing." He took the collapsed glaive from her and retreated to the part of hall where the iron bars lay. He bent over the pieces and began cutting tiny strips. He put on his gloves and began bending the tips while they were still warm. The former thief worked silently until he was satisfied.
Keladry watched in fascination. It was easy to tell that he was in his element. He worked deftly with his hands, quickly creating a crude set of tools. Faleron returned to the door and handed back the glaive.
He used a pick with a tiny hook at the end to survey the inside of the lock. He pressed his ear close, listening for something that she could never hear if she were in his position. He rocked back on his haunches, tapping his chin deep in thought before selecting a pick and a plain strip of metal and resumed his work.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say these people have been making locks far longer than any other culture ever has," he muttered irritably. "There are two many pins. What kind of bloody piece of…" He emitted a growl of frustration before leaning his ear even closer to the lock. His hands moved slowly now, as if any slight movement could undo all his work.
Finally, he twisted his tools inside the keyhole, turned the knob, and slowly pushed the door open. He gathered his tools and placed each of them into random pockets, some even tucked into the waistband of his pants. Keladry watched him stretching his legs.
"Why do you do that? Put the picks there?"
"If they search me, I might get lucky and keep a few. Though I'd rather not," he explained absently. He motioned her ahead of him, still having two tinier picks to hide among his person. Something told her that she didn't want to see where he hid them.
Exiting their prison, they were surprised to find no guards in the large hall outside. It was incredibly dim. Sconces on the wall held torches. They had the choice of going either left or right and finally decided to go right. Keladry made note of the directions they took as they made their way stealthily through the alien place.
They turned a corner. Both stopped where they were, apprehensive of moving another inch. Two men dressed in black armor stood on either side of a large set of iron doors. Each held a double-headed war axe that was mounted on four-feet long pole arm. The two dark bearded men glowered at the newcomers.
Faleron reacted first, as he always did, bowing his head respectfully to them. He took a deep breath and smiled charmingly. "Hello, gentlemen! I am the western ambassador Valdric Dellion Senestine and this is my bodyguard…" he glanced at Keladry distractedly, "Tula. We're being expected, so if you wouldn't mind…"
Keladry nodded blankly, although she wondered what could have possessed him to act. Perhaps one of his many talents was also being a con artist. She doubted, however, that this would fool the guards in front of them.
The two men bowed respectfully and began to open the doors. Their chain mail and armor made a mess of noises as the guards moved their limbs.
"He's been expecting you," one of them said in a deep voice.
Faleron dared not show his delightful surprise. He turned to Keladry and beamed triumphantly. "You heard them, Tula! Onward we go!"
He marched forward confidently. Keladry rolled her eyes and followed, still keeping a wary eye on the two men as they swung open the doors to grant them entrance. If Faleron felt any discomfort, he was hiding it too well. As they entered, they took in their new surroundings not out of wonder, but out of the instinctive need to know any other methods of exit.
They were in a large throne room. A metal chandelier holding dozens of flickering white candles hung from a chain attached to a metal loop in the ceiling. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting knights and kings fighting evil monsters. The high windows were simply adorned with dusty velvet curtains. According to the color of the sky, it must have been nighttime. Minstrels dressed in dark brown colors stood off to the side, playing their lutes and pipes. On the opposite side, several stern looking men in dark robes and cloaks were reading silently to themselves from scrolls and parchments. One held a large scythe as if he meant to cut their heads from their bodies as easily as he could cut and gather wheat.
It was the sight directly in front of them, however, that caused Keladry and Faleron to wonder what the hell was going on.
Cleon immediately sat up from where he had been cattily laying across a large throne encrusted with gold and rubies. Four women in mostly revealing dresses made of sheer scarves and white satin had been feeding grapes to him while cooing in adoration. They licked their blood red lips and ran their pink tongues over their slightly pointed teeth as their shadowy eyes saw what was interrupting them. The redhead pushed them away now and stood up, rushing over to his friends in a fit of giddiness.
He was dressed in black and gold, a style of which reminded Keladry of medieval times where warriors fought with swords and shields. She barely caught a glimpse of a golden circlet on his head before the sharpshooter embraced both his friends in a large hug.
"Hey! You're awake! This is great. Now you can all the interesting things I've been up to," he cheered. He let them go and took a step back. He struck a pose with both hands on his hips, grinning like a madman. "Well, what do you think? Dashing, yes?"
Faleron smirked. "I'd have chosen a different adjective, one denoting the characteristics of pansies and daisies, but that works, too."
"Cleon, what's going on?" Keladry asked. She was happy that her friend was unharmed, but it didn't make sense why he was being given the royal treatment, literally, while they had been in jail cells. She eyed the rest of Cleon's court attendants with mistrust.
The redhead shrugged. "Well, after they knocked you both out, I displayed my fancy marksmanship. They started bowing down and worshiping me. It was so cool!" He laughed, but eventually stopped when he saw Keladry's dour expression. "Right. Well, it turns out that they have a prophecy that someone matching my description would come along and become their king in a time when no king had ruled for at least a century. So, they took us here to the, uh… Black City, I believe they call it. Anyway, they insisted on drugging both of you so you remained asleep because they have some rule about foreigners knowing the location." He grinned proudly. "They made an exception for me. I'm their new king, after all!"
The circumstances of the situation were becoming increasingly confusing. Keladry didn't know what to make of it. She looked over his shoulder at the men in the black robes. They gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Cleon… don't you think that this is a little weird? A lost civilization in the middle of nowhere, crowning you their king?"
"Well, of course it is! But they haven't harmed me or you, so I don't think they will." His eyes widened when he gasped. "Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!" Cleon laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "Your brothers and the rest of their crew are here! They're alive and safe!"
A wave of relief washed over her. She stared into her friend's eyes. His smile was infectious, and soon, she was smiling as well. She quickly regained her composure, putting on a serious face again, and took a deep breath. "So… they're here? They're okay?"
Faleron hummed in appreciation. "Good job, Kennan. You've outdone yourself."
"Well, at first, they were in the same holding cells that you were in. After all, they had trespassed or something. Now they're being fed and treated with the highest respect. I ordered it—did you hear that? I ordered it! ME! Ordering something! Isn't that the greatest thing you ever heard?"
"Tell me I can borrow a few of your grape-feeders and I'll call that the greatest thing I ever heard," Faleron replied.
Keladry gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "Say, Cleon? Can… can I see them now?"
The redhead slapped his forehead. "Well of course you want to see them! Go right ahead. Here, I'll take you myself." He winked at her and then cleared his throat. "I'm going to visit our other guests. Business and such will resume when I return."
Nearly everyone in the room with the exception of the three Mithrans bowed. An elder man in black robes spoke. His gaunt face reminded her of a skull. His skin looked as if it might fall off at any time from decay. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Cleon pumped his fist in the air twice as if celebrating the championship victory of his favorite sports team. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm toward the door and the guards opened it again. He grinned and ushered his friends before them.
"Oh, wait until you get to the food. It's absolutely heavenly! It's been my favorite thing so far!"
"Leave it to you to fall in love with the food," Faleron muttered, smiling.
As they walked down the hall, any one they came across bowed or curtsied to the redheaded king. Cleon puffed his chest out as he walked, reminding Keladry of a rooster who had proclaimed himself king of the coop. Neither she nor Faleron protested when he looped his arms with his and began gossiping quite like an excited schoolgirl.
His cheeks were flushed with emotion. "I was so surprised when we finally reached the Black City. It's just like its name—dark colored buildings and roads. Everything, really! They had torches and watchtowers everywhere. It was like stepping back into King Arthur's court, you know? Well, apart from the Elvira-like influence. Not that it's bad… just… weird."
Keladry was still disconcerted about the lucky turn of events. She glanced around her. The officer hadn't expected anything fancy at all, perhaps a cave with a bunch of men half starving while huddled around a fire. Now they were in a lost civilization hidden from the world. It seemed almost like a dream.
Or a nightmare, she thought. She looked warily at the dark walls and torches. "Cleon, are you sure we can trust these people?"
"Sure we can!"
Faleron caught on to Keladry's idea. "Kennan, have you thought of what you're going to do when we have to leave? It's not like you can stay and rule this… Black City."
Their tall friend forced himself to smile, though the feeling didn't quite reach his eyes. He sighed reluctantly. "Well, no. I hadn't thought of that yet."
They stopped in front of another large set of doors. Another guard with a spear and a sword sheathed at his waist bowed to Cleon. The man leaned his weapon against the wall while searching for the right key among his many others to open the door.
Keladry noticed how Faleron was staring at the keys. Despite his aversion to his former lifestyle, he continued to add more to his knowledge so that he might use it to aid himself later. They stepped back as the guard swung the door open.
"Why do you lock them in?" she asked.
"Oh, my advisor said it would be a good idea to do it so that they didn't get lost around the castle."
Keladry nodded, though inside she deeply resented the mere idea of locking up her brothers in a place they didn't want to be in. She withdrew her arm from Cleon's and walked ahead, though a growl from the guard caused her to stop. Obviously, to them, it was bad manners to walk ahead of the king. She waited patiently for Cleon and Faleron to walk evenly with her again.
They went down another hall and entered a brightly lit room. Inside, several beds of plush multicolored cushions were positioned in a circle around the room. Perfumes and incense attacked Keladry's nostrils, causing her to wave her hand in front of her face to disapate the smell. Women similarly dressed to the grape-feeders in the throne room lounged around comfortably, lying against the missing men from the plane.
A tall man who resembled Keladry in facial structure and hair color sat up from where he had been sleeping on the cushions. He stumbled over other mounds of pillows and cloths on the thick red carpet before sweeping Keladry into his arms. He even lifted her off her feet.
"Kel!" he cried, tears springing to his eyes.
Keladry, restraining her emotion more easily, smiled back at him. "Inness."
Her brother set her down and held her at arms distance to get a better look at her. While she was still dressed in her traveling clothes, Inness wore a long tunic, leggings, and his original hiking boots. In fact, she observed that all the missing men were now wearing the same black and red garments.
Another man, who was the same height as Kel, took his time getting up from his fruit servers and cushions. He had slightly darker brown hair and a tanner complexion. He acknowledged Cleon with a nod and faced Keladry. Unlike his brother, he only held out a hand for Keladry to shake.
"Hey, baby sister. Glad you could drop in on the party."
She took his cold hand in her warm one and nodded stiffly. "Right. Hi Conal."
Inness breathed out loudly. He'd never understand his brother's apathy toward the family. He knew that Keladry didn't know how to show her emotions well and that she was also focused with her work. Conal was an entirely different story. Watching his brother, he always received the impression that Conal detested having a family at all.
Brushing aside his uneasiness, he greeted Cleon, whom he had met the night before. "When will we be able to go home?"
"What? No longer interested in the pots and pans you came to find in the first place?" Conal snapped. He gestured around at their other companions watching from their beds. "I thought you would be ecstatic to finally be enjoying the attention."
Keladry suddenly remembered her conversation with Professor Wellam in Irontown. He had mentioned something about tracing the origins of artifacts that had supposedly come from the Yamanis though the objects did not match anything of contemporary Yamani art forms. Inness was devoted to his research and his expeditions, but Conal had only come along for the money.
Her archaeologist brother was having a strenuous time trying to put up with Conal's negativity. He ushered Keladry to take a seat where he had been eating fruits and nuts. The woman who had been lying there got up and curtsied. She poured a goblet of red wine for Keladry, staring at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable.
"It's not the same designs," Inness told her quietly, keeping his eyes lowered. "Nothing here matches what I'm looking for. It's… western influenced here. The entire city seems like a page out of the Mithran history book. I don't understand it. At least the pots I had showed slight contemporary Yamani influence."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. And though the idea of introducing this place to the world is mighty tempting, I'd rather go home and keep my mouth shut." He glanced around the room. "There's something not right about this place. I don't know what it is."
She took his hand in hers. "Did they mistreat you while you were in the prison?"
"No, no. They treated us fine. But the way they looked at us. It's different from being taken hostage in a foreign country—" He was referring to the year before where he had a misunderstanding while visiting the Bazhir over an archaeological dig. "It's like… they were expecting something to happen. Something… I don't know. I don't want to know. I just want to go home."
Keladry squeezed his hand. "I know. So do I."
She did want to go home. Her home, however, was no longer the same as her brother's. She longed for the company of her friends and her neighbors in Tusaine. She wouldn't even mind watching her boss Chief Flyn and Marshall Raoul play a game of chess for two hours if it meant being at home. Keladry realized that she could care less if Lalasa dragged her to the mall. She would gladly wolf down a whole plate of nachos if she could be at one of Lerant and Dom's football watching parties.
But she couldn't go home. Though they now had the opportunity to return home with her brothers and their crew, there were still missing persons on the bottom of their list. A spot inside her chest began to burn with unspoken anxieties.
Joren and Neal, she thought. Where are they?
~~
The wolves leapt down onto a ledge. It took the stern commands of their riders to keep them from howling at the full moon in the sky. After a week's worth of hard traveling, the beasts wanted very much to hunt down a mountain goat or even a small lamb to tear apart. Their riders calmed them and offered them raw chunks of birds that they had shot down during the day. Borealize dismissed them. He would summon them again with a high-pitched whistle when they were ready to depart again.
One of the riders walked up to the end of the ledge and knelt down, casting his gaze upon the dark city that greeted them. Strands of his silver white hair wafted in the breeze from under his hood. Another man crouched beside him, having put on a dark hood over his head as well.
"Selirithel, what do you see with those eyes of yours?" Liam whispered.
Coal black eyes widened. The five other comrades felt a strange pulse coming from the dark robed figure. They moved away naturally, watching him from a distance. The silver haired man held out a pale long fingered hand spread out in front of him. He hissed deep in his throat. Then, he withdrew his hand and hid it in his long sleeve. "Nine vessels without tainted blood dwell below."
"Nine," Neal murmured to Joren a few feet behind. "We're only after six."
His partner narrowed his eyes, watching the bright orange flames of the watchtower fires. The light reflected in his eyes, causing Neal to shiver out of fear. "You're right. We're only after six. Whoever the other three are, we'll leave them. We barely have enough resources to move six more, let alone nine. It might even be a trick."
"What if it's not a trick? Do we leave the other three there to die?" he whispered furiously.
"If you wish to be merciful, you may strike them down before we depart," Liam spoke, glaring at Neal. "It would be kinder than leaving them to be tortured by the Black City."
Joren nodded, for once agreeing with his rival. "Yes. We'll put them out of their misery and burn the bodies."
A voice deep inside him wondered if he would regret his words.
~~
Author's note: Hope you enjoyed it! Aww, I know. Many of you were expecting Keladry, Cleon, and Faleron to join their friends in Enishi's City. Alas, it was not so. But fear not! They are all now in one location, ready to be reunited (at least, that's what you think).
The beginning scene was meant to raise some interesting questions. Enishi's pardon of Selirithel, Liam and Joren's connections to Enishi, the mysteries of Enishijirou in general… Seeing as Keladry hadn't used her glaive in a while, I gave her the opportunity to show off her skills and her wonderful weapon. And as for Faleron's lock picking skills—I had fun with that. I sat down and read an entire introduction to lock picking at the library just for the heck of it. Maybe I'll think about learning. It makes for a good hobby.
Oh dear. Now we're in the Black City. Odd place, isn't it? Dark, ominous, gloomy, with dudes in black robes resembling grim reapers and women resembling succubae… This can't be good.
However, the next episode will not feature our heroes in the Black City. Their story is about to get a whole lot darker, and that being the case, I have decided to give you one last glimpse of wackiness and sidesplitting humor. The next episode stars none other than… THE RIDERS' OWN! Also guest starring Chief Flyn, Buri, Daine, Numair, the Conté family, Alanna, George, half their kids, and good ol' Myles!
COMING SOON: Episode 13 of It Could Be Worse Season 3: Good Cookin'! See ya there!