**Bruised and groaning people cover the library floor, most sporting wheel
tracks on their backs or foreheads. Shade is hiding behind a book-laden
library cart, trying to explain the ordeal**
Shade: It's the cart's fault, I tell you! The cart!
-.- Okay, so that hasn't happened. YET. I work at a library, if you can't guess from the opening blurb, and for eight hours a week I stalk through looming bookshelves dragging about this infernal carrying cart. -.- It seems to have a mind of it's own, and I'm slowly becoming convinced that it is somehow indirectly related to 'The Luggage' from the Discworld book series. It does stupid things, knocks things over, and sets off the elevator alarm while I'm trying to move it around. I wouldn't be very surprised if it ate my foot either. Try as I might, I guess that brute strength just can't win against an erratic wheeled quadruped. (Don't get me wrong: I love the job. It's wonderful. It's just the library carts I don't like. Grr.)
Ragnarok's POV:
Thunder rumbled sullenly overhead, the heavy sound echoing endlessly through the caverns and galleries deeper in the caves. Moisture dripped from hanging stalactites and collected on the worn limestone walls, dampening the blue-grey lichens that grew in unhealthy, leprous patches near the cavern mouth. Outside the rain fell in a steady downpour, and the slowly dissipating mist hanging over the marshes might have been better described as an inland fog. The river flowing from the marshes into the cave had been swollen by the rain; after a dry summer it was now spilling over its banks, flooding the narrow stone causeway some thoughtful person had built some centuries ago to aid travelers passing through.
Dart sat on a smooth boulder at the river's edge, watching the falling rain pensively while he fiddled with the plaster cast under his sling. "This weather probably won't break anytime soon, will it?" He said glumly, his voice all but lost in the sound of the rushing water.
//Do I look like a weather god?//
"Sorry." He sighed, then frowned, digging at the skin under his cast with his fingers.
//Stop that//
/It's itchy!/
//It's healing. Leave it alone//
Grumbling, Dart tucked his arm back into his jacket and got to his feet. Walking gingerly along the slippery stone bank, he made his way towards the fire burning further back along the passage.
As we approached, Zion looked up from his place next to the fire. He had one of the temple issue saddles set across one knee and was slowly working off the silver crests with the knife Dart had lent him. Kaelin sat with her legs crossed against the cave wall, chewing her lip as she turned one of the flat, graven disks over in her hand. It reflected in the firelight, and spots of light danced over the dripping roof of the cavern as she handed back to Zion, shaking her head. "Even if we melt them down, you won't get much from them. That's really a very inferior metal. There's almost no pure silver in there and the 'gold' is just treated brass."
Zion looked glum, but he bent back over the saddle and set back to work. "Great. So what are we going to do with them? Just leave them here?"
Kaelin leaned forward and poked a burning log with a long stick of driftwood. "I'll hold onto them. We might not be able to use them, but I know someone who might buy them off of us. There's always people who can put things like that to dishonest use."
Dart chuckled, bending over one of the saddlebags. After a day of wandering about in the caves much of the supplies were gone, but there was still a few small bags of dried grains and leathery vegetables left near the bottom. Filling one of Kaelin's dented tin bowls with water from the river, he poured some ground meal into it before setting it into some glowing coals raked away from the fire. Partially covering it with one of the crests, he settled down across the fire from Zion to wait for it to cook.
As the other two started to argue about the morality of the respective situation, Dart stared at the fire, his eyes not really focusing. /So it should take the rest of the day to reach Bale, assuming that the weather remains like this/
//About that// I agreed. //We're going to have to leave them for a while once we reach Bale, I think. We need to find out whether or not Ayrel has been through their temple lately//
/They should be okay as long as they keep a low profile. Ah, that reminds me. What are we going to do about Zion?/
//What do you mean?//
/By now his description's been circulated throughout the Serdian Cults. He's sort of easy to recognize. People will be watching for him, especially if we really were sighted in Seles/
//Figure something out// I told him. //Worse come to worse, we'll just leave him in the hills while you two find someone willing to take us to Fueno//
/If that's how you want to do it/
"Hey, Ry?" Dart looked over at Zion, who had finished with the saddles and was watching him with a concerned look on his face. "You alright? You sorta zoned out for a minute just then."
"Did I?" Dart affected a yawn, covering his mouth with a hand. "S'cuse me. Sorry. I guess I'm still waking up, that's all."
Zion shrugged and lifted the saddle from his knee, examining the scarred leather critically. "I think we'll still want to throw a cloth or something over these. I got rid of the crests and trimmed off some of the leg flap, but they won't stand up to any scrutiny."
"I don't think that anyone will notice." Kaelin fiddled with a tear in her shirt, then winced as the rip opened up farther. "The temple sells off its surplus sometimes, so it wouldn't be all that suspicious a sight. And if the city guard notice, we can just bribe them and be on our way," she added dryly.
"You can take care of that," Dart grimaced. "The last few weeks have just about emptied my pockets, I'm afraid."
"So we're going to need a boat, right?" Zion passed the knife he'd been toying with back to Dart. "How are we going to hire one if we don't have any money?"
Kaelin gave him a withering look. "If we sell those bloody crests, then we won't have to worry about it."
Zion's face darkened, but Dart cut in before they could start arguing again. "She's right, Zion. And we need the money." Leaning forward he pulled his bowl out of the coals and flicked off the cover. "Kaelin, you wouldn't be able to do anything about Zion's appearance, would you? Bale's a large city, but there's always the chance that someone might recognize him."
"What, a disguise?" The woman chewed on a lock of hair thoughtfully then spat it out again. "I could make him look like a wingly given the right stuff, but I can't do much with him with what we have just now. But I can get the both of you into the city without anyone noticing. I should be able to fix him up then." She stopped, pursing her lips slightly as she looked critically at Dart. "And you too, I think. If the Temples want you dead as much as they say, why hasn't anyone caught up with you yet?"
Dart shrugged, and I chuckled dryly. //They're dead, that's why. At any rate, I'm sure Ayrel would be displeased if anyone but her were to have the last say in the matter//
/She'll be holding her breath, then. We'll be around for a while yet/
//I'm sure she hates the thought//
/She's spoiled, Ark. Sooner or later she'll have to accept that not everything will happen the way she wants/
I laughed, but the dead weight of Dart's left arm chased any trace of mirth from the gesture. Joke though we might, both of us knew all too well that only a fool would take the girl lightly, and a dead one at that.
~ ~ ~
After several hours of steady downpour the thick clouds began to disperse, leaving the sun to shine timidly out over the sodden landscape. Brooks and streams that had dried up in the drought now spilled over their banks as they rushed along, green-yellow leaves bobbing wildly up and down in the current like children's boats. Riding forth from the watermedows, we traveled north along the muddy road at a steady jog that slowly ate away at the passing miles. The marshes gave way to gently rolling woodland, chilly and dripping in the rain's wake. Then these too fell away, and we cantered along the sloppy roads between acres of fields filled with men and woman alike hard at work bringing in the early harvest before the weather grew chill.
The sun had sunk back behind the heavy clouds when the walls of Bale came into sight; the dusky grey stone marred by dark streaks gained from a millennia of exposure. Over time the population had grown too large to fit within the old city boundaries, and a second settlement had sprung up outside the walls of the inner city. It spread out in every direction; a sea of slate and thatched roofs split at intervals by long, straight avenues that led to the gates of the inner city.
We had hardly had time to drink in the sight before Kaelin ushered us off of the road and out of sight behind the collapsing remains of an old farm building. After a quick muttered conversation she was off again, loping down the hill toward the city.
I watched her retreating form for a moment, then grunted as Dart turned away to tether his horse. //I hope she knows what she's doing. She said that she'd send someone to fetch us?//
/Apparently so/ Dart scratched at his chin, then frowned. After several days without a razor a course stubble had sprung up and the constant itching annoyed him to no end. /I don't like the word 'fetch'. It makes me feel like I'm livestock/
//It's just a word, Dart. You needn't get worked up over something like that. By the way, do you want to take a quick rest? You didn't get much sleep last night//
/Why are you being so accommodating all of a sudden?/ Dart asked suspiciously. /Are you ill or something?/
I ignored the last comment. //Fine. I'd like to talk to Zion for a while//
/You -are- ill/ Dart commented, but he did ease off to one side.
Zion had dismounted before Kaelin had left; now he was sitting on a crumbling section of the ruined wall, laboriously whetting the nicks and scratches from the aged steel. He glanced up momentarily as I approached, then turned his eyes back to the blade. "How long do you think she'll be?"
"As long as she needs to be, I imagine. You missed a spot."
"What? Oh." He touched the long scar in the blade, then shook his head. "That one's been there for years now. If I tried to polish that out the blade would probably snap in two."
"Years?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's a long time to use one sword."
"My brother gave it to me as a gift before he was sent away," He said defensively. "Besides," he added, "swords like this are difficult to find nowadays." Shifting his grip, he picked up his whetstone again.
"Your brother?"
Zion gave the blade a few vicious swipes with his stone, speaking in a tight voice. "He was a guardsmen when the temples decided embark on a crusade into the old wingly provinces to the east."
"Ah." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Would I be far off in saying that this is where your problems with the cult come from?"
He gave me an odd look. "I guess you could say that. I kinda lost it after I found out about it." He paused to scratch his cheek reflectively. "Although now that I think about it, attacking the head priest might have been a little extreme," he admitted.
"Just a bit." I laughed quietly to myself. "If you plan on doing that again, next time do it right. High authority figures don't generally make the best targets anyhow."
Zion said nothing, bent over his work. Underneath the curtain of shaggy hair falling across his face however, the three white and pinched scars that ran from hairline to jaw line were easy to see. A visible reminder to the truth of that statement, I guess.
I chuckled again, then settled myself down on another section of the wall. "So those are your views on the cult, huh?" Tugging my knife free from me boot, I examined the edge. "I can understand those. But what about the one at the root of it all? The Moon Child, I mean."
Zion shrugged. "The Moon Child? I guess I never really thought about it. Besides, it's the temples that are corrupt, isn't it?" Abruptly he pocked his stone and started to return his sword to his sheath, but stopped with a frown. "But that's not true, is it?"
I turned to look at him; eyebrows climbing so high they were lost under my bandanna. "What?"
"I mean, I have a lot against the temples and all, but for the most part it's personal reasons." I must have started to glare, because suddenly Zion flushed and looked away. "I mean really, what have they done that's wrong?"
For a moment I stared him, resisting a powerful urge to box his ears. Why exactly is it that whenever I begin to think that there may be more then cobwebs between the boy's ears he has to go and prove me wrong? In many ways, he reminded me of Garren. But Garren at least had known the truth of the matter.
Zion had turned away, suddenly very interested in a line of ants scurrying through the dust near his feet. I snorted, not bothering to keep the disgust from the gesture. "Think about it, Zion. Why do you think they sent the crusades into the Forgotten Lands? If they had succeeded, those lands would be being settled in the name of the cult right now. Their own country. They have come as close as they can to ruling in Tiberoa, and their presence, both politically and physically is very strong in the other nations of Endiness. They need power, and the High Priests crave it. Tell me, would you like to see them in power? Because they're close to it now. So very close. And now that a child has actually survived to prove her own power, they gain that many more followers with each passing day. Their strength is growing, kid. And it's the last thing this world needs."
Zion looked up, his eyes uncomprehending. I sighed, then changed my approach. "Think of it this way." Turning my hand sideways, I balanced my knife across the edge of my palm. "Say that the hilt is the Kingdoms, and that the blade is the cult. Right now their power is balanced, okay?" I waited for Zion's nod, then continued. "As long as there is a balance of power, there's no problems. People can plot and plan all they want, but if it came to open confrontation, the outcome would be in doubt for either side. The scales are even. But if the cult were to gain too much power and support-" I tilted my hand. The knife slid off my hand and fell, burying itself point first and quivering in the damp earth. The ant column scattered briefly then formed up again, marching onward as though nothing had happened.
After a long pause I looked up at Zion gravely and when I spoke at last my voice was deadly soft. "Do you understand now? If the cult comes to power, the world will be shaped to the will of the cult and the Moon Child. And in spite of all that they say and preach, it will not be the utopia we are led to believe it to be." Plucking up my blade, I slipped it back into the calve of my boot and got back to my feet. "Alright? I trust that you'll pass that on to Kaelin; I daresay that the two of you have had your own doubts on the matter anyhow. Zion?"
Shuddering as though coming out of a daze, Zion nodded. "Uh, yeah. Ah, I'll tell her, I mean." Then he lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the ants once more.
I watched him for a moment, then shook my head. He'd grow numb to shock sooner or later. Shifting my swordbelt around I headed back to the far corner of the house's foundation where I could watch the road more comfortably.
Zion's POV:
Whatever doubts I may have had, Kaelin was true to her word. Within an hour a merchant's wagon drew up from one of the city gates, driven by a short, greasy-looking man who claimed to have been sent by someone who called himself Lyke Valince. The first name was unfamiliar, but the surname was the same as Kaelin's. And so it was that I now found myself crammed into a dark smuggler's compartment built into the bottom of the wagon bed next to Ry, jostled about uncomfortably as the fat driver did what must have been his upmost to hit every pothole in the pitted road.
Gritting my teeth, I fought down an oath as the wagon lurched over a heave in the road. The sounds of city life were all around us; yet stored away as we were I could see none of it. The air was hot and stuffy, and, as I thought sourly to my self, the only upside I could really see to the situation was that I wasn't claustrophobic. Yet. Desperate for someway to keep occupied, I let my mind wander back to my conversation with Ry earlier.
It did make sense when you sat down and thought about it. It certainly did give me the reasons I'd wanted, and even explained the crusades.
So why was there something still that bothered me?
Riding in the cramped compartment, it took some time before I could put my finger on it. The reasoning was sound, so it couldn't have been that. So that only left Ry himself.
In the week and a half that I'd been travelling, I'd noticed some oddities about my companion's character. Usually he was nice enough, if a bit argumentative. But just then, when he'd been talking, he'd seemed an entirely different person. Not so much through what he was saying, but how he'd said it, how he'd moved; even the way he'd glared at me. Remembering that I suppressed a shudder. His eyes were the worst part. I've heard the eyes called a window to the soul; if that was the case I fervently hoped that he kept it tightly locked up inside of him where it belonged. Blue as they were, they'd seemed to burn with suppressed anger and malevolence that made it nigh impossible to look him in the eye.
This wasn't the first time that I'd noticed it, either. There had been brief moments all week where his attitude would shift, or he'd recover inexplicably in a fight when by all rights he should have been out cold on the ground. There was something going on with him, but either he didn't notice, or he simply didn't plan on telling us what it was.
At long last, with much creaking of the axles, the wagon stopped. We must have pulled into a barn or something, because the sound of the streets had quieted to a persistent buzz. Boots thumped on the wagon boards overhead, and a moment later the hatch swung open, leaving me to blink in the dusty grey light. Sitting up, I knuckled the small of my back while Ry climbed hurriedly out of the compartment. The cart had been parked in a dim stable, filled to the rafters with bundles of hay. Aisles stretched off on either side of us, and two brown-liveried stable boys were taking away our horses which had been tether to the back of the wagon.
"Did you have a nice trip?"
I turned to see who had spoken. Kaelin waved at me from where she sat in a pile of hay. "Sorry it took so long, but I guarantee that no one saw you guys come in."
I started to get to my feet. "I don't doubt it, but wasn't it all just a bit elaborate?"
"Maybe," She admitted, "But it did the job."
"My sister, you may have noticed, has a slight tendency toward the elaborate. She never was satisfied with a simple solution."
All heads turned to look at the newcomer, a slender man of medium height, his long black hair gathered into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Inclining his head toward us, he moved to stand next to Kaelin. His fine clothes looked distinctly out of place in the dim stable, but in spite of the dust floating through the air his sweeping green silk coat and white linen trousers were immaculate. A heavy silver pendant inset with a large aquamarine dangled from a fine silver chain around his neck, an elaborate family crest stamped into the plate below the gem. A merchant then, and from a well-to-do family to boot.
I frowned suddenly. Kaelin, a thief, was his sister?
"Lyke, do yourself a favor and shut up will you?" Kaelin said sourly, picking up a handful of hay and throwing it at him.
Lyke watched calmly as the chaff fell pitifully short, drifting down to land on the dirt floor. "Kaelin, you don't flatter yourself by acting like that."
"I've never tried to." Getting up out of the hay, Kaelin dusted herself off and looked at us. "Well? Are you planning on growing roots or something?"
Climbing hurriedly down from the cart, Ry and I followed the two out of the barn and into a small, sunlit courtyard, framed on all sides by impressive stone buildings. Leaning close to Kaelin's ear as we walked, I whispered "Brother?"
"It was an accident of birth." She said shortly. "Trust me, if I'd had the choice, I would have been born into a nice, common family."
"But you-" I trailed off, then tried again. "He-!"
Ahead of us Lyke chuckled as we approached a large oaken door leading into the largest of the buildings. "You're confused? 'Valince' is just a faux surname she uses nowadays. Her proper name, my proper name, is Alphine- "
"Don't remind me," she shuddered.
"-but the rest of the family disowned her five years ago."
"Happiest day of my life." She glared at Ry and I from the corner of her eye. "And if either of you ever mention that name again in conjunction with mine, I'll beat the both of you into a bloody pulp, got it?"
"I'd never dream of it," Ry told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Whatever had been up with him earlier, it had passed now. He stood to one side as a servant opened the door, then glanced over toward Lyke. "Whatever the case may be with your sister here, you at least appear to be well off."
The black-haired man shrugged easily and stepped through the door, nodding at his servants as he passed. "One has had some moderate success with business," he said modestly.
As we followed him out of the sunlight and into the cool interior I felt my mouth drop. Whatever success he had had with business, calling it 'moderate' was quite clearly the same as calling a blacksmith's forge 'temperate'. Elaborate tapestries covered the corridor walls and the black marble floor tiles had been buffed until they gleamed. Unlit bronze oil lamps stood on narrow stone pillars, their waxed wicks neatly trimmed and awaiting nightfall. Dark mahogany doors, some open and some closed, were situated at regular intervals along the hall. At the far end, just before a large set of open double doors that led into a cavernous room that could only be described as a Grand Hall was a broad, sweeping staircase, the dark wooded banisters inlayed with gold. Somewhere nearby food was being prepared; the savory scents of roasting fowl and baking bread hung heavy one the air.
While I stood gawking, Kaelin took it all in with a lazy glance, seemingly unimpressed. "You're business may have improved since I saw you last, but your taste certainly has taken a turn for the worst."
Lyke frowned at the unlit lamps. "It's all for show," he said absently. "It's easy to overwhelm people with a show of wealth, and people are easy to deal with when they're stunned."
Wordlessly, Ry reached over and pushed my jaw closed.
"Haschel Got Run Over By A Wingly"
~A Shade Strife Christmas Song Spoof
Chorus:
Haschel got run over by a wingly Coming back from our house Christmas Eve You can say you don't believe in justice But as for me and Lavitz, we believe.
He'd been drinking too much whiskey And we said he had to go So we grabbed him by the ankles; Then locked the door and left him in the snow
When we found him the next morning At the scene of the attack There were burn marks on his forehead And incriminating sledgemarks on his back
Chorus
Sorry, but I can't say that we miss him So we took it rather well But something of him seems to linger And it's more than just the prunes and funny smell
It's still Christmas, same as ever Though we're all dressed up in black But we just can't help but wonder Do we open up the gifts- or send them back?
Chorus
Now Meru's dancing on the table She's had far too much to drink And we hope she doesn't notice As we pour her mountain dew all down the sink.
We've warned all our friends and neighbors Better watch out for yourselves They should never give a soda To a girl who totes a sledge and can 'see' elves!
^-^ MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! Sorry that the chapter was shorter then what they have been lately, but it Christmas Day and that seemed like a good spot to leave things off for now. -.- Need to eat turkey.
Shade: It's the cart's fault, I tell you! The cart!
-.- Okay, so that hasn't happened. YET. I work at a library, if you can't guess from the opening blurb, and for eight hours a week I stalk through looming bookshelves dragging about this infernal carrying cart. -.- It seems to have a mind of it's own, and I'm slowly becoming convinced that it is somehow indirectly related to 'The Luggage' from the Discworld book series. It does stupid things, knocks things over, and sets off the elevator alarm while I'm trying to move it around. I wouldn't be very surprised if it ate my foot either. Try as I might, I guess that brute strength just can't win against an erratic wheeled quadruped. (Don't get me wrong: I love the job. It's wonderful. It's just the library carts I don't like. Grr.)
Ragnarok's POV:
Thunder rumbled sullenly overhead, the heavy sound echoing endlessly through the caverns and galleries deeper in the caves. Moisture dripped from hanging stalactites and collected on the worn limestone walls, dampening the blue-grey lichens that grew in unhealthy, leprous patches near the cavern mouth. Outside the rain fell in a steady downpour, and the slowly dissipating mist hanging over the marshes might have been better described as an inland fog. The river flowing from the marshes into the cave had been swollen by the rain; after a dry summer it was now spilling over its banks, flooding the narrow stone causeway some thoughtful person had built some centuries ago to aid travelers passing through.
Dart sat on a smooth boulder at the river's edge, watching the falling rain pensively while he fiddled with the plaster cast under his sling. "This weather probably won't break anytime soon, will it?" He said glumly, his voice all but lost in the sound of the rushing water.
//Do I look like a weather god?//
"Sorry." He sighed, then frowned, digging at the skin under his cast with his fingers.
//Stop that//
/It's itchy!/
//It's healing. Leave it alone//
Grumbling, Dart tucked his arm back into his jacket and got to his feet. Walking gingerly along the slippery stone bank, he made his way towards the fire burning further back along the passage.
As we approached, Zion looked up from his place next to the fire. He had one of the temple issue saddles set across one knee and was slowly working off the silver crests with the knife Dart had lent him. Kaelin sat with her legs crossed against the cave wall, chewing her lip as she turned one of the flat, graven disks over in her hand. It reflected in the firelight, and spots of light danced over the dripping roof of the cavern as she handed back to Zion, shaking her head. "Even if we melt them down, you won't get much from them. That's really a very inferior metal. There's almost no pure silver in there and the 'gold' is just treated brass."
Zion looked glum, but he bent back over the saddle and set back to work. "Great. So what are we going to do with them? Just leave them here?"
Kaelin leaned forward and poked a burning log with a long stick of driftwood. "I'll hold onto them. We might not be able to use them, but I know someone who might buy them off of us. There's always people who can put things like that to dishonest use."
Dart chuckled, bending over one of the saddlebags. After a day of wandering about in the caves much of the supplies were gone, but there was still a few small bags of dried grains and leathery vegetables left near the bottom. Filling one of Kaelin's dented tin bowls with water from the river, he poured some ground meal into it before setting it into some glowing coals raked away from the fire. Partially covering it with one of the crests, he settled down across the fire from Zion to wait for it to cook.
As the other two started to argue about the morality of the respective situation, Dart stared at the fire, his eyes not really focusing. /So it should take the rest of the day to reach Bale, assuming that the weather remains like this/
//About that// I agreed. //We're going to have to leave them for a while once we reach Bale, I think. We need to find out whether or not Ayrel has been through their temple lately//
/They should be okay as long as they keep a low profile. Ah, that reminds me. What are we going to do about Zion?/
//What do you mean?//
/By now his description's been circulated throughout the Serdian Cults. He's sort of easy to recognize. People will be watching for him, especially if we really were sighted in Seles/
//Figure something out// I told him. //Worse come to worse, we'll just leave him in the hills while you two find someone willing to take us to Fueno//
/If that's how you want to do it/
"Hey, Ry?" Dart looked over at Zion, who had finished with the saddles and was watching him with a concerned look on his face. "You alright? You sorta zoned out for a minute just then."
"Did I?" Dart affected a yawn, covering his mouth with a hand. "S'cuse me. Sorry. I guess I'm still waking up, that's all."
Zion shrugged and lifted the saddle from his knee, examining the scarred leather critically. "I think we'll still want to throw a cloth or something over these. I got rid of the crests and trimmed off some of the leg flap, but they won't stand up to any scrutiny."
"I don't think that anyone will notice." Kaelin fiddled with a tear in her shirt, then winced as the rip opened up farther. "The temple sells off its surplus sometimes, so it wouldn't be all that suspicious a sight. And if the city guard notice, we can just bribe them and be on our way," she added dryly.
"You can take care of that," Dart grimaced. "The last few weeks have just about emptied my pockets, I'm afraid."
"So we're going to need a boat, right?" Zion passed the knife he'd been toying with back to Dart. "How are we going to hire one if we don't have any money?"
Kaelin gave him a withering look. "If we sell those bloody crests, then we won't have to worry about it."
Zion's face darkened, but Dart cut in before they could start arguing again. "She's right, Zion. And we need the money." Leaning forward he pulled his bowl out of the coals and flicked off the cover. "Kaelin, you wouldn't be able to do anything about Zion's appearance, would you? Bale's a large city, but there's always the chance that someone might recognize him."
"What, a disguise?" The woman chewed on a lock of hair thoughtfully then spat it out again. "I could make him look like a wingly given the right stuff, but I can't do much with him with what we have just now. But I can get the both of you into the city without anyone noticing. I should be able to fix him up then." She stopped, pursing her lips slightly as she looked critically at Dart. "And you too, I think. If the Temples want you dead as much as they say, why hasn't anyone caught up with you yet?"
Dart shrugged, and I chuckled dryly. //They're dead, that's why. At any rate, I'm sure Ayrel would be displeased if anyone but her were to have the last say in the matter//
/She'll be holding her breath, then. We'll be around for a while yet/
//I'm sure she hates the thought//
/She's spoiled, Ark. Sooner or later she'll have to accept that not everything will happen the way she wants/
I laughed, but the dead weight of Dart's left arm chased any trace of mirth from the gesture. Joke though we might, both of us knew all too well that only a fool would take the girl lightly, and a dead one at that.
~ ~ ~
After several hours of steady downpour the thick clouds began to disperse, leaving the sun to shine timidly out over the sodden landscape. Brooks and streams that had dried up in the drought now spilled over their banks as they rushed along, green-yellow leaves bobbing wildly up and down in the current like children's boats. Riding forth from the watermedows, we traveled north along the muddy road at a steady jog that slowly ate away at the passing miles. The marshes gave way to gently rolling woodland, chilly and dripping in the rain's wake. Then these too fell away, and we cantered along the sloppy roads between acres of fields filled with men and woman alike hard at work bringing in the early harvest before the weather grew chill.
The sun had sunk back behind the heavy clouds when the walls of Bale came into sight; the dusky grey stone marred by dark streaks gained from a millennia of exposure. Over time the population had grown too large to fit within the old city boundaries, and a second settlement had sprung up outside the walls of the inner city. It spread out in every direction; a sea of slate and thatched roofs split at intervals by long, straight avenues that led to the gates of the inner city.
We had hardly had time to drink in the sight before Kaelin ushered us off of the road and out of sight behind the collapsing remains of an old farm building. After a quick muttered conversation she was off again, loping down the hill toward the city.
I watched her retreating form for a moment, then grunted as Dart turned away to tether his horse. //I hope she knows what she's doing. She said that she'd send someone to fetch us?//
/Apparently so/ Dart scratched at his chin, then frowned. After several days without a razor a course stubble had sprung up and the constant itching annoyed him to no end. /I don't like the word 'fetch'. It makes me feel like I'm livestock/
//It's just a word, Dart. You needn't get worked up over something like that. By the way, do you want to take a quick rest? You didn't get much sleep last night//
/Why are you being so accommodating all of a sudden?/ Dart asked suspiciously. /Are you ill or something?/
I ignored the last comment. //Fine. I'd like to talk to Zion for a while//
/You -are- ill/ Dart commented, but he did ease off to one side.
Zion had dismounted before Kaelin had left; now he was sitting on a crumbling section of the ruined wall, laboriously whetting the nicks and scratches from the aged steel. He glanced up momentarily as I approached, then turned his eyes back to the blade. "How long do you think she'll be?"
"As long as she needs to be, I imagine. You missed a spot."
"What? Oh." He touched the long scar in the blade, then shook his head. "That one's been there for years now. If I tried to polish that out the blade would probably snap in two."
"Years?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's a long time to use one sword."
"My brother gave it to me as a gift before he was sent away," He said defensively. "Besides," he added, "swords like this are difficult to find nowadays." Shifting his grip, he picked up his whetstone again.
"Your brother?"
Zion gave the blade a few vicious swipes with his stone, speaking in a tight voice. "He was a guardsmen when the temples decided embark on a crusade into the old wingly provinces to the east."
"Ah." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Would I be far off in saying that this is where your problems with the cult come from?"
He gave me an odd look. "I guess you could say that. I kinda lost it after I found out about it." He paused to scratch his cheek reflectively. "Although now that I think about it, attacking the head priest might have been a little extreme," he admitted.
"Just a bit." I laughed quietly to myself. "If you plan on doing that again, next time do it right. High authority figures don't generally make the best targets anyhow."
Zion said nothing, bent over his work. Underneath the curtain of shaggy hair falling across his face however, the three white and pinched scars that ran from hairline to jaw line were easy to see. A visible reminder to the truth of that statement, I guess.
I chuckled again, then settled myself down on another section of the wall. "So those are your views on the cult, huh?" Tugging my knife free from me boot, I examined the edge. "I can understand those. But what about the one at the root of it all? The Moon Child, I mean."
Zion shrugged. "The Moon Child? I guess I never really thought about it. Besides, it's the temples that are corrupt, isn't it?" Abruptly he pocked his stone and started to return his sword to his sheath, but stopped with a frown. "But that's not true, is it?"
I turned to look at him; eyebrows climbing so high they were lost under my bandanna. "What?"
"I mean, I have a lot against the temples and all, but for the most part it's personal reasons." I must have started to glare, because suddenly Zion flushed and looked away. "I mean really, what have they done that's wrong?"
For a moment I stared him, resisting a powerful urge to box his ears. Why exactly is it that whenever I begin to think that there may be more then cobwebs between the boy's ears he has to go and prove me wrong? In many ways, he reminded me of Garren. But Garren at least had known the truth of the matter.
Zion had turned away, suddenly very interested in a line of ants scurrying through the dust near his feet. I snorted, not bothering to keep the disgust from the gesture. "Think about it, Zion. Why do you think they sent the crusades into the Forgotten Lands? If they had succeeded, those lands would be being settled in the name of the cult right now. Their own country. They have come as close as they can to ruling in Tiberoa, and their presence, both politically and physically is very strong in the other nations of Endiness. They need power, and the High Priests crave it. Tell me, would you like to see them in power? Because they're close to it now. So very close. And now that a child has actually survived to prove her own power, they gain that many more followers with each passing day. Their strength is growing, kid. And it's the last thing this world needs."
Zion looked up, his eyes uncomprehending. I sighed, then changed my approach. "Think of it this way." Turning my hand sideways, I balanced my knife across the edge of my palm. "Say that the hilt is the Kingdoms, and that the blade is the cult. Right now their power is balanced, okay?" I waited for Zion's nod, then continued. "As long as there is a balance of power, there's no problems. People can plot and plan all they want, but if it came to open confrontation, the outcome would be in doubt for either side. The scales are even. But if the cult were to gain too much power and support-" I tilted my hand. The knife slid off my hand and fell, burying itself point first and quivering in the damp earth. The ant column scattered briefly then formed up again, marching onward as though nothing had happened.
After a long pause I looked up at Zion gravely and when I spoke at last my voice was deadly soft. "Do you understand now? If the cult comes to power, the world will be shaped to the will of the cult and the Moon Child. And in spite of all that they say and preach, it will not be the utopia we are led to believe it to be." Plucking up my blade, I slipped it back into the calve of my boot and got back to my feet. "Alright? I trust that you'll pass that on to Kaelin; I daresay that the two of you have had your own doubts on the matter anyhow. Zion?"
Shuddering as though coming out of a daze, Zion nodded. "Uh, yeah. Ah, I'll tell her, I mean." Then he lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the ants once more.
I watched him for a moment, then shook my head. He'd grow numb to shock sooner or later. Shifting my swordbelt around I headed back to the far corner of the house's foundation where I could watch the road more comfortably.
Zion's POV:
Whatever doubts I may have had, Kaelin was true to her word. Within an hour a merchant's wagon drew up from one of the city gates, driven by a short, greasy-looking man who claimed to have been sent by someone who called himself Lyke Valince. The first name was unfamiliar, but the surname was the same as Kaelin's. And so it was that I now found myself crammed into a dark smuggler's compartment built into the bottom of the wagon bed next to Ry, jostled about uncomfortably as the fat driver did what must have been his upmost to hit every pothole in the pitted road.
Gritting my teeth, I fought down an oath as the wagon lurched over a heave in the road. The sounds of city life were all around us; yet stored away as we were I could see none of it. The air was hot and stuffy, and, as I thought sourly to my self, the only upside I could really see to the situation was that I wasn't claustrophobic. Yet. Desperate for someway to keep occupied, I let my mind wander back to my conversation with Ry earlier.
It did make sense when you sat down and thought about it. It certainly did give me the reasons I'd wanted, and even explained the crusades.
So why was there something still that bothered me?
Riding in the cramped compartment, it took some time before I could put my finger on it. The reasoning was sound, so it couldn't have been that. So that only left Ry himself.
In the week and a half that I'd been travelling, I'd noticed some oddities about my companion's character. Usually he was nice enough, if a bit argumentative. But just then, when he'd been talking, he'd seemed an entirely different person. Not so much through what he was saying, but how he'd said it, how he'd moved; even the way he'd glared at me. Remembering that I suppressed a shudder. His eyes were the worst part. I've heard the eyes called a window to the soul; if that was the case I fervently hoped that he kept it tightly locked up inside of him where it belonged. Blue as they were, they'd seemed to burn with suppressed anger and malevolence that made it nigh impossible to look him in the eye.
This wasn't the first time that I'd noticed it, either. There had been brief moments all week where his attitude would shift, or he'd recover inexplicably in a fight when by all rights he should have been out cold on the ground. There was something going on with him, but either he didn't notice, or he simply didn't plan on telling us what it was.
At long last, with much creaking of the axles, the wagon stopped. We must have pulled into a barn or something, because the sound of the streets had quieted to a persistent buzz. Boots thumped on the wagon boards overhead, and a moment later the hatch swung open, leaving me to blink in the dusty grey light. Sitting up, I knuckled the small of my back while Ry climbed hurriedly out of the compartment. The cart had been parked in a dim stable, filled to the rafters with bundles of hay. Aisles stretched off on either side of us, and two brown-liveried stable boys were taking away our horses which had been tether to the back of the wagon.
"Did you have a nice trip?"
I turned to see who had spoken. Kaelin waved at me from where she sat in a pile of hay. "Sorry it took so long, but I guarantee that no one saw you guys come in."
I started to get to my feet. "I don't doubt it, but wasn't it all just a bit elaborate?"
"Maybe," She admitted, "But it did the job."
"My sister, you may have noticed, has a slight tendency toward the elaborate. She never was satisfied with a simple solution."
All heads turned to look at the newcomer, a slender man of medium height, his long black hair gathered into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Inclining his head toward us, he moved to stand next to Kaelin. His fine clothes looked distinctly out of place in the dim stable, but in spite of the dust floating through the air his sweeping green silk coat and white linen trousers were immaculate. A heavy silver pendant inset with a large aquamarine dangled from a fine silver chain around his neck, an elaborate family crest stamped into the plate below the gem. A merchant then, and from a well-to-do family to boot.
I frowned suddenly. Kaelin, a thief, was his sister?
"Lyke, do yourself a favor and shut up will you?" Kaelin said sourly, picking up a handful of hay and throwing it at him.
Lyke watched calmly as the chaff fell pitifully short, drifting down to land on the dirt floor. "Kaelin, you don't flatter yourself by acting like that."
"I've never tried to." Getting up out of the hay, Kaelin dusted herself off and looked at us. "Well? Are you planning on growing roots or something?"
Climbing hurriedly down from the cart, Ry and I followed the two out of the barn and into a small, sunlit courtyard, framed on all sides by impressive stone buildings. Leaning close to Kaelin's ear as we walked, I whispered "Brother?"
"It was an accident of birth." She said shortly. "Trust me, if I'd had the choice, I would have been born into a nice, common family."
"But you-" I trailed off, then tried again. "He-!"
Ahead of us Lyke chuckled as we approached a large oaken door leading into the largest of the buildings. "You're confused? 'Valince' is just a faux surname she uses nowadays. Her proper name, my proper name, is Alphine- "
"Don't remind me," she shuddered.
"-but the rest of the family disowned her five years ago."
"Happiest day of my life." She glared at Ry and I from the corner of her eye. "And if either of you ever mention that name again in conjunction with mine, I'll beat the both of you into a bloody pulp, got it?"
"I'd never dream of it," Ry told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Whatever had been up with him earlier, it had passed now. He stood to one side as a servant opened the door, then glanced over toward Lyke. "Whatever the case may be with your sister here, you at least appear to be well off."
The black-haired man shrugged easily and stepped through the door, nodding at his servants as he passed. "One has had some moderate success with business," he said modestly.
As we followed him out of the sunlight and into the cool interior I felt my mouth drop. Whatever success he had had with business, calling it 'moderate' was quite clearly the same as calling a blacksmith's forge 'temperate'. Elaborate tapestries covered the corridor walls and the black marble floor tiles had been buffed until they gleamed. Unlit bronze oil lamps stood on narrow stone pillars, their waxed wicks neatly trimmed and awaiting nightfall. Dark mahogany doors, some open and some closed, were situated at regular intervals along the hall. At the far end, just before a large set of open double doors that led into a cavernous room that could only be described as a Grand Hall was a broad, sweeping staircase, the dark wooded banisters inlayed with gold. Somewhere nearby food was being prepared; the savory scents of roasting fowl and baking bread hung heavy one the air.
While I stood gawking, Kaelin took it all in with a lazy glance, seemingly unimpressed. "You're business may have improved since I saw you last, but your taste certainly has taken a turn for the worst."
Lyke frowned at the unlit lamps. "It's all for show," he said absently. "It's easy to overwhelm people with a show of wealth, and people are easy to deal with when they're stunned."
Wordlessly, Ry reached over and pushed my jaw closed.
"Haschel Got Run Over By A Wingly"
~A Shade Strife Christmas Song Spoof
Chorus:
Haschel got run over by a wingly Coming back from our house Christmas Eve You can say you don't believe in justice But as for me and Lavitz, we believe.
He'd been drinking too much whiskey And we said he had to go So we grabbed him by the ankles; Then locked the door and left him in the snow
When we found him the next morning At the scene of the attack There were burn marks on his forehead And incriminating sledgemarks on his back
Chorus
Sorry, but I can't say that we miss him So we took it rather well But something of him seems to linger And it's more than just the prunes and funny smell
It's still Christmas, same as ever Though we're all dressed up in black But we just can't help but wonder Do we open up the gifts- or send them back?
Chorus
Now Meru's dancing on the table She's had far too much to drink And we hope she doesn't notice As we pour her mountain dew all down the sink.
We've warned all our friends and neighbors Better watch out for yourselves They should never give a soda To a girl who totes a sledge and can 'see' elves!
^-^ MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! Sorry that the chapter was shorter then what they have been lately, but it Christmas Day and that seemed like a good spot to leave things off for now. -.- Need to eat turkey.