7th Day of Harvester, 565 CY
Ironstead, Furyondy
"We're almost there."
It was Saxmund, riding at the fore of the group, who made the announcement, but to Lady Cynewine it was unnecessary. She'd been to Ironstead more times than the two (now three) times the rogue had and knew this road as well as anyone present. The twists and turns of the surrounding forest landscape told the ranger their position as well as the lights and voices now becoming discernable just ahead did.
She and Laertes were riding abreast just behind the red-haired woman and Cygnus. The young half-orc had halted his impromptu attempts to teach Nesco several phrases in orcish when Saxmund has spoken up; the first thing she had said since sunset. Laertes immediately fell silent. It was easy for Nesco to see that the teenager was nervous, although she wasn't sure why.
Lady Cynewine had found Laertes a surprisingly pleasant riding companion; more so than she had expected. The youth had confessed that he had heard rumors about the ranger's resignation from the Azure Order, and had made a mumbled, almost inaudible comment about "outcasts" needing to band together.
One conversation with Laertes that Nesco had overheard had been that same morning, when the eight individuals had set out from Laurellinn. She'd seen Cygnus take the young half-orc aside. It was obvious to her that the mage did not wish to be overheard, and that puzzled Nesco. She didn't know what the tall mage might want to keep from everyone else. To be sure, Cygnus had a reputation for secrecy, if not downright paranoia, but Nesco still found herself irritated at the idea of being kept in the dark.
Several moments later, she also found herself behind a tree about twenty feet from the two.
"I don't want you saying anything to anyone else about what you heard from that orc. About Devil Chimes, or the fact that the orcs may be looking for Hilda now."
Laertes looked confused. "But why not?
"I have my reasons," Cygnus stated bluntly, "and if you want us to help Hilda, you're just going have to trust me on this, Laertes."
The half-orc had glumly looked down at the forest floor and sighed. "All right, Thygnuth. I pro- I won't tell anyone."
Cygnus had nodded and looked satisfied. Nesco however, was now burning with curiosity. Devil Chimes? Who or what in blazes was that?
Unfortunately, Nesco knew she'd have to live with what she'd heard. She'd never confront Cygnus about it- the last thing Nesco wanted was to be the cause of any more party friction.
And so she'd concentrated on spending time with Laertes, careful to avoid bringing up any awkward subjects, such as the orcs of the Vesve.
By far the most surprising thing that she did discover was that Laertes worshipped the Olympians. Less surprising was the identity of the person who had introduced the worship of these ancient deities to him.
He'd nodded. "It wath Thir Damothene. I'd never had a problem with worthipping The Invinthible One, but other people," and here he gave a shrug, "they made me feel guilty about it. Like- like I wathn't clean enough to worthip a human god."
Nesco had been silent. As a teenager, she too had listened to Damoscene spin tales of the Olympians many a time. It had been her inner nature, rather than Laertes' outer appearance, that had finally led her to pledge her soul to the gods of Mount Olympus, but the heart of the matter remained the same.
Inside, Nesco Cynewine had always felt different.
"So," she had asked. "Is there one in particular that appeals to you?"
Shyness never looked like a good fit on a half-orc's face; they didn't blush well, but Laertes still managed it with his grin. "Hephaestus."
That surprised Nesco even more. "The God of the Forge?"
The youth had nodded and shown her a tattoo on his upper sword arm. It wasn't very well done; Nesco had earlier mistaken it for a battle scar, but now that the ranger looked closely there was a definite resemblance to the outline of a hammer and anvil.
"Why so?" Lady Cynewine was curious to know. "Do you aspire to become a smith?"
Laertes shook his head. "He'th ugly like me, but everyone honorth him for hith thkill. Damothene told me that in olden timeth, clericth of Hephaestus would hold a theremony to welcome young children into the community. They would help prepare them to become apprentitheth."
Nesco had gone silent again. Her instinctual response; to tell Laertes he wasn't that ugly at all, would have been quickly seen as the patronizing gesture that it was. And it was quickly observant to the ranger that the boy's devotion to the god Hephaestus had not been completely ignored.
The name of that deity was the one word that the half-orc pronounced without a lisp of any kind.
"And bethideth," Laertes had smiled again at winked at Nesco, "look who he'th married to!"
Behind them, Aelfbi Gemblossom and Yanigasawa Tojo rode silently on.
The samurai had generally taken little notice of the half-elf. The sole exception was when they had started out from Laurellinn. Sir Damoscene, his knights and followers were leaving with them, but their armor and heavy gear would force their mounts to move at a slower gait. The Ranger Lord had again warned them to be vigilant. Although there was a fair amount of traffic on this stretch of the Forest Road, the patrols couldn't be everywhere. Orcs and sometimes worse were known to have it under observation at all times.
Gemblossom had sighed and opened the straps of the saddlebag currently attached to his horse.
Tojo's eyebrows rose in wonder. It looked for all the world like the saddlebag was full to bursting with autumn leaves. A riot of gold, yellow, orange and red. The priest of Lady Goldenheart had quickly plunged his hands into the mass of leaves. Tojo assumed that he was reaching for some object hidden inside. Perhaps Aelfbi had merely used the leaves as packing material; that seemed in character for him, but then the cleric had pulled out the leaves themselves.
Not one scattered.
To the samurai's astonishment, Aelfbi pulled out leggings, arm coverings, pauldrons and all the pieces of a suit of armor, complete with darkwood studs. Yet the entire suit itself was composed of leaves.
Tojo had to consciously will himself not to gape as he watched Saxmund help her friend into the armor. Perhaps the leaves had been ensorcelled to have the same consistency as firm but supple leather hide.
Aelfbi had noticed him watching. "Leafweave armor," he commented with a small smile. "Alchemically treated. I don't enjoy wearing it, but those who serve Hanali Celani are not such fools as some humans seem to think."
Tojo had swallowed hard. This was craftsmanship such as he had never heard of; he doubted even the legendary Rosuko Mitsune could have constructed such a suit of armor. The honor accruing to any samurai deemed worthy to wear such a suit would be equally legendary.
He had eventually found his voice.
"Most impressive. Such armor- common to your peoper?"
"No," Aelfbi had replied, shaking his head. He now seemed unusually taciturn. "No."
Tojo felt a burning pain within his chest. To the half-elf, this masterpiece of armory was nothing more than a burden- a reminder of imminent danger. But to him, samurai of the Yanigasawa, it reminded him of-
Tojo had said little more during the ride. Aelfbi had initially tried various topics of small talk and then eventually gave up. The cleric occupied his time by whittling a tree branch into what looked like it was going to be a flute.
In the rear rode Zantac and Sir Corvis.
After they had started out, the knight had entertained the Willip wizard with more examples of haiku for a while and then settled into a kind of pleasant, sparse conversation.
Until one question had nearly made Zantac fall off his horse.
"So how do you intend to move the steelsphere, Zantac?"
The red-robed mage had gawked at his fellow rider, but Corvis offered only an easy smile in return.
"Naturally, I spoke with Saxmund before we left. She gave me the bare facts."
"Willingly?"
Sir Corvis eyed Zantac. He was now frowning.
"And why would she not?"
"Let me rephrase that. Knowingly?"
The knight raised an eyebrow. His smile returned.
"I'm no wizard like you, Zantac. I have no power to compel people against their will."
"Maybe not, but from what I've seen from riding with her these past few days, getting information out of Saxmund is like trying to talk a dragon out of its hoard."
To Zantac's surprise, Sir Corvis looked thoughtful. "I've never tried that," he mused, seemingly to himself, his voice soft. "I wonder…"
He then looked back over at Zantac and smiled.
"She didn't think it any great breach of confidentiality. Besides, when she, Aelfbi and their friend Garoidil first arrived here months ago, there were some to whom she told more of their story to others. Some of those so entrusted remained quiet, but others…"
And here he shrugged.
Zantac chewed his lip as he considered how to respond. What does Corvis know? Does he know about the Mary Celestial? The Three Worlds? And dare I ask him? If he doesn't know, I might pique his curiosity enough to try and get the rest of the story out of me. I like this Sir Corvis, but…
The mage took a deep breath, tried to adjust his position on his saddle to make it more comfortable- a maneuver that had yet to work even once- and decided to just answer the knight's initial query. After all, the answer to that one was simple enough.
"I have no idea, Sir Corvis. To move that sphere would take spells far beyond my knowledge."
"But I'm sure you've been thinking about it," he pressed. "Mulling ideas over in your mind."
"Sure," Zantac conceded. "But I've yet to pull forth a solution. If one does exist, I'm suspecting it will involve teams of draft animals and a cart or sled built for the task, not magecraft."
Sir Corvis seemed to digest that. "And what of the ownership controversy?"
"What of it?"
"If it should be ruled that the sphere does not belong to Saxmund, will you assist her in claiming it nonetheless?"
Zantac had thought he had acclimated to the knight's questions, but the leaden feeling in his chest told him that he had not.
"You're a curiosity, Sir Corvis." When at last Zantac felt able to speak, he decided to choose his words with extreme care. Looking at the knight only out of the corner of his eye now, Zantac continued. "I haven't met many knights who would advocate resistance to legitimate authority."
"Ignorance can be dangerous, Zantac." Corvis was not smiling now. "If there is still magic to be uncovered in this sphere, who would be more qualified to possess it than those who already had? Or skillful wizards such as yourself?"
Zantac hadn't been able to come up with an answer to that question that he liked, so he produced only a shrug of his own in reply. Sir Corvis said no more on the topic, but his smile had returned as he looked away, gazing into the forest.
Cygnus and Saxmund watched as a patrol passed them going in the opposite direction, marching from Ironstead south to Laurellinn.
They were impressive. Twenty infantrymen, clad in splint mail, which essentially consisted of iron strips, beaten thin and riveted onto a suit of leather armor. Over these, they wore tabards emblazoned with the national crest of Furyondy. Most carried kite shields. Some carried halberds, some longbows and some longswords.
A knight commander on horseback led the group. He nodded tersely at the group as he led his men past.
"Elite infantry," Saxmund had remarked to Cygnus after the soldiers had gone by. "The best this kingdom has to offer, from what I've heard. I wouldn't want to tangle with them."
"Neither would Hilda," Cygnus said.
Saxmund narrowed her eyes at the mage but said nothing.
Cygnus could feel the anger; try as he might to tamp it down, it was starting to build within him again.
"I know that's Talat, Saxmund," he hissed at her, softly enough so that Nesco and Laertes behind them could not overhear. "I also know she'd be arrested on the spot if they found out her true identity. You're putting yourself in great danger by concealing her in this fashion."
He paused. "And by extension, us as well. Unlike you, we've sworn oaths of fealty to the king here."
The rogue seemed unperturbed. "There'll be no problem unless you make one. Talat is smart enough to say nothing incriminating, and with any luck, we'll all be gone soon enough, anyway."
Cygnus raised an eyebrow.
"We? If you can actually pull this off and get back to the Mary Celestial, Talat's not coming with you to Rolex, is she?"
Saxmund looked at the wizard with some surprise.
"Of course she is. I assumed you knew that."
"Why would I?" asked Cygnus gruffly. "She's native to this world. Why would she want to leave it again, especially considering how disastrous her last journey into the astral was?"
Saxmund chewed her lip before replying, her green eyes looking away from Cygnus as she did so.
"She wants to protect her child. She says there's no place on Oerth that Nodyath won't be able to find them, so she has to leave."
Cygnus suddenly couldn't find any words. He was glad Saxmund wasn't looking at him at the moment, for it gave the mage time to hide his own grief-stricken face from her.
By the All-Father, the magic-user thought. Talat's doing what I want to do for Thorin and myself! She's doing exactly what I would be doing!
Not only did Cygnus not know what to say; now he didn't even know what to think.
The general layout of Ironstead was similar to Laurellinn, although the party was able to see the outpost at a greater distance than they had the logging camp. For one, Ironstead was situated on a plateau and was also surrounded by a large cleared area in which various crop fields lay. They produced enough food here, Nesco knew, not only to feed themselves, but to supply Laurellinn with grains and vegetables as well.
The wooden stockade wall surrounding Ironstead was also taller and sported many more watchtowers than did Laurellinn's. Torches and continual flames could be seen inside the towers, illuminating the stern faces of the night guards who peered into the dark recesses of the surrounding Vesve for any sign of trouble.
Nesco had sent a scout on ahead to inform the Commander, a man named Major Standish, that she and her allies needed to speak with him upon their arrival, despite the late hour. Now, as the octet rode their horses inside the large wooden gates, she saw the scout standing about twenty yards off to their right. He nodded at her, signifying that her request had been granted.
Of course, that didn't mean Major Standish might not be in a foul mood for being disturbed.
As they dismounted and handed their steeds over to arriving stable boys, Nesco saw Zantac gazing wistfully off to their left, where Ironstead's inn, King Belvor's Arms, lay invitingly open.
"After we meet with the major, Zantac," she told him. "You'll be on your own if it's drinking you want, though, I want nothing so much right now as a warm bed."
The red-robed wizard gave the ranger a smile that she thought was tired, sad and naughty all at the same time.
"Don't we all, Lady Cynewine?"
She smiled at him and together, they walked through the scattered buildings towards the Garrison headquarters. Tojo, Sir Corvis, Aelfbi and Laertes followed.
Saxmund, who had been moving off in a different direction, suddenly felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder.
A hand with more than enough strength to stop her in her tracks.
The rogue turned quickly, one hand already reaching for a dagger, but then she saw that the hand belonged to Cygnus.
Given the expression on the tall mage's face however, Saxmund did not relax.
"I'm coming with you, Saxmund," Cygnus stated flatly as he removed his hand. "I'll not have you warning Hilda beforehand."
Saxmund glared at him. "You also won't be laying a hand on her, Cygnus," she shot back. "Aslan told me you swore not to-"
"I swore not to harm her," the Aardian wizard growled. "But she will speak to me, Saxmund, and on my terms, not hers. And if she refuses, I'll be all too happy to inform the garrison here of their true identity. It'll be them harming her then, not me."
Saxmund tried to keep staring at Cygnus, but the rogue just couldn't and dropped her gaze.
Cygnus knew why. Saxmund just couldn't keep looking that closely at the counterpart to the man she'd loved.
And the heavens be damned if I'm not going to use that against her any time I need to, thought the wizard.
"Now who's splitting hairs?" Saxmund muttered, but she moved on towards a darker section of buildings. Personal residences starting to close down for the night. Cygnus followed.
Major's Standish's office consisted of two connected wooden cabins, one larger than the other. Nesco, taking the lead as they approached, turned to face the others.
"Please, everyone be careful with what you say. Because you're with me, we'll all be considered representatives of Furyondy. I want to feel out the woodsmen's position on this matter before we go making any requests."
Zantac looked confused. "I'm sorry, Nesco. I don't understand. Aren't we still in Furyondy? Doesn't everyone here serve King Belvor?"
Nesco sighed. "Yes and no, Zantac. In the Vesve, Furyondan territory only extends along the Forest Road and then only up until here, Ironstead. The woodsmen and others who live in the southern Vesve are independent. Now they're always been strong supporters of the Royal Court, but they dislike having their service being taken for granted. Major Standish, the infantry guard," and here she pointed at several soldiers heading towards the garrison, "and many others are Furyondan natives, but many others are not. I'm just asking you to think before you speak, that's all."
Zantac shrugged. "Argo's not here, so there shouldn't be a problem."
Nesco was about to reply that it was not always Bigfellow's tongue that had gotten them into trouble, but the sight of Laertes pointing wide-eyed towards Standish's cabin stopped her.
"What ith that?" asked the young half-orc, his face wide with wonder.
Sitting outside the closed door of the cabin was a great dire cat. Even resting on its haunches, the top of its head was level with Gemblossom's. It was a tawny yellow in color and had smooth, sleek fur except around its head and neck. These sported a wild and unkempt mane of long hair.
"It's a lion," said Aelfbi, as if he didn't quite believe it himself. "I've seen them on the great plains of southern Weralt. They're hunting cats; predators." The half-elf frowned. "From what I saw though, they prefer climes much warmer than this."
"Maybe it's some great wizard's pet," offered Sir Corvis. The knight had his arms crossed across his chest and seemed to find the sight of the lion as much amusing as amazing.
"If so, he'd better get his money back," Zantac said, peering intently at the creature. "I think it's dead."
The creature did not move a muscle even as they slowly approached it. It stared blankly ahead. As they drew nearer, the party could see bony protrusions around the lion's eyes and shoulders. At all its joints the creatures hide seemed to be bunched up in a way that didn't look quite right. There were slits in the cat's skin at these bunches, but no sign of blood on any of them, dried or otherwise.
Zantac stared into the lion's eyes. They were dull, black and (it seemed to the wizard) glassy. It certainly didn't seem to be aware of him.
Nesco was tentatively reaching forward to touch the great cat's fur when she heard someone call her name.
The ranger looked up to see one of the king's infantrymen approaching.
"The Major is waiting for you inside," he said, with the unmistakable air in his manner that indicated Major Standish did not like to be kept waiting.
Lady Cynewine nodded and motioned to the others. Sir Corvis, the closest to the door, reached out to pull it open.
"Stop!" the soldier said harshly. Corvis froze in mid-gesture.
"The door is magically trapped. Only those with a password may enter." He rapped on the door with his gauntlet and said something so softly that the others could not make it out.
"Major?" the guard then called out. "Lady Cynewine and her companions are here."
Even from the other side of the stout oaken door, the Major's sigh was audible. There was the sound of creaking wood, then footsteps, and then the door was opened a crack.
"Come on in," a gruff voice said. There followed the sounds of footsteps heading back into the room's interior.
The Major's office was not posh by any means. From the light of a hanging lantern, the party could see a large wooden desk and chair that took up the center of the room, which was no more than twenty-five feet to a side. Three of the four walls were decorated with large tapestries. One contained the three-crown/crescent moon standard of Furyondy. Another showed two crossed hammers on a white background above green waves. This was the crest of the Barony of Littleberg, the Furyondan province they were currently in. The third tapestry showed a fist clenching a lightning bolt; the symbol of Heironeous.
Several large vellum maps of the Vesve were spread out on the desk. A rather worn chair sat behind it. A cot lay pushed up against one wall. A chest of drawers was situated against another. Several bottles of various liquors were on top of it. Most were half-empty.
Major Standish was currently easing back down into his chair behind the desk. He appeared about forty or so, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and matching goatee. The major wore a grayish, loose shirt, fastened on the front with ties. His boots looked to be of good quality- leather, dyed back and rising half-way to his knees, but his leather breeches looked in need of repair. A longsword in its scabbard rested against the side of the desk.
The major finished rubbing his eyes and looked up at the six people currently entering his office. His expression was tired and although he didn't actually look angry, Standish also didn't look like a man who got a lot of good news, and certainly wasn't expecting any at this time of night.
His tan eyes, somewhat bloodshot, alighted on Nesco Cynewine. A grimace that might be mistaken for a faint smile at a distance flit across his face. He raised his fist in salute.
"Cold iron avail you, Lady Cynewine."
She returned the gesture in kind. Zantac had heard the phrase often since they had entered the Vesve and presumed it to be a reference to the alleged weakness of many of Iuz's servants.
Nesco made the introductions. The major nodded at them all.
"Laertes. Good to see you again." His voice was cordial but neutral.
The half-orc, who had backed up against a wall upon entering, nodded respectfully but said nothing.
The major turned his attention to the half-elf.
"Aelfbi Gemblossom. I had not expected you to return here so soon. And what of your friends, Saxmund and Garoidil? Are they here?"
"They're well," Aelfbi replied with a smile. "Saxmund has turned in for the night and Garoidil should be joining us in several days."
"Are you intending to sign up again?" Standish asked, standing up. "You're more than welcome to do so. Especially you, Gemblossom. We're in constant need of healers. Seems like things are getting worse every day." He began to shift through the maps on his desk, revealing papers underneath. "I have a contract under here somewhere…"
The priest hesitated and looked over at Nesco. She understood and, reluctantly, decided that she should take the lead.
"Actually, Major, our primary purpose here concerns the steelsphere."
Major Standish looked up at Nesco, sighed heavily again and sat back down.
"I was afraid you'd say that. Are you with that blasted blue giant?"
"Agarth?" asked Zantac.
"Do you know any other giants?" Standish suddenly snapped. The officer's right hand clenched and unclenched as he spoke. When he looked over at Nesco again, his face was tight with tension.
"Let me tell you something, Lady Cynewine. That metal sphere's been nothing but a giant headache to me. We've yet to get any useful benefit from it, and it could very well wind up hurting us severely in the long haul!"
Nesco tried on her best diplomatic voice. "Forgive me, Major. While I know about Aelfbi and her friends' journey here in the sphere, I know very little of what's happened since then. If you could explain the situation to us, I think we may be able to help you."
Major Standish stared at her for a moment, opened a drawer in his desk, took a mug from it, got up again, walked over to the cabinet and poured himself a drink from one of the bottles before returning with it to his desk and sitting down again.
He took a large gulp from it, looked for an open spot on the desk, found none, then shrugged and put it back in the drawer. He did not offer any to the party.
"All right," he said, his voice a touch thicker now. He pointed at one of the maps on his desk. "This area here is where the damn thing landed."
Nesco considered. "About fifteen leagues from here. Almost due west."
Standish grunted. "Took us a while to find it. Since Aelfbi and his friends here aren't from the Flanaess, they weren't able to give us a very good description. Once we'd found it and sent word down south, I received a message from the Royal Court, stating that we were to keep the sphere out of unfriendly hands until the Master Elementalist mages from Chendl could come here and take it away."
"Well," he continued, his anger now visible. "That was months ago, and there always seems to be something more important for Karzalin and his fellow mages to be involved in than taking care of this business!" He picked up the mug and drained it. "Damn all wizards, anyway."
Zantac cleared his throat. "Present company excepted; I hope?" he asked with a weak smile.
Standish glanced at Zantac, seemed to just realize he was an arcanist and grunted something in the affirmative.
"I'm sorry, major," Nesco said, as sympathetically as she could. "I still don't understand. Why is the steelsphere such a headache to you?"
"Because," Standish replied wearily, "I have to have guards posted at that thing day and night. The main problem is secrecy. Even though I doubt they'd be able to move it any more than we can, if orcs; and I'm talking about those in service to the Old One, found it, they'd launch a never-ending series of raids to take possession of it, and the location where it landed is closer to their base of operations than ours. We'd never be able to hold it."
"How have you been able to hide it from them?" Laertes asked, his voice filled with wonder.
The major allowed himself a grim smile. "I've decided, on my own authority, to construct a sled onsite to bring that thing back here. Damn thing weighs over eight tons from what I've been told. We had our strongest warrior out there, strength potion and all, trying to get that thing rolling. All he got for his trouble was a hernia." He rummaged through the papers and pulled out one that showed an architect's drawing of a sled. He tossed it to them, Nesco barely catching it.
The ranger looked. The picture showed a large platform on top of wooden logs used as rollers, attached to eight teams of draft horses. Mobile pulleys, with attached hooks, formed a framework around the sled. Nesco was no engineer, but it looked feasible.
"Seems like a good idea," she said as she passed the picture around to the others.
"Fenlun designed it. Said it should work," Standish replied with a shrug. Nesco didn't know who Fenlun was, but she didn't want to ask and disrupt the major's chain of thought.
"The problem is," he said, rubbing his eyes again in weariness. He yawned and continued. "As I said, secrecy. All the people at the crash site need to be kept supplied, and even orcs, stupid as they are, would soon come across a trail that long and be able to follow it back to the sphere."
Laertes frowned and stared at the floor.
"So we've been taking extraordinary measures," Standish continued. "No horses are allowed out there, and all parties going out or coming back must cover their tracks as they go. I've had druids as I can spare them removing signs of passage as I can, but it's too big an area for that to be absolutely foolproof."
"Fifteen leagues; that's almost the distance from Laurellinn to here," Sir Corvis commented. "If you're hiding all traces of a supply trail as you claim, how do you ensure no one gets lost on the way? Maps?"
Zantac was impressed. This was the first thing Corvis had said since the introductions, and it was a good question. The only thing Zantac hated worse than wandering around in the wilderness was wandering around in the wilderness, lost.
For answer though, Major Standish merely looked over to Nesco.
"No. Maps can fall into the hands of raiders. Trail signs," she explained. "The rangers here can leave innocuous signs- stones, branches and so forth- to indicate a message."
"According to Sir Damoscene, you were always very good at that," Standish said as Nesco blushed. "He's due to arrive here tomorrow to take over the position of Patrol Leader for a while. If any of you are going to sign up-"
"Forgive our rudeness," Sir Corvis said smoothly, "but we don't want to take up any more of your time tonight than we have to. Let us finish our discussion quickly. I believe you were referring to the mercane, Agarth?"
Nesco hesitated, wondering if Standish would get angry for being interrupted, but the major seemed not to mind.
"Polite enough he was, I suppose." The major scowled at the memory. "For a giant, anyway. Pretty sly, anyway. Trying to pry information out of me; didn't get far, though," he finished with a self-satisfied expression.
Zantac caught Nesco's eye and saw his own skepticism about the major's last statement mirrored there.
"Did you allow him to travel to the site?' asked Lady Cynewine, turning back to the base commander.
Major Standish threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "Of course I did! What blasted choice did I have?"
"What?" exclaimed Zantac. "Did he threaten-"
But Standish was shaking his head. "You don't understand how it works here," he said, and then took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes again. Just as Zantac was about to ask for an explanation with less courtesy than he should have used, the major spoke up again.
"It's this way, see," he explained, again gesturing to the maps in front of him. "That sphere came down here." He pointed again at a spot in the forest. "That's beyond the kingdom's boundaries. Now the Royal Court has made it clear that they consider this object the property of the king- whenever they finally decide to come up here and claim it," he added with a snort. "But since it's currently lying in the forest I have no authority to stop anyone from going there, as long as they follow my security procedures."
"What do the woodsmen here have to say about that?" asked Sir Corvis.
Standish made a gesture of helplessness. "They're not organized like we are. There is no central authority figure to make a case to the Court. They're trying to elect one now, but the woodsmen move even slower than the Royal Court does in matters of politics. Of course, all this means I have to use my own men. Not only for guard duty, but for supplies as well. Thus, my headache. We've got orcs, goblinoids, gnolls and worse around here, and not nearly enough manpower to keep them at bay all the time. Every sword arm is worth its weight in platinum to me."
"You do remember," Aelfbi said quietly, "that Saxmund has claimed salvager's rights on the steelsphere."
"She can have the blasted thing for all I care!" Standish shot back. "But it's out of my hands! You'll have to petition the king!"
He turned to address Nesco again. "Of course, they've probably got a good chance with you pleading for them, Lady Cynewine. The word of an Azure Order member goes far."
Nesco went pale. He doesn't know! Word hasn't reached here yet!
Keenly aware that everyone was watching her, Lady Cynewine settled for what she was sure was a very bad attempt at a smile. She was glad that she had left her current shield with her horse.
"When did Agarth leave?" asked Sir Corvis, redirecting the subject again.
"This morning," came the reply. "Had three bodyguards with him. They wanted to use their horses, but I turned them down flat. They weren't very happy about that." Standish chuckled mirthlessly. "Serves 'em right! Hope the whole lot of 'em gets lost en route!"
"On foot and covering their tracks," murmured Sir Corvis, looking at Nesco.
The ranger quickly realized where the knight was heading and turned back to address the major.
"These mercenaries. What kind of armor were they wearing?"
"Chain."
Nesco did some calculating in her head. That would slow them down still more.
"About a league and a half per day," she estimated aloud. "A good week and a half to get there. If we leave tomorrow morning-" Zantac began, but Corvis interrupted him.
"We'll still get there a day behind them. Lady Cynewine and I wear the same chainmail and I daresay neither one of us wishes to forego that protection."
"We're in no condition to leave tonight and force march it," protested Nesco, shaking her head. "We'd be in no shape to fight off any ambush."
"Need horses. Must go mounted. Must beat Agarth to sphere."
Everyone in the office turned to look at Yanigasawa Tojo.
The samurai, who had not said a word all evening, was now gazing calmly at Sir Corvis.
"Impossible!" said Standish. "I told you that already!"
But Tojo did not appear to be listening to the major. His violet eyes were locked upon the face of the Elredd knight.
Sir Corvis stared back at Tojo. The knight's lips were pressed together, and his entire bearing seemed tense and rigid. After a moment, he took a deep breath and walked over to Major Standish.
"My good sir," he said, putting an arm around the major's shoulders and steering him away to a far corner of the room. "A private moment of your time, if I may…"
Corvis' voice faded into indistinctiveness. Standish was still protesting, but soon his words were lost to hearing as well.
No one moved.
Zantac walked over to Tojo.
"Something you're not telling us, Tojo?"
The samurai's eyes were dancing now, unwilling to alight on the mage's face. That alone gave Zantac his answer.
"Not certain yet, Zantac-san." Tojo rarely whispered, but he was doing so now. "Have onry theory, but-"
"All right, all right!"
Standish had turned around and was now addressing all of them. Corvis unobtrusively slipped to a far corner.
"You can have your horses, now that I realize how important this matter is. You should have just told me straight off," the major grunted, then looked at them all severely. "But that makes it even more imperative that you cover your tracks! Lady Cynewine, as a ranger, I'm counting on you!"
Nesco was bewildered but still managed to nod. "Um, yes, major. Thank you sir. We all appreciate it."
And at that point, there was a cry of pain from beyond the office's other door. It was followed by an exclamation, but not in the human tongue.
Nesco drew Sundancer, but Major Standish held up his hands.
"At ease, Lady Cynewine! That's only Fenlun Herlendal! He's a mage from Highfolk who's volunteered to examine this matter. Fenlun! You all right in there?"
"Sweet as cider," came a voice from without. It was slightly high-pitched; not very loud, but the sarcasm it carried was evident. "Just cut my finger is all. Send the flowers to my family, will you?"
The major gave an exasperated sigh. "He's already been out to the sphere and now he's examining the remains of that golem you destroyed," he finished, looking over at Aelfbi Gemblossom.
The half-elf's eyes widened. "It's here?"
"The pieces are. Fenlun!" the officer shouted. "A group of travelers are here! Can they talk with you?"
"Exactly what did I say that sounded like Yes, I'd love to be disturbed for no good reason?"
"One of them is Aelfbi Gemblossom. He's one of the three that came down in the steelsphere."
There was a pause.
"Send them in."
The major gestured to the group and then added, "I'm turning in for the night, Fenlun! See that everything is secure when you leave, will you?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sleep tight, major. Don't let the ankhegs bite."
Major Standish rolled his eyes and stomped out of the office, muttering an indistinct password just before he yanked the door open. His parting words came back to the party just before he slammed the door shut behind him.
"Damn all wizards, anyway."
The rear room was more dimly lit than they had been expecting. Aelfbi didn't seem to mind, but the others blinked, taking a few moments to let their eyes adjust to the reduced light.
This room, normally a conference room of some kind, Nesco knew, had been converted into a makeshift engineer's lab. Three long tables, twenty feet long each, took up most of the room's space. They lay parallel to each other, with their long axis facing the party.
As best as they could see, the tables, each covered with a white linen cloth, were covered in metal pieces. Some were no larger than a man's thumb, but others were the size of a metal shield.
If this golem that Aelfbi and his companions had defeated had been humanoid, it didn't look it. Towards the back of one of the tables, they could see a metallic head, but it looked like it was wearing some kind of great helm, with a horizontal black slit serving as a visor. On another table two severed metallic tentacles lay, as if they had been cut from the shoulders of an iron displacer beast. Each ended in a pincer claw, and between the pincers was what looked like a silver nozzle.
"Those were gas dischargers," murmured Aelfbi to Zantac, who nodded, impressed at the golem's construction.
"Look at that," whispered Laertes, poking his arm from behind Sir Corvis, where he almost seemed to be hiding.
On the same table that held the creature's head a space had been cleared for several scales, measuring sticks and materials designed to gauge the hardness of test materials. Those Zantac recognized, but there were other instruments whose functions he couldn't even guess at.
In the midst of these a hawk sat. This was what the young half-orc was pointing at.
It looked to be made of copper and was clearly mechanical in origin. About the size of an owl, the hawk's beak appeared to glow very dimly, as if it had just swallowed a candle flame.
The bird tilted its head. It flapped its wings with a mechanical clatter and then resumed its silent vigil, keeping an eye on the party.
Nesco Cynewine had given all of this no more than a momentary glimpse. She was looking for the one thing she had expected this room to have, which it apparently did not.
An occupant.
The middle table, or at least the half closest to the door, seemed to be mostly taken up with the sphere golem's torso, which was laying on its side. It was impossible to see more, because at the very end of the table was a large-brimmed, brown leather hat. All they could see of it was the top, as it was propped up on its side. It seemed oddly organic compared with everything else in this room.
Nesco cleared her throat. "Hello?" she called out.
"No need to shout, longshanks," replied the hat. "I'm right here."
The hat tilted up. Nesco drew in a breath of surprise as she saw two eyes regarding her.
There was a gnome under the hat.
They hadn't noticed him immediately because the gnome had been laying on his side, apparently tinkering with the golem torso's interior. Now he straightened up with a sigh, stretched his arms, cracked his knuckles and sat there, legs dangling off the side of the table like a child, looking at them.
Just under three-and-a-half feet tall and weighing maybe forty pounds or so, Fenlun Herlendal sported a full beard, dark brown in color; somewhat rare among his kind. His skin was a shade of brown only slightly lighter than his hair, and that was almost exactly the same shade of brown as his outfit.
Fenlun was clad head to foot in brown leather. It might function as crude armor, Nesco thought, but its real purpose seemed to be more for function than for combat. His leather jacket was absolutely covered with sewn-on leather loops, each designed to hold a small instrument. Even the upper arms of his sleeves were covered with these loops, each holding a delicate if indeterminate tool of some kind. The inside lining of his brown leather cloak contained several pockets as well, doubtless holding still more small gadgets.
Nesco was about to make the introductions when Sir Corvis, arms crossed again and sporting an easy smile, spoke up first.
"Don't you get hot in all that?"
Fenlun returned the smile.
"Not according to any woman I know. I think I've got some kobold blood in me somewhere down the line."
The gnome reached to his side and turned up the flame on the hooded lantern which sat on the table beside him. There were some groans from the party, who now had to re-acclimate their eyes. A slight chuckle from Herlendal told them that the gnome was very aware of that fact.
Nesco now made the introductions. The gnome responded by sweeping off his hat and bowing.
"Fenlun Barlun Urlan Effigist Zimbalist Herlendal," at your service!" he exclaimed grandly.
Zantac spoke up sharply at that.
"Effigist? You mean-?"
The gnome smiled and gestured towards the remains of the golem. "Quite so, Zantac. Are you familiar with the art of effigies?"
"I've read a little about them, and heard a lot more, but mostly in rumors, and you know how accurate they are. I wasn't sure how much of it was real."
Fenlun smiled again. Mischief was in his eyes now.
"Goli!" he shouted, turning around. "Show the mage how real you are!"
The copper hawk immediately took off with a loud clatter of metal wings. It swooped towards the party and started circling above them. Then its metal beak opened, and a shower of sparks rained out and down upon Zantac, who protested loudly and swept his arms around to keep them off. Goli flew down and landed next to Fenlun, who shifted his position to make room for its arrival.
"Fascinating," said Sir Corvis. "I've heard of golems made of iron; according to what I've been told, a particularly terrible one lies inside the Castle Maure, but I've never seen anything like that before."
"Would you care to explain, Zantac, or shall I?' asked Herlendal.
The Willip wizard, still somewhat annoyed from his spark shower, gestured at the gnome. "You're the expert."
"I'm hardly an effigy master, but I'll give it a whirl," Fenlun replied with a modesty that seemed patently false. He then sat up as straight as he could and cleared his throat. "Take notes, class- there'll be a quiz afterwards."
"So much for the stereotype of the Annoying Gnome being a myth," Zantac whispered to Nesco, who smiled but said nothing.
"Golems," began Fenlun, "are constructs, but they're animated by elemental spirits, called forth from the Inner Planes and bound inside a body of iron, clay, stone or what-have-you by their creator. They're masteries of work, make no mistake, but there's no animus within; the animating spark of life that we all possess. It's not even an attempt at creating one."
"Now Goli here," Fenlun gestured at the copper hawk, "is a true effigy. A spark guardian, to be precise. He's not alive in the sense that you and I are- he has no soul- but he has a simulacrum of the life essence."
Zantac suddenly snapped his fingers. "That cat! That lion! He's yours, isn't he? Another effigy?"
"But why doethn't he move?" asked Laertes.
"Because, you brainless half-orc," Fenlun sighed in exasperation. "I've turned him off."
Nesco took an enraged step towards the gnome.
"Don't you dare insult Laertes, or I'll send all your effigies to the junk pile!" she shouted.
The gnome raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Sorry, Lady Cynewine. Forgive me."
"Apologize to Laertes. He's the one you insulted," growled Zantac.
There was a moment of tense silence, and then Fenlun bowed again, this time directly to Laertes.
"Forgive me, young Laertes. I spoke from old prejudices of my people. You are clearly as smart as any human."
"Why do I not feel appeased?" murmured Zantac to himself, but Sir Corvis, with his seemingly never-ending supply of diplomatic tact, was now redirecting the gnome back to their original line of questioning.
"This construct," the knight gestured at the golem pieces. "Do you believe it was an effigy, as well?"
"Oh, without a doubt," Herlendal replied. "As to what race created it, I sadly haven't a clue. Planar knowledge is not my forte."
"Perhaps I can help," Aelfbi Gemblossom now spoke up.
And with that, the half-elf cleric related his story, from when he and his two companions had first boarded the Mary Celestial to their final, successful attempt to destroy the golem guarding the wrecked steelsphere.
"I hope you were taking notes," added Zantac when Aelfbi had finished. "There's a quiz afterwards, you know."
The gnome gave the red-robed wizard a sour smile, and then turned back to Gemblossom. "And the effigy- it called itself a what again?"
"A rowbaht," replied Aelfbi. "At least, that's what it sounded like to me. A security and communications rowbaht. It was when we told that to Agarth that he suggested the possibility that the steelsphere might still have some kind of signaling device inside it."
"Well, for one thing, that sphere's not made of steel," Herlendal responded. The gnome seemed lost in thought as his fingers, one still stained with blood, absently stroked the spark guardian Goli's beak. "I suspect it's made of astral driftmetal, though I can't be sure, yet. I didn't have time for a lengthy examination of it."
"Did you detect on it?" asked Zantac.
"No, Zantac," replied Fenlun, his voice again heavy with sarcasm. "Being a wizard, it never occurred to me to check for magical auras."
Zantac was cut off in his retort by the restraining hand of Sir Corvis on his shoulder. "I understand," said the knight. "No auras."
"They could be hidden," Zantac insisted. "Like those on the Chams clothing," he said, turning to Tojo, who nodded silently.
Fenlun's features softened. "Now you're thinking! That's a distinct possibility, and if that's the case, I'm sure I'll be able to eventually breach any wards of non-detection. However," and here the gnome's high voice grew very quiet, "there may be another possibility. Even more remote, but even more fantastic if true."
"What is that?" asked Aelfbi.
"This is harder to explain," Herlendal said, but there was no patronizing or sarcasm in his voice now.
The others stood quietly, waiting until the small wizard had composed his thoughts.
"There are many forces in this universe," the Effigist explained. "Many are magical, but some are not. For instance," and here he removed a small cylindrical object from one of his belt loops, held it in his fingers for a moment and then let it drop to the floor.
"What made that tool fall?' he asked to the group at large.
There was a silence as the sextet looked at each other.
"The force of its own weight," Zantac eventually managed.
"Explain this force to me. From whence does it originate?"
The Willip mage was forced to shrug.
"Exactly. It's not magic; not that any mage I know has ever been able to detect, yet it exists. It can even be countered by magic- at least locally- but its own innate nature remains a mystery."
Zantac was silent. Despite his dislike of this gnome, he was curious about what he was saying, so he continued to listen.
"Now we can utilize this force. Even you longshanks can do it." Fenlun reached behind him on the table and set a plane of wood on his lap. "Moving a great weight down this plane is easier than dragging it along the ground. Why? Because you are using the force of the object's weight to assist you. There are other basic forces of this kind; resistance for example."
Herlendal gestured and the image of a small wagon wheel three inches in diameter, appeared on the table top, rolled right through Goli and off into space, where it vanished.
"The wheel works as it does because it slides across the ground. It offers less resistance than other objects and as it turns, it continually offers a new section of its smooth surface to the surface beneath it. There are other basic forces as well. These allow us to use the lever and the pulley. Again, no magic that we can detect, but they're real…"
Here the gnome smiled again. "At least as far as you people use that word, but that's another subject entirely."
"I'm not sure I understand," ventured Aelfbi cautiously. "Are you saying these natural forces exist inside these effigies?"
"To a high degree," responded Herlendal. "Movable gears, wheels, axles and countless other mechanisms are present within them. They certainly are in Goli here and Tikklun outside. They're necessary to simulate the movements of muscles. I'm sure they're in this rowbaht of yours as well, but from what I can see they're specialized to such an astonishing degree I'm having difficulty even identifying them, much less gaining useful information about them."
"So what is this other possibility you mentioned?" asked Sir Corvis, frowning.
"I'm getting to that," Fenlun said, waving further questions off. "As I said, any effigy requires magic to give it a semblance of life. Like fuel for a furnace. Either a bound elemental spirit or certain shadow magics to mimic the animus force as we know it. And yet," he hesitated, looked at the group, took a deep breath and continued.
"There are some scholars among my kind; call them mad, call them deluded, just don't call them late for dinner, there are some scholars who say that if the mechanisms of an effigy could be made sophisticated enough, then they could be animated solely by these natural forces of the universe. No magic at all would be required!"
"That's insane!" Zantac blurted out. The gnome's theory was in direct contradiction to everything he'd ever learned about magic.
Surprisingly, Fenlun shrugged, not seeming to take offense. "Very possibly. I couldn't say. This branch of inquiry is known as," he frowned. "Well, in the Common tongue, the word would be technomancy."
Zantac scoffed, but suddenly Yanigasawa Tojo spoke up again with one word.
"Hoos."
Zantac turned to him. "What?"
The samurai looked grim.
"According to Errohir-sama, Venom have arried wizard who herp him buird his dungeon rair. This wizard named Hoos. He use gorems; what gnome here carr effigies, to defend his rair and more. One such effigy a type of caretaker. He rook and tark rike man. I hear Cygnus tark about this mage once. Carr him technomancer."
Now it Fenlun's breath who caught in his throat.
The gnome peered keenly at Tojo. "Are you and your companions from the same lands as Aelfbi, samurai?"
Tojo hesitated a moment before replying. "No."
"I've never heard of these mages you mentioned; Hoos and Venom." He stroked his beard. "I'll have to ask around about them."
It was subtle and indirect, but Nesco for one had no trouble catching the implied threat in Fenlun's voice.
They had information this gnome wizard didn't, and he wanted it.
"I think we've taken up enough of your valuable time, master gnome," Sir Corvis suddenly announced. "Thank you for speaking with us."
"Yeah." Zantac couldn't help himself. "I'll be sure to throw that theory of yours around at my next guild meeting. We could all use a good laugh."
The gnome suddenly smiled wide. "Oh, it's a laugh you want, is it?"
Zantac saw Herlendal gesture, but he saw no obvious effect from it.
Until Nesco Cynewine shrieked.
Zantac looked over at the ranger, but Lady Cynewine was staring in horror at him.
Or more precisely, at his staff.
Zantac glanced down at his quarterstaff and before he could stop himself, shrieked in surprise himself and dropped it.
Even before it hit the floor, the red-robed wizard was cursing himself. He should have known. Should have known the damn gnome was an illusionist- weren't they all? Should have realized that the texture of his staff had felt no different. That it was all illusion, a glamour.
But all the others watched agape as what looked like a five foot-tall male organ clattered to the floor.
Fenlun lost it.
The gnome rolled over on his back on the table, his tiny legs kicking in the air in merriment as he howled with laughter.
"What's the matter, Zantac?" he gasped out. "Having trouble getting a grip on yourself?"
The gnome was lost in more paroxysms of laughter. Zantac scowled, scooped up his staff which thankfully had resumed it's normal appearance and stormed out of the room, the others following.
As he stomped towards King Belvor's Arms, Zantac paid little attention to the rest of his party. He was steaming with an ire that he know only many ales could quench. The only thing that he would remember later was a comment he had overheard Aelfbi make to Sir Corvis.
"Imagine. Imagine if you had all the time you needed- like in the astral, where time almost stands still. If that theory Fenlun talked about was true, why, you could construct effigies; machines with such power and complexity-"
He heard the half-elf's voice catch. It finished with an almost reverent tone.
"You could build an entire civilization on a par with our own- maybe even greater- and use no magic at all."
Cygnus bent down close right behind Saxmund as the latter opened the door to the small log cabin.
It was dark inside- the only coming from outside, and most of that was blocked by the mage and the rogue's bodies. The cottage sported two windows, but their shades were drawn.
Despite all this, Cygnus instantly saw what he wanted to see.
In the far corner of the room, a female figure sleepily stirred on a cot. It shifted to a half-sitting position and looked at them, one hand held over its eyes, trying to distinguish them.
"Saxmund?" the figure called out. "Is that you?"
Cygnus could swear that he felt his heart stop beating. Despite everything he had anticipated, despite the fact that he never seen or heard this person speak directly before, he was absolutely certain this was indeed none other than Talat.
"It's me," Saxmund replied, stepping inside. Cygnus, still hunched over, was so close behind her he had to concentrate to avoid trodding on the rogue's heels.
The woman sighed with relief. "Thank Forseti you're back and safe! I was getting worried." She then peered at the person behind the rogue and frowned. "Garoidil? Is that you? Where's Aelfbi? Wait…" she fumbled with an oil lamp sitting on an end table by her cot and got it lit. By the time she did, Saxmund and Cygnus were only about five feet away.
"Talat," Saxmund said softly. "I've bought a visitor."
Cygnus stepped out from behind the rogue.
He and Talat/Hilda stared at each other.
The wizard couldn't help but look at her in amazement. He'd been told that Talat was in disguise, but he hadn't imagined that she would dye her hair to the exact same shade of blonde as her older sister.
The hair. Those ice-blue eyes. Talat looked so much like Talass that it was frightening.
Talat kept her blanket pulled up against her body even though Cygnus could tell she was wearing a nightrobe. Even under the bulky woolen blanket, the mage could discern the bulge of Talat's pregnancy. She'd be about two months away from delivery by now, perhaps a little less.
For her part, Talat was staring at Cygnus with a sense of naked wonder. No fear or animosity showed on her face at all.
"Kingus?" she breathed, then looked over at Saxmund. "But how? Were you able to find him and-"
"Guess again," interrupted Cygnus coldly.
Panic flooded throughout the woman's every limb.
Her gaze shot over to the floor by her bed, where her mace lay.
"Don't even think it!" Cygnus roared and lunged at her, but Saxmund grabbed his arm from behind.
"Cygnus, no! You promised!"
The mage tore his arm free with an ease that both surprised and worried the rogue. Cygnus pointed his arm straight at Talat, the tip of his thin index finger only a foot from her terrified face.
"Try anything, and you're ashes!"
Talat glanced down. The tall mage's other hand was already inside his spell component pouch. She had begun to reach forward over the side of her cot but now leaned back, her hands upraised to show her compliance. Her horror-stricken face glanced over to the rogue.
"Saxmund, how could you? Have we come all this way only for you to betray me now?"
"I haven't betrayed you." The red-haired woman's tone was surprisingly even, considering the circumstances. It even sounded a little bit less reedy than normal. "You knew we were going to seek their aid in helping us secure the steelsphere."
"You never said anything about bringing them here!" Talat's protest ended in a shriek. "You know what they'll do to me!"
"If you were listening, you heard her mention a promise," Cygnus growled at the former priestess while jerking a thumb towards Saxmund. "I and Elrohir in particular, the ones with the most just cause to see your neck in the hangman's noose, swore to Aslan we would not harm you, and we won't. As long as you don't make me." The mage finished up by paraphrasing what Nodyath had said to him those long months ago.
"Unlike you, I keep my promises."
Talat didn't say anything. She just sat there, breathing heavily.
"He threatened to reveal your identity if he could not accompany me to see you," Saxmund told her.
Talat took several more deep breaths, trying to calm down. She began shivering violently.
Cygnus walked over to the dark fireplace and began to toss logs from the pile stored next to it into it.
"Get her dressed, Saxmund. I saw a table over there. Pull up some chairs and drinks if you have them."
He gritted his teeth. "We're all going to have a nice, cozy chat."
The three people stared at each other across the table.
Saxmund seemed to be the least involved, or perhaps she was just exhausted. The rogue sipped at her mug of tea without even appearing to taste it and yawned with a semi-regularity. For the most part, her emerald green eyes kept wandering back to the flames flickering in the fireplace.
Talat was now wearing a loose wool tunic, with her blanket draped over her shoulders and trailing down to the floor. She kept her bare feet submerged in a bucket of water which she had heated up by the fire, saying that they were paining her.
The ex-cleric was slowly marshalling her reserves. Cygnus didn't know if she wasn't as weak as she had originally appeared to be, or just didn't want Cygnus to think she was. Either way, her blue eyes were now seeking out the wizard's face more and more. Her breathing had stabilized, and her jaw was set. She looked almost defiant. Even as she sipped her tea with hands that still trembled, Talat was starting to remind Cygnus of Talass more and more.
Cygnus himself had been starting to slip into lethargy. He was absolutely fatigued; there was no question about it. He'd been about to abort this discussion and reschedule it for the morning but seeing what looked like Talass eyeing him coldly began to stoke the fires of rage within the tall wizard again. He set his mug of tea down, squared his shoulders and broke the silence.
"Nice dye job on your hair, Talat. You've got some gall, trying to look even more like your sister."
Talat looked at him. She looked puzzled for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was unexpectedly soft.
"Cygnus, the Fruztii do not have black hair. This is my natural color. It was always dyed black before."
The magic-user bit his lip. Having no good retort for that, he moved on.
"Tell me why we shouldn't turn you over to Major Standish. Explain what you've done to us, Talat. Explain the noble, secret reason behind the atrocities you've committed."
Cygnus' eyes abruptly welled up with her tears as he thought of his son. Of Tadoa.
"Explain it, damn you!" he shouted.
"Cygnus-" began Saxmund, but Talat cut her off by placing her hand on the rogue's arm.
"It's all right, Saxmund. I'll tell him."
"This should be good," mumbled Cygnus. He tried to cross him arms defiantly but kept having to wipe his eyes clear.
"Listen to me now, Cygnus of Aarde," Talat said, sounding now exactly like Talass. Cygnus drummed the fingers of one hand on the table and made an impatient gesture with the other.
"I'm no saint in disguise, Cygnus. You wouldn't believe me if I told you otherwise, so I won't. I've made bad choices in my life since I was a youth, and in time I intend to pay for them."
"In time?" interrupted Cygnus, but Talat gave him such a re-creation of Talass' icy stare that the wizard said nothing more.
"Yes. In time. Hear me out." She took a sip of her tea, set the mug down and continued. "My troubles have always stemmed from my listening to a lonely heart. Mine, " she added with a self-mocking laugh.
"You see, Cygnus, in many ways I'm still that little girl who just wants to be loved. I never got that from my father. The Fruztii High Priest of the Justice Bringer had plenty of time for justice, but no time left over for love. Ask my sister; she'll tell you."
"That," the mage said slowly, "might be difficult."
Talat, hearing something beneath the surface of his words, tilted her head at Cygnus.
So Cygnus told her. He told her everything he knew of Talass' vision, from when he had first heard about it to the day it had driven her from her husband's arms, and their company, for what he was sure was forever.
Talat's façade cracked but did not break. She sat in silence for nearly a minute after Cygnus had finished her account.
"So," she finally muttered, more to herself than the other two. "My sister has finally gone home." The former priestess smiled, but there was nothing behind it. "More than I'll ever be able to do."
"Tell it to a bard and put it to music," Cygnus snapped. "I have no sympathy for you. Just get on with it."
Talat considered that and continued. "Because he gave me a reason not to have to return to my unhappy home, I loved Nitch Redarm. So much so that I embraced his god just so my affections would be returned, and they were. I know the Heironeous worshippers all around us would consider it blasphemy, but even worshippers of the Scourge of Battle can love, Cygnus. It's true."
She took another deep breath and another swallow of tea. "After Nitch died, my attempts to get him raised ended up with myself stranded on the Mary Celestial. And there I met Nodyath."
"And no one lived happily ever after."
Despite herself, Talat smiled at Cygnus' jibe. "Who can say why we fall in love with who we do, Cygnus? You were married, were you not?"
Cygnus, breathing heavily, gripped the edge of the wooden table so hard all three people heard it start to crack.
"Thank you, Talat," the mage ground out through tight lips. "Thank you for bringing up the only tragedy of my life you weren't involved in. Now I really feel like singing!" He slammed his fist down on the table.
"Cygnus, please," said Saxmund wearily.
"How did you feel when you were in love, Cygnus?" Talat pressed, standing up enough for the blanket to slip off her shoulders. "Wasn't it wonderful? Wasn't it a power beyond any magic you're ever learned? Wouldn't you have done anything to keep that love, Cygnus? You're no holy priest! You're no paladin! Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't cross any boundary for that one special love! Look at me and tell me that!"
Silence descended again, broken only by the breathing of three people.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cygnus saw Saxmund looking at him. He turned to face her.
Tears were running down the rogue's face.
"I would have, Cygnus. I gave up my entire world to stay with him. I know there's something of Kingus in you, Cygnus. At least enough for you to understand what love is worth. Enough for it to- to break my heart whenever I look at-"
She broke down, sobbing, her head falling down on the table.
Cygnus finished his tea, if only to give him a few more seconds to think. The mage rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and finally looked squarely back at both women. First at Talat and then at Saxmund, who was just starting to regain control.
"I don't know, ladies. That's the honest truth. I loved Hyzenthlay with all my heart and soul, but I don't know what line I would have crossed for it. I know I have a reputation as a manipulative man, but- I just don't know."
He gave Saxmund a half-hearted smile.
"At least I can understand your case, Saxmund. After all, Kingus was a pretty good-looking guy."
The rogue laughed, but the action brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"I blinded myself to Nodyath's cruelty, Cygnus," Talat said. "I'm not proud of it, but that's the truth and I will always consider myself beholden to the truth. An inescapable vestige of my upbringing, I suppose."
Cygnus tried to steady his nerves. "You were an accomplice to Nodyath's crimes, Talat. That's how the law will view it, and if you still hold justice to have any value, then you will surrender yourself to face it."
Talat stood up fully now and pointed to her stomach.
"Not yet."
"Talat, that's-"
"Nodyath wants this child, Cygnus! He told me that! He's always wanted children, more than anything! Riches and material comforts were his for the taking with his Talent, especially after he left Rolex! Only siring children was beyond his sole reach!"
"Why did he leave Rolex?" asked Cygnus. He knew it wasn't directly related to what they were talking about, but it was something he'd wanted to know ever since they learned of his existence.
"Nodyath hailed from a land on Rolex called Eschtren. It was and is a terrible place by his account. The Devastation wreaked a holocaust there. Uncontaminated food and water were the greatest treasures one could ever hope to find. When Nodyath finally learned about Weralt, on the other side of the world, he teleported there with some of his followers, but some of them eventually betrayed him, telling all the authorities they could about Nodyath and his Talent. Eventually he decided to leave Rolex altogether. I think he was originally planning to go elsewhere on the Great Wheel; I know he mentioned a place called Sigil once, but he wound up on the Mary Celestial, and then…" she shrugged, and then looked back at the magic-user.
"Nodyath loved children, Cygnus. I know that seems impossible for you to believe, but it's the truth. Even back on Rolex, he would never allow a child to come to harm. All he wanted was to have, and to love, one for his own."
"If Nodyath ever loved children, Talat, he left that behind when he came to Oerth," Cygnus said firmly. "I suspect if he wants one, it's not for the same reasons you do."
Talat was silent for a moment and then looked down at the table, unable to meet the mage's gaze.
"Yes," she whispered. "He changed. Why, or how, I don't know. He was cruel before, but that was because he had always needed that strength to survive. But after we settled in Willip and he started working for the Emerald Serpent…" she broke off again.
"Talat." Cygnus had another question he wanted to ask. "Did Nodyath ever mention anyone, a group of people called the Hierarchs?"
She shook her head in the negative.
"What about a man known as Devil Chimes?"
"No. Who in the name of Bifrost is that?"
Cygnus explained what Laertes had told him.
"Laertes," Talat said softly, nodding as if to herself. "He's a good lad. He has a pure heart."
"Or a naive one. He told me you were kind to him."
Talat shrugged. "I met lots of half-orcs when I went to the Bone March, Cygnus. I quickly learned there were good ones and bad ones; same as with humans, or any of the common races, for that matter. Haven't you learned to look beneath the surface by now?"
"Don't lecture me, Talat," Cygnus said, his eyes narrow and his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not in the mood and if you make me angry enough to break my vow, I'll gladly die to send your soul down to Niflheim."
Talat backed down, although her face still bore the marks of frustration." I don't know who Devil Chimes is, Cygnus. What else can I say?"
"You think it might be Nodyath?" the mage asked, but Talat shook her head.
"It wouldn't make sense. Nodyath is the ultimate spy. If he knew I was in this area, he'd be able to find word of me by going to Laurellinn, or here, or Flameflower and asking questions while in disguise, or just using his helm of telepathy. He certainly wouldn't bother hiring orcs to try and kidnap me."
"Then who would? This Devil Chimes knows you're pregnant."
"Kind of hard to disguise that," she responded with a weak smile while patting her stomach.
Cygnus grunted an acknowledgement and leaned back in his chair. There were too many problems, too many questions and not enough time to deal with them all…
"Cygnus."
The Aardian mage looked up to see a single tear trickling down Talat's cheek.
"I'm sorry about your son, Cygnus. I never wanted that to happen. And I am so very sorry about Tadoa. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I'm sorry," she sobbed, covering her crying face in her hand. "I wish I could repair what I've done, but I can't. I can't…"
"Aelfbi has said there is one thing you can do," Saxmund said quietly. "You can start by repenting."
"I don't know if I can!" cried Talat.
"Why not?" yelled Cygnus. "Seems like a damn good first step to me!"
Talat surprised him with her reaction. She turned her hands, bent into claws, towards her own face.
"My soul!" she shouted! "It's infested. Tainted! Unclean! I do want to repent. Please believe me! I don't know why I can't! Words of atonement stall in my throat; they sound false even in my own mind! I've just done too much evil! I've hurt too many people!"
Suddenly, Cygnus was very far away. Remembering another woman crying. A very different woman and very different circumstances, but perhaps in the end…
"Argoria." The name seemed to pass through the mage's lips without his consent.
"Who?" asked Talat, still sniffling. "Did you say Argo?"
"Argoria," Cygnus whispered. "Argoria Bigfellow. Argos' sister."
"I didn't know he had one," said Talat. She began to ask something else, but Cygnus held up a hand to stop her.
"No. That's not my tale to tell and to be honest with you, Talat-"
The wizard's face told her as much as his words did.
"It didn't have a happy ending."
There was another minute of silence, punctuated by sniffles, labored breathing and the crackling of logs in the fireplace.
"Let's settle this," Talat announced abruptly, rising to his feet. Cygnus followed by sheer instinct- Saxmund was several seconds late responding- but the mage saw there was no threat.
"Here is my proposal to you, Cygnus. Keep my secret and help Saxmund, Garoidil and myself get back to the Mary Celestial. If we make it back to Rolex and my baby is born safely and at that time you still burn for my blood, then-"
She hesitated.
"Then I will come back with you here to Oerth, stand trial where and when you wish and embrace my execution without protest. You can even kill me yourself if you want."
"What will become of your child?"
In response, the former cleric gestured to Saxmund. "She and Aelfbi will bring it to Shelem Forest in Weralt, if it wasn't born there already. His father's people- the elves- will care for it and love it as one of their own."
Cygnus couldn't help but draw a deep intake of breath. An image of Thorin dwelling with the elves of Hidden Jewel in Welkwood came to him.
And as much as Cygnus wanted to take his son and leave with him, there was no doubt that the boy had been safe there. Safe; protected; loved.
The magic-user mulled this over, then looked back at Talat and crossed his arms across his chest.
"And what if Agarth is wrong and the steelsphere proves to be a dead end, Talat? What if it proves impossible for you to return to Rolex? Lancoastes can still plane shift Saxmund, Aelfbi and Garoidil home if they're willing to give up those six hundred years, but he won't do it for you if he learns of your true identity, and I won't lie to him for you. Our own interests are at stake here, too."
Talat took a deep breath, and Cygnus could see she had already considered that possibility. Once again, she seemed almost a clone of Talass as she replied, steely fire in her voice.
"Then Nodyath must die. I will kill him myself or die in the attempt."
This time, the silence seemed to last a very long time.
Cygnus now wished his other friends were here. Wished he hadn't rushed this. Certainly Elrohir, Aslan and Argo, but even Nesco and Tojo. He could go get them of course, but he didn't want to have to run through all this all over again.
He stared at Talat again.
Trust.
Could he trust her?
And even if he could, did she deserve it?
Children crying. Redemption. Manipulative plans. Betrayals.
Lord Odin, show me the way. Forseti, Bringer of Justice, what should I do?
Cygnus frowned.
Forseti?
He thought back to when he and Saxmund had first entered the cabin. What had Talat said when she realized Saxmund had returned?
Thank Forseti you're back and safe!
And when Talat had said that, she had not yet known that Cygnus was there.
May all the Aesir help us, he thought and decided.
"I only speak for myself, Talat," the mage told her, now pointing at her again. "Elrohir is our team leader and if he says no, then anything I say here is null and void. Understand?"
Talat nodded. Her eyes seemed just a little bit brighter.
"Once Elrohir and the others rejoin us, we'll be heading out to the crash site. I'm going to have Laertes stay here with you. I-"
The words actually caught in his throat, but with a mighty effort Cygnus shook them free.
"I'm going to try and help you, Talat."