Although as a hunter trainee, Alys was learning to adjust her sleeping habits to her circumstances, she still had the natural habit she'd had as a little girl of rolling out of bed at first light when there was no other schedule. Thus she was dressed, packed, and had a light breakfast nearly prepared by the time Galf emerged from his room. With his customary efficiency, though, he was ready to go, breakfast eaten, leather armor and titanium plating in place, sword slung over his back and two knives at his belt in under thirty minutes. Alys started for the door.
"Hold up, Alys."
"Huh? I thought you were ready?"
"I am, but we're gonna get there by exercising our lips instead of our feet."
He opened his pack and took out a gold-hued ocarina--a telepipe.
"This is why I figured we could get a decent night's sleep. We'll save plenty of travel time, which'll be important. The trail's not getting any warmer. We'd have set out yesterday if it hadn't been so late."
"All right. Um...Galf, can you actually play one of those things?"
"Don't have to. The power'll work if you just blow into one end for ten minutes."
"Yeah, but that doesn't make it any easier on the listener." Alys had traveled by telepipe on her own once, when she was twelve, and given herself a splitting headache in the process. Music was not one of her talents.
"Don't worry, girl. This old dog's still got a few tricks you haven't seen."
Galf lifted the pipe to his lips and set into a merry jig from Uzo. From there he segued into a native Motavian ballad, a Piatan drinking song, and the classic "Dragon's Eyes." Alys was getting caught up in the music, tapping her feet in time with a Nalyan waltz, so it took her off-guard when the telepipe suddenly crumbled into glowing dust motes that swirled up and around the hunters, leaving them standing just outside the Zeman city gates.
The gateguards nodded politely as Alys and Galf entered the town. Newcomers were a common sight, for Zema was a trade-town, a popular stop on the caravan routes between east and west Motavia. Beyond that, it was also the home to the sacred valley of life, Birth Valley. Pilgrims came from all across the planet, so the guards saw scholars, farmers, merchants, tinkers, artisans, and hunters, every kind of person.
While the hunters weren't new to Zema, Zema was quite new to Alys and she couldn't help rubbernecking a bit. The town was built right up against a towering, nearly vertical cliff that was at the south end of a mountain range. The cliff served as the north wall of the town, and even from the other side Alys could see where a mountain river became a hundred-foot waterfall, cascading down to the northwest corner of the city. It was a spectacular sight, one which Alys had never heard of.
The one thing she, and nearly everyone on the planet, had heard of was Birth Valley. Straight down the main avenue of town, Alys could see the open mouth of the cavern entrance, framed by its own little gate. She didn't know why it was called a sacred valley; she'd heard that the maze of twisting passages was inhabited by examples of unusual wildlife not seen anywhere else in the world, to justify the "valley of life" appellation, but the hunter couldn't tell what was sacred about having more monsters around. Or maybe the sacred part was that the creatures liked to stay in their dark, dank home instead of creeping out to snack on pilgrims or townsfolk.
All in all, though, Zema was an impressive sight for the first-time visitor. Alys had to remind herself that she was a visitor on business and stopped playing sightseer long enough to catch up the several strides she had fallen behind her mentor.
"Kinda takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Galf commented.
"It does," Alys said, unashamed. "It's more spectacular and nearly as beautiful overall as Termi. It's lucky most of the buildings are one-story, so they don't obstruct the view. Or," she asked as a thought struck her, "is it really luck?"
Galf laughed heartily.
"Now, why would you suspect that there's a town law requiring a permit from the mayor to build anything two stories or taller, even on private land?"
"Given how much of Zema's business it must owe to transients, I'm not surprised they'd make sure to keep it as attractive as possible." Her father had been a merchant, after all, and she'd begun her training in the business before her parents' death. Indeed, the people they passed in the streets showed a quite remarkable variance in clothing and appearance that bore out her conclusion. Some were even blue-furred Motavians in their hoods and long cloaks. Alys amused herself, and practiced her observation skills, by trying to guess where the passerby were from and why they were in Zema while she followed Galf to a large house in a wealthy district of town.
The hunters' knock was answered by a haughty-looking servant, a man who obviously took pride in the fact that he worked for someone with wealth and power. He looked over Galf and Alys scornfully, not impressed by their traveling gear or the packs they carried. Sand worm leather was flexible and tough, providing sturdy protection from the elements and enemies alike, but it was rarely a contributor to high fashion.
"And just who might you be?" the servant asked with a barely concealed sneer.
"We're from the Hunter's Guild. Your employer sent for us," the veteran snapped. Galf had obviously seen far too many people like that in his time to be impressed. Then again, Alys was less than half his age and she wasn't any more convinced of the twit's importance than Galf was.
The servant's face openly displayed his emotions as he swiftly changed his mental impression of the two visitors. Hunters did not arrive at their clients' homes dressed for a social call.
"Y-yes, of course, do come in. My employer has been expecting you." He stepped back to let them enter. "If you would follow me?"
He led the way through the sprawling residence, crossing rooms and hallways furnished with expensive carpets, hangings, and ornaments before finally taking the hunters out into a sunny garden courtyard with an ornamental pool in the center. Alys glanced at Galf, who returned her dubious glance. The majordomo hadn't taken the most direct route to the garden door but had instead picked a course showing off his master's wealth.
Probably, she decided regretfully, it would not get this job off on the right foot if she were to toss the servant into the pond.
At the edge of the water, beneath the shade of overarching palms, sat a table surrounded by comfortable chairs. A man reclined in one, leafing through the pages of a thick, cloth-bound book, a glass of iced vanja, barrel-cactus juice, at his left hand..
"Excuse me, sir," the servant said.
"Yes, Marcus?"
"The hunters from the Guild are here, sir."
"Oh?" The man's eyebrows rose slightly, and he inserted a strip of ribbon into the book to mark his place before setting it aside. "I hadn't expected them for some days yet."
"We wanted to get started as quickly as possible, before the trail got cold. It's too bad the Guild doesn't have a set of branch offices, but that's what telepipes are for, isn't it?"
The servant withdrew as the hunters approached the table, and Alys got her first good look at their client. He was a well-fed man in his fifties, with clusters of laugh lines around his eyes and mouth but otherwise a pink, plump complexion. His brown hair was cut short when it could have easily been left longer to conceal a slightly receding hairline, which told Alys something about his character or at least what he wanted people to think about his character, and he had a neatly trimmed moustache. Unlike the opulence of his house, the client's clothing was in a simple style: shirt, vest, and trousers. Although the fabrics were expensive there were no elaborate patterns or complex embroidery. Nor did he wear any jewelry.
"Well, I'm certainly happy to avoid any unnecessary delay. Please, join me," he offered, gesturing for the hunters to sit. "Can I offer you refreshment?"
"We'd prefer to get right to business," Galf answered for them both.
"As you wish. As you no doubt have assumed, my name is Preston Cross."
"You can call me Galf. This is my assistant, Alys Brangwin."
Cross's eyebrows flicked upwards at the introduction.
"Galf, the Thunder Sword? I'm surprised you'd accept my commission."
"I can see why, judging by the help you've been able to find so far."
"Alys," Galf chided, but Cross just chuckled.
"It's quite all right. Marcus can be a bit trying at times, but he's very handy for depressing the pretensions of the various toadies and lickspittles my position invariably attracts. Still--the Thunder Sword!"
Galf got his usual look of mingled embarrassment and frustration that use of his nickname inevitably brought out. Alys couldn't repress a chuckle.
"Someday, girl, you're going to pick up a silly title of your own and we'll see who's doing the laughing. Still and all, better to be known for what I did well than for what I didn't, if you see what I mean."
He had, Alys reflected, a point.
"Anyway, that's enough barstool comedy for now. You've got a problem, Cross, and we're here to deal with it. A case of theft, your commission said?"
"Yes, theft, but more than that. Raw, wanton vandalism besides! Historic artifacts ruined!" The sudden passion took Alys by surprise after Cross's initial calm. "If mere theft was the only issue, I could have gone to the Zeman town guard. What's more, this man was clearly an expert professional. I doubt he'd stay in town long, so if I'm to bring this cur to heel I'll need someone whose jurisdiction extends beyond the local area."
"So what was stolen and when?" Galf asked.
"It happened two nights ago," Cross said.
"You got your commission to the Guild very fast," Alys remarked.
"I don't like to waste time when my property's at stake. I had a letter transmission sent to the Guild as soon as the guard was through questioning me." He paused, then leaned back in his chair before resuming. "As to the issue of what was taken, I think a bit of background would help to clarify matters."
Galf nodded.
"It's your show, and it's always good to know the game we're playing."
"I am a collector," Cross announced. "It's not that uncommon a hobby among people like myself with too much money and too much time on our hands." He smiled gently with the jest, but it seemed to Alys that it did not touch his eyes. It wasn't self-deprecating humor out of a genuine appreciation of the irony, but only an attempt to appear more congenial to his audience.
Unfortunately for him, his audience was one of the less gullible ones around.
"Specifically, I collect weapons. Some are valuable as works of art, some for metal and gems, some for their worth if used in combat by men and women like yourselves, and the ones that are the most precious of all to me, the ones that are a part of history and legend. I make an effort to protect my collection. There are walls, locked doors and windows, alarms, and other defenses against thieves. Two nights ago, those defenses were breached, expertly and professionally. A jewel was stolen from my collection, one single jewel, but more damage was done, senseless, inexplicable damage."
"In my experience, thieves, particularly experts, aren't too interested in doing damage when they could be running off with the loot," Galf said. "Tell me more."
"My household was awakened by the noise of a thunderous explosion," Cross began the story. "I can only describe it as being like a loud thunderclap, or...are you familiar with dynamite?"
Alys wasn't, but her mentor obviously was.
"An explosive chemical. You see it mixed up by Native Motavian engineers now and again, for mining mostly."
"Quite--and extremely loud. Most of the servants and I rushed to the collection room as soon as we were awakened. Devin--my groundskeeper--let out the dog in the back garden. We discovered a single weapons-case badly damaged, the window with part of the glass cut out of it, the alarm wire disarmed, and one more piece of work which I'll come to in a moment. Meanwhile, the guard dog apparently had a run-in with the thief, because we found it unconscious, drugged by some kind of blowgun dart. All of it indicative of an expert job, except the noise that woke us."
"Which was neither expert nor professional."
"Indeed. I can only assume it has something to do with this."
Cross reached down under the table and brought up a cloth-wrapped package. He undid it to reveal a three-foot staff, knobbed at the end, made of some dark-hued wood Alys didn't recognize. Carved into the knob was an odd symbol or rune, which she didn't recognize either. Galf picked it up and looked it over carefully.
"Hm. Strange wood. Doesn't look like any I've seen. Alys?" He offered the rod to her and she took it–then nearly dropped it again as a tingling sensation passed through her hand as soon as she gripped it.
"This is weird. I can feel something when I hold this."
"Oh" Cross said smoothly. "Do describe it, please."
"I don't know how, really; it's like the prickling when your hand falls asleep and it's starting to wake up, but it's all under the skin. Galf, what is this?"
She set the staff down quickly; the sensation stopped as soon as she let go.
"Beats the heck out of me. I didn't feel a thing," admitted her mentor, which really didn't make her feel any better.
"I'd wager," Cross suggested, "that you, Alys, are a user of the Foi technique, while you, Galf, are not. Am I correct?"
"Yeah, you're right," Galf said. "There's something about this stick that's got something to do with power over fire?"
"Exactly so," Cross told them, a spreading look of smug superiority cut off by Galf's quick understanding of the situation. "Somehow, a person's natural affinity for the technique reacts with the staff's magic, allowing them to sense its presence. This is a Fire Staff; it is believed to have been created by Espers long prior to the Great Collapse. The wood is from the laeruma tree, which does not grow on Motavia, and the symbol carved on the tip is, according to my references, the character for fire in a prehistoric Parmanian language said to be associated with these Espers."
"Magic?" Alys said, her tone somewhere between scorn and open disbelief. "Espers?" At the last second, she reined in her tongue before she started talking about fairy tales. They didn't need her getting them in trouble by stupidly shooting off her mouth.
"As I said, a relic of those bygone days. From what I've learned from correspondents of mine at Motavia Academy, not a unique item, but a rare historical curiosity nonetheless, all the more so since ancient magic of course no longer exists in today's world. It was quite valuable for these, but what made it the crown jewel of my collection was the fact that it was also in perfect working order."
"What did it do?" Alys asked.
"By merely holding the grip so that the character touched bare flesh, it could be willed to launch bolts of flame from the tip. This effect was quite similar to the Foi technique, but induced no mental fatigue in the wielder the way technique was done. Furthermore, anyone could so make use of it, no matter if one had any ability with Foi."
Alys whistled.
"Nice trick!"
"Oh, it was."
"Since you've been throwing around the past tense, though," Galf said, "I'm guessing that now you'd be lucky to get a spark, let alone a firebolt, outta the thing?"
"That's exactly right," Cross confirmed. "Somehow, the Fire Staff has lost all of its power."