A/N: Oh no... not last minute reviews...
Keva 37: Sedjow will be familiar to readers of The Blood Between Us, but I believe that this would be his only appearance in ARR. Oh, and some voice? Who could that be? Uh, I don't really know, but could it be somebeast who was with Bodvar for some time who has magical abilities, and NOT Thordan.
Sebias 37: Heh. For some reason I do not like these scenes... Well, you have already seen one of those attackers before, and in this chapter you will see the other two. Yes, segment 3 did give the chapter its name. Parley scenes are the best! I mean, last one may or may not be my seventh (or more), but I just love them! All the shade being thrown and all that... Oh, and it could be a mole pressuring Thordan... (I thought I made it obvious!)
Piece of Mind
LOAMHEDGE
The gorge was wide, and the abbey may have sunk, but there were ways of heading down there. The beast who called himself Emetselk (he really needed to stop calling himself that) knew, of course. He had been there long before, way back when.
"Ah, I see that our guest had been well prepared for such a long journey."
The otter studied the mole in front of him. Twin swords strapped to his back made him more menacing than he already was, and the faint scars on his face did not help.
The mole reached out his paw, but found nothing. Conjuration had been cut off, like a sluice or dam does to a river. The grey vixen beside the otter quivered.
"Has all law and principle been so perverted that one may lay paws upon an emissary without punishment or consequence?" Standing up on the rock he was sitting on, he smiled mockingly at the mole warrior. His kind mostly avoided that reputation - they were mostly honest workers up in Mossflower, or scholars like Dagbert down South. The last mole to wield a weapon with proficiency was one Axtel Sturnclaw, but he was dead and buried for a hundred or so seasons.
"You could have told me that." Realising that force of arms would do little to a Conjurer and a Thaumaturge, unbonded as they may be, Arbert quickly settled down, crossing his paws.
"Well then." Emetselk raised his paws high. "So why have you come?" Arbert was not in the mood for small talk, and Emetselk knew this. Southards! A dull and dour land breeds a boring type of folk.
"For answers - answers that you have decided to keep from me. And you brought the vixen? The badgerlords told be to talk with the 'enemy fox' - I expected Isangrim, to be honest."
"At least you didn't hope for Erlend Swalestrom!" Emetselk's smile faded. "But seriously. Don't trust these badgers. They don't know everything - I learnt that the hard way."
"Yeah, yeah. Why are you two here?" Arbert rolled his eyes.
"Well… we wanted answers as well-"
"But Emetselk already came here, so he got booted off."
Emetselk turned to the vixen he had carried with him. "Yes, exactly as Hersent says." He put his paw up to his face. "We need a woodlander and a vermin to enter, and I'm out."
He looked at the mole. "Yeah. Should've thought things through. Care to take my place?"
"I don't have any idea what you mean." Arbert did not look like the most intelligent of beasts. But then, he was not his brother. Not even close.
He could still remember the first time he met the talpine brothers. Dagbert was the civil one, who offered to play chess and even gave him a few books. On the other paw, Arbert didn't even see fit to acknowledge him, despite Thordan being King of Parma and all that.
"Oh, come on!" The Warder tapped his footpaw on the ground in mock irritation."I want you to go into Loamhedge and get what you want!"
"Just like that?" Arbert blinked, clearly not believing Emetselk.
"Yep. But always question what you see, mole." Emetselk lifted up three claws. "Three possible futures you will see. All of them may be true, or none of them. Remember not to get trapped within them - leave when it is time. One might get trapped in a fake world."
He opened a corridor of darkness, and Hersent gasped at the unknown. Extending an arm at the mole warrior, the otter sighed as the vixen stepped into the unknown, and the mole prepared to do the same.
"Oh, and beware of sarcastic narrators as well."
Hersent woke up.
Of course, as far as she knew, she never even fell asleep.
Just beside her, Arbert the mole scrambled to his footpaws. Or, at least, he tried to, until he discovered that he was floating in a void of something.
Hersent spun herself around, and looked. Unlike in any place she had ever been to, in the Source, the Rift or even most recently to the Earthshard, she was confused.
WHO INTRUDES?
All four ears perked up at the voice. The deep echo was not even heard, but felt - as if their minds have been pierced through, and their hearts have been forced into reacting.
"Who are you?" Hersent managed to squeak.
"Show yourself, voice." Arbert put a paw on Finnbarr. Though Hersent may not have seen or sensed, she could guess that he embraced Conjuration like a fish leaps into water. Hersent found herself seize Thaumaturgy like a bird takes flight.
AH. TWO SEERS. BRILLIANT.
The vixen and the mole put themselves back to back. Arbert grasping his sword tightly while Hersent's paws were bare - her medallion Amplifier should prove sufficient.
THE CROWNED OTTER AND HIS PET RAT CALLED ME NARRATOR, AND I SEE THE MERIT IN HIS MOCKING DESCRIPTION. YOU TWO ARE FREE TO DO THE SAME.
"Er… thank you, Mister Narrator."
MISTER?
The voice turned higher, squeaker, as if it was from a lady's mouth.
I DOUBT THAT I HAVE A PHYSICAL FORM, SO I CAN BE CALLED MISTER OR MISS. IF I HAD EYES I WOULD HAVE ROLLED THEM ALREADY. MORE THAN ONCE.
The voice returned to its deep form.
WHATEVER. JUST CALL ME NARRATOR. THORDAN WAS PRETTY GOOD WITH HIS NICKNAMES! AND DON'T EXPECT ME TO CHANGE MY VOICE AGAIN! I HAPPEN TO BE PRETTY PROUD ABOUT IT!
"So… what are we to do now?" Arbert put his sword down, though he was hesitant to sheathe it.
I DON'T KNOW… MAYBE HAVE A CUP OF TEA OR SOMETHING? MAYBE HAVE A GAME OF TENNIS WHILE WE'RE AT IT?
Hersent failed to hold back a chuckle. "So when are you going to answer my questions?"
WHEN YOU ARE READY. AND AS FOR YOU, MOLE, WAIT AND SEE - LITERALLY. THE SIGN COMES ONCE, AND ONCE ONLY. LEAVE AT THE MOMENT, NOT ANY LATER.
Darkness blanketed the space between, and the mole was swiftly swallowed up.
IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE WE HAVE HAD A VISITOR. INTRODUCE YOURSELF.
"I am Hersent of Meschin, apprentice to Isangrim of Kurburg." The grey vixen said, trembling all the time used to pronounce her introduction.
I HAVE HEARD OF NO ISANGRIM - HE MUST BE TOO LAZY TO COME HERE, HMM?
"He is busy as of this hour. His mission is clandestine."
OOH! I LOVE ME A SECRET MISSION! AH WELL, WE CANNOT HAVE EVERYTHING, I GUESS. WHATEVER. EVEN LONG, LONG I AM FORGOTTEN AND UNUSED, THEY COME AGAIN AND AGAIN, SEEKING THE ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS THREE.
"I have heard from Emetselk that questions about death would not be answered, right?"
CORRECT, LITTLE VIXEN. YOU KNOW YOUR STUFF ALL TOO WELL. NOW ASK UP BEFORE I GET BORED.
"Alright. What are all the safe possibilities when a beast Bonds another?"
GOOD QUESTION! HMM… LET ME SEE...
Hersent's ears perked up.
IF A THAUMATURGE BONDS A CONJURER, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. BUT YOU KNOW THAT. IF A THAUMATURGE BONDS A NORMAL WOODLANDER, THEN THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS ONLY. IF A CONJURER-"
"Hold on. You mean that Conjurers can bond as well?"
CORRECT. IN MY INFINITE WISDOM AND MERCY, I WON'T COUNT THIS AS YOUR SECOND QUESTION. BACK TO TOPIC - IF A CONJURER BONDS A THAUMATURGE, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. BUT YOU KNOW THAT. IF A CONJURER BONDS A NORMAL VERMIN, THEN THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS ONLY. JUST LIKE WITH THAUMATURGES. NOW COMES THE FUN BIT. IF A CONJURER BONDS A MUNDANE WOODLANDER, OR A THAUMATURGE BONDS A MUNDANE VERMIN, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. AS IF THEY BOND ANOTHER SEER.
Hersent could feel a big breath being taken.
ALRIGHT. DO YOU HAVE A SECOND QUESTION, OR DO YOU WANT TO DIGEST WHAT YOU HAVE LEARNED HERE?
Hersent planned with the otter for long and far, and the next question was vital. "Will a Taggerung be born in the Source while I live?"
AH. AN EASY QUESTION FOR A CHANGE. I LIKE YOU. OH, AND THE ANSWER IS YES. YOU WILL MEET HIM THRICE, AS BOTH ALLY AND ENEMY.
Hersent gasped, but recovered her composure just in time to ask her third question - one of a less personal nature.
"What are the conditions for getting into an audience with you, and getting to see the future or ask three questions?"
THE FIRST FUTURE
He was on the deck of a ship, on his way to his home.
Floret never changed, in this world or the next. The one in the Source was Arbert's birthplace, and the one in the Earthshard was almost a second home. This one should be no more different - but it was a possible future.
Sails were everywhere across the clear blue sea. From little merchant barques to the giant carracks blazing through the sea. But the normally myriad colours have been replaced by black, white and grey sails, with all the colour from the world being taken from them.
Then came the spires of Castle Floret. Made of sand-coloured stone they were, seeming to reach up and pierce the very heavens themselves. Arbert sighed in relief. At least that part of his childhood had not changed.
Reaching for Conjuration and embracing it, Arbert made a Pathway to the docks. Stepping out from the gate, he saw a familiar figure.
"Lord Garrion!" Arbert cried out, earning a startled jump in return. The otter turned to him. He seemed much older now - almost thirty seasons old, even.
"Arbs! You've been missing for an entire decade now! They say -"
"Garrion! Good to see you! And what did I say about calling me the name?" He was one of the otter's arms instructors, and though the lordling was not an excellent student by any means, he was a good beast to talk to.
"Oh. Sorry. You haven't aged at all, by the way. I've heard that seasons do bad things to beasts, but you must surely be an exception."
"What happened to the world while I was gone?" Arbert quizzed.
"Well… the world almost got destroyed."
"What?" Arbert almost leapt up into the air.
'It's true. The waters didn't move, the earth and its gifts rotted away, and the winds simply didn't blow - until they did too strongly."
"Who, or what happened to save it?"
"Three otters. Two of them happen to be named Thordan, and the last was Lorelei Skyward."
Reality (a reality, at least) hit Arbert like a mace. "I don't really trust them. Did they really save the lives of each and every one of you?"
"You should never question it!" Garrion replied, agitated. "Besides, all three of them died doing so!" He shook his head. "They should have lived! My cousin should have lived!"
"Then-"
"Don't move, Lord Garrion." Arbert's ears perked up at the all too familiar voice.
Emmeroloth.
"Convocator Emmeroloth, what did you mean by that?" Garrion's brows tightened.
"He was one of those partly responsible for the Calamity!"
Before Garrion could do anything to comply with or defy the black fox, tendrils of Air wrapped around him, and he was cast aside.
Almost in a flash, Emmeroloth reached for Thaumaturgy. Remembering what he was taught all those seasons ago, the mole reached a paw forward, Fatch clutched in the middle, and walked slowly at his adversary.
"So you dare approach me. You have not changed. As if on cue, three spheres of fire launched out of his outstretched paw, which slammed into Arbert's WInd-shield. Abruptly clouds shivered in the sky, in multiple shades of black. In an instant, lightning leaped from them.
As if time itself slowed down, Arbert reached for Conjuration as calmly as he could, and shoved the pall in the sky right back at the fox. Emmeroloth screamed as his blow was redirected at him, the bolt shattering the stones of the street.
When the smoke cleared, Emmeroloth was kneeling, moaning in pain.
A gleam of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.
Arbert took a deep breath. He wanted to see Emmeroloth perish - for what he did and what he planned to do. He wanted to glean every bit of knowledge gleaned from the fox - perhaps a spanking could work on this Isangrim as well as that one.
LEAVE AT THE MOMENT, NOT ANY LATER. The words floated in the midst of Arbert's brain.
Forsaking further hesitance, he leaped through the rift.
THE SECOND FUTURE
He was in Duncton, where he grew up.
His childhood house had not changed since the last time he left. His bed was always left untidied, clothes were all around the floor, and the less said about the bookcases, the better.
No wonder Mother preferred Dagbert.
Stepping through the doorway, he sauntered through a corridor. Memories diffused into a willing brain - of chasing his brother through corridors like the one he was in, of embracing Conjuration for the first time under an otter's watchful eyes, of inviting Rebecca for tea for the first time… Maybe the last memory did not come to Arbert that willingly, but he got the idea.
Speak of Vulpuz…
A molemaid dropped her books, startling the warrior. He and she have met in the past, and were even close to betrothal a few times.
"Rebecca?"
"Arbert? But… but you're dead!"
"Dead? How?"
"You fell at Berstraat!" Rebecca seemed hysterical at seeing her old friend again. "You took down Thordan Swalestrom by yourself and you got a mace to the face!"
"I don't remember that… maybe the mace did do its work."
"Ha!" A shrill guffaw erupted from the molemaid's mouth. "You may have forgotten a lot, but at least you've kept your sense of humour!" She picked up her book. "Kelbert would be very, very glad to see you!"
"Kelbert?"
"The weasel we adopted from Sword!" Rebecca smiled. "We took him in to experiment on whether vermin learn as fast as woodlanders do! It happened half a decade after our marriage, don't you remember? "
We were married? Arbert willed the thought back into his head. "Where's Dagbert?"
"Oh? Dagbert? Who's that? Never heard of a Dagbert. Sounds like a mole though. Who is he?"
As Rebecca rambled on and on about how everybeast was excited to see him, Arbert failed to listen. He never even had the intention to do so. Instead, he reached for Conjuration -
And witnessed the unmistakable odour of a powerful Pressure.
Healing was never Arbert's talent, so removing it would be downright impossible - without the Ward, anyway. But they must be the ones who placed the Pressure there in the first place.
With Arbert and Dagbert out of the way, the Ward is unstoppable.
"No. No. All of this is wrong! This is not real! The Ward must be stopped! This world is doomed!"
A glint of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.
"I have to go!" Arbert turned and ran.
"Arbert, wait! Stop! I love you!"
Ignoring his wife's pleas, Arbert leapt through the light.
And I love you too, fairest Rebecca. With all my heart.
THE THIRD FUTURE
He was on a battlefield.
Flames bathed the grass as beasts died around them. Some of them perished screaming, some of them died fighting, and others moaned as they succumbed to their wounds. Arms and armour lay on every inch of charred ground, some abandoned by fleeing beasts, others still fastened atop the fallen.
Arbert turned onto a hill. Six banners, all of different colours lay on one side, and a sole blue banner on the other. Southsward stood alone.
A metallic clink caught Arbert's attention. Behind him stood a squirrel, clad in armour, charging into the mole. Embracing Conjuration, he slammed into the very earth, and tripped the soldier. The rodent flew into Finnbarr.
Spinning around, he saw the pained face of General Ralos - and the sword-stroke of an otter. Stormblood returned to a normal grip of his right paw as the otter turned to face Arbert, revealing a cracked helmet, a brown eye and a crooked jaw.
Thordan Swalestrom was not happy to see the mole.
Both beasts prepared a stance of battle - placing their swords at their left, and holding them with one paw. Arbert could have used both swords - but this reality's Thordan is not to be underestimated. It could be a trap.
Before Arbert could speculate even further, the Southard banner dropped.
Like a bolt of lightning, both combatants rushed towards each other, and swung.
Time itself seemed to stop as both sides raised their blades on their sides, unaware of what had happened, or had their swords even struck their foe.
Then Arbert heard Stormblood plant on the ground, barely supporting the downed otter.
Arbert stood up, and walked to his fallen foe. His eyes open and he breathed, but the big gash to his abdomen indicated that he wasn't going to do so for long.
"A smile suits a hero better." Thordan said softly, grinning like a madbeast. "You told me that yourself all those seasons aago."
He made no effort to shield himself from the fatal blow that came afterwards.
"Arbert!" A white-clad mole waved at him. Dagber, clutching a book in his paw fending off a pine marten Thaumaturge. Distracted with the mole Recorder, the vermin seer had no change at fending off a blow from Fatch.
"What happened, brother?"
"We've basically lost everything. The Ward have basically taken over everything - Southsward remains, but barely."
"Well, we have each other. We will survive this."
"We-" Dagbert tensed at incoming pawsteps, at an otter in white and a black fox.
"They're here!" Dagbert sounded nervous, afraid, even.
A sable-clad stoat walked from behind Arbert. With a sizzling sound, a massive sword the colour of night was summoned right out of thin air. A pine marten walked out of the shadows, followed by a hare with Heavensward the Amplifier.
"They're all here! We have to link!"
A glimmer of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.
"Please, brother!"
With a sob, Arbert ran towards the light as fast as he could.
Emetselk embraced Conjuration, and Emmeroloth prepared a bolt of lightning.
"For the love of Great Seasons, Arbert, help! HELP ME!"
The glow of light enveloped everything.
A/N: Hello, new favourite chapter!
You know, the NARRATOR grew on me fast. He's now one of my favourite characters, despite appearing in only this chapter. Everyone loves ALL CAPS, right?
I'm sorry for keeping the answer to Hersent's last question secret, but this could be spoilery. And just what is Isangrim going this whole time?
Chapter 39 (Thunderer) will be up on 18/19 December!