“Hold! Don’t move!” a gruff voice thundered, full of authority. Red flames shot through the air overhead, cooking away a layer of fog in an instant. “In the name of Malik Morgra, hold!”
Kors growled in frustration, glaring down at Keevan. “Remember, we know where your parents live," he said, vanishing into the mist. “Breath a word of this and they both die."
*****
“What happened out there?” Madol demanded. Soldiers saluted at his sudden arrival through the gate. He looked Keevan up and down, taking in his bruised limbs, torn clothes and flushed skin as the sight seeker sat with his back against the wall, still breathing heavily. “Who attacked you?”
“Just—thieves," Keevan muttered, Kors’ threat still smoldering in his mind. “Maybe they mistook me for someone else in the mist? They chased me to the gates. The soldiers chased them off."
“Indeed," the Persuader said, glancing into the garden ahead of them suspiciously. His hands wrested on his belt, a hair’s breadth from a variety of weapons only an Etrendi could wield. “Judging by what I overheard from the guards, the thieves decided to accost you at the same spot where you caught the Pagoda."
“Just unlucky I guess," Keevan grumbled. The sun light warmed his face, but his tunic still dripped with water and he shuddered uncontrollably under Madol’s persistent gaze.
“Whatever your troubles are,” the Persuader said, kneeling down before him. He patted Keevan on the shoulder like one would a fellow soldier. “There are those of us who can help. Don’t keep a fight to yourself unless you’re sure you can win it."
“Sure I can win it," Keevan echoed numbly, rubbing his bruised forearms. He looked out at the garden, now easily visible in the rapidly fading veil of steam. Technically, he'd won. He was still alive, after all.
“But, I will make one thing clear," Madol said, standing up and blocking the sun, leaving Keevan shivering in his shadow. “My investigations come first. You hold anything back from me that I need to know in order to do my job and I will speak to the Malik about the matter, personally."
Keevan gulped, nodding. Persuaders enforced the Malik’s will over all of Issamere. Interfering in one of their investigations was tantamount to opposing Malik Morgra directly. Strictly speaking, they only needed him alive, in case his powers matured. Judging by Madol’s glare, that still left the Persuader with a number of agonizing options.
“I understand," Keevan said, rising to his feet with a wince. “One was nicknamed Kors. I think they had something to do with the Pagoda yesterday, but I don’t know what. They found me very quickly, even in the fog."
“That was your first mistake," Madol nodded, waving the soldiers away. They opened the gates and returned to their posts, runic emblems of Belenok and Suada glistening on their helmets and breastplates. “Assuming they were rain readers, they could sense you disturbing the fog around them. It would be like you feeling someone’s hand running through your hair."
“I’ll remember that, sir," Keevan promised, hesitating at the open gate. Sure, he'd daydreamed of walking these paths and gaining the favor of the Etrendi, but each of those fantasies involved him wielding elemental power himself or at least progressing beyond mere elemental sight. Instead, he stood before the homes of the most powerful beings in the city and felt absolutely vulnerable, practically naked. Their elemental fields extended a hundred feet in every direction and commanded enough of any element to snuff out his life with ease.
Not exactly a place where someone with absolutely no elemental powers could fit in.
Madol paused, barking over his shoulder impatiently. “You’ve already wasted precious minutes of my time. Get moving. I’ve a feeling you’ll be seeing more of this place anyway."
“Yes, sir," Keevan muttered, following the Persuader. He stepped out into the Etrendi District and muttered a soft gasp of delight.
Elegantly carved buildings and lavish mansions glistened in a myriad of colors, forged in stones gathered from every corner of Hiertalia. Each one sat amidst a tangle of gardens, hedges and smaller outlying buildings. This portion of Issamere was much older, taller and grander than the rest of the city. Flags, banners and knotted ropes hung from virtually every corner, marking houses' status and Temple allegiances with every hue.
With the rising sun, a few Etrendi walked the streets, their bodyguards in tow. Aside from the occasional sprinting messenger, legs pumping in brief flashes of lightning, everyone in the street moved with a quiet, gradual pace. Some walked past them, mostly followers of Belenok, to worship at the steam gardens. A small crowd hovered around a mansion’s entrance half a street down. Most were dressed in single colored tunics and trousers, braids of fabric or hair trailing down their backs.
“Criers, the messengers of the Etrendi," Madol muttered as they approached. Most were Keevan’s age, others in their early twenties. All were lanky, trim and wearing light fabrics one would expect from a person whose profession kept them on their feet throughout the day. A few of them were revealing enough to leave Keevan’s face warm and his pulse racing at glimpses of a couple woman’s bare backs and long legs.
“Make way. Business of the Malik!” Madol barked.
The crowd parted the instant they heard his voice. One Crier, a black-clad woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, stepped forward. “Honored Persuader," she asked, with a bow of respect. “House Ulforca would like to know the extent of the crime. Should they double their guard?”
“Wait until a Temple Master has searched the residence," Madol said gruffly. “I wouldn’t mobilize an entire house on my word alone."
A few of the Criers left then and there, but most hovered along the edge of the street. Small sparks of electricity leapt into the earth at each step, hastening their pace. Keevan gulped as a sinking feeling settled in his gut. Rhetans like Bahjal were so weak in the elements he could mostly keep up. These Etrendi though, even their lowly messengers could spark sprint.
The Arnadi guard at the gate nodded to Madol, holding it open as the Persuader passed. He glanced at Keevan suspiciously, blocking the sight seeker’s path with an armored arm.
“He’s with me," Madol said, gently pushing the soldier aside. “Potential witness. Come along, boy."
“One of thousands," the soldier grumbled, heavy circles under his eyes marking the end of his evening on watch. “That stupid creature drew half the city yesterday. Best diversion I’ve ever seen."
“Yes," Madol grunted grimly. “These thieves know their business. Come on, Keevan."
The Arnadi mansion sat on a wide stretch of greenery for a hundred yards in either direction. Some trees hung low with ripe fruits Keevan couldn't name, others were strictly for aesthetic appeal. Once they passed the black metal fence work, they followed a straight road, lined with willow trees. Colorful gardens on either side flooded the air with thick aromas of exotic flowers Keevan didn’t recognize. Even the wealthiest of Haldrans didn’t enjoy such lavish conditions as these.
Ahead of them, the Arnadi mansion rose like an old monstrous corpse from the garden’s vibrant surroundings. Its thick, blocky structure of grey stones and thick battlements marked it as a relic of the Age of Tears, forged of a mysterious substance that did not bend or erode with time. A handful of soldiers, marked with the Arnadi colors of black and red, patrolled the grounds and roof top. General Arnadi wasn’t taking any chances after the Pagoda escaped.
Keevan licked his lips nervously as they passed a patrol so heavily commanding fire that the air around them bent and warped with constant heat. A few archers kept their steel bows notched with an arrow, as if expecting an ambush.
“Persuader Madol, sir?” Keevan asked timidly. They’d reached the entrance to the mansion. The Persuader paused, hand on the heavy pine door’s knocker, shaped like a war hammer, waiting. “This isn’t just about the Pagoda, is it? These soldiers look like they’re ready for war."
Madol chuckled, then his mirth turned serious as cold steel. “Good, you’re observant. What I’m about t
o show you is the Malik’s business, do you understand? Not a word of this to parent or friend, or I will drop you in the deepest dungeon we have until you forget what the sun felt like."
“Yes, sir," Keevan answered, shuffling his feet nervously. He plunged his hands deep into his pockets as if searching for some hidden lifeline. In his peripheral vision though, he searched for a glimpse of Calistra’s braided hair or curved shoulders. This was her home after all.
The heavy door turned quietly on its well-oiled hinges. A balding, elderly servant in a worn black tunic and trousers answered the door, bowing aside when he saw Madol. "Persuader Madol," the servant said, pulling a heavy leather purse from his pocket. "Is this the young boy you spoke of?"
"Indeed." Madol said, pursing his lips in thought as he glanced Keevan's way. "Caught the creature with the help of a Rhetan friend."
"Be sure to divide the reward with her, as well as our thanks," the servant said, bowing deeply as he handed Keevan the bag. It jingled with the movement, dozens of gold coins singing in unison.
"I will do that." Keevan promised, accepting the bag with a bow of his own and tying it to his belt. A thrill of elation rushed through him. He was holding more gold now than he'd ever seen at one time. He tried to restrain himself, but he couldn't help the grin rising to his lips. He wanted to run straight to his parents, proudly displaying the gold for all to see.
"On with the Malik's business then." the Persuader grunted, waving Keevan to follow him as they entered the house. The servant melted back into the stone halls, his duty done. The hallways were wide and tall, the grey stone walls lined with tapestries, paintings and carpets, all depicting scenes of war and carnage.
“I heard General Arnadi was a bit... too dedicated," Keevan muttered, as they wound from one hallway to the next. A few Haldran servants bowed or curtsied in passing, burdened with trays of food or cleaning supplies. Everyone walked in perfect silence, like Arnadi’s personal soldiers.
“It’s a difficult task to protect our southern and eastern borders," Madol said somberly, fishing a key from his pocket. Pulling a set of drapes aside, he opened a door of thick timber, reinforced with bars of steel. The lock uttered a single heavy click, and then the way opened to the next chamber. "A man, who can't rule his own home with absolute control, can hardly be trusted to rule an army.
“This is where they were keeping the Pagoda?” Keevan asked, glancing uneasily down the dark corridor. The newfound wealth at his hip granted him some fresh courage, but the dismal stairs looked anything but inviting.
Steep stairs faded all too quickly into the total blackness of the basement. Iron rings hung from the ceiling at the head of the stairs, ready for a prisoner’s waiting wrists or ankles. He shuddered, noticing the glossy shine of recent use, rust and grime rubbed away.
“Come with me," Madol said, descending the stairs. Flames crackled between his fingertips as he extended his hands, lighting the stairwell before him. The scene made the Persuader look all the more menacing as he sank deeper into the basement. “You will have five minutes to examine the scene and tell me everything you notice. No questions. Go."
Keevan sighed, watching the Persuader’s descent. The room opened up below them, but from the top of the steep steps he couldn’t see far. There atop the stairs though, his fear and uncertainty gave way to one more powerful emotion. Curiosity.
Drawing sight seeker energy into his eyes, Keevan examined the staircase from the elemental plane. The rings in the walls were recently used alright, recently repaired, the air around them thick with moisture and heat. The prisoner probably melted his way out. Arnadi’s servants must have recently finished re-molding them to their current shape. A few drops of melted steel on the step below verified those suspicions.
Walking about half way down the stairs, Keevan looked at the scene from a new angle. The trouble with basements was the ease with which moisture seeped in, which could spoil food or leave a Tri-Being unnaturally calm and focused. Keeping the prisoner hanging above the basement kept him (or her) far enough away from the earth to prevent drawing up much moisture.
A heavy, gurgling sensation settled in Keevan’s stomach. So, the prisoner was skilled at commanding water, but was also capable of melting steel with his bare hands—there were only a handful of Tri-Beings so capable with the elements. Royalty and highest ranks of noble houses and Temple affiliates were the only real options. What had Keevan's abilities just tangled him up in?
Moving on, Keevan walked to the bottom of the stairs and took in the rest of the room. The wide basement stretched out another thirty yards ahead of them, thick columns marking the mansion’s main foundations. An elevated stone altar rose in the center of the room, holding a huge war hammer. Its head glowed to Keevan’s vision, humming with repressed heat like a miniature sun. Keevan’s heart doubled its pace for a moment. That was General Arnadi’s personal weapon.
“A Danica forged weapon," Keevan muttered, stepping up to the edge of the stone altar. “Designed to channel Tri-Being fire energy and magnify it tenfold, more so if the wielder is skilled."
“Well protected though," Madol advised, pointing a now cloudy arm at the floor. “See?”
Keevan glanced down, finally noticing the pale blue spheres embedded in the stone in a wide circle around the hammer. Switching to his regular vision, he noticed only a coin sized portion of the orbs were visible, enough to leave a single rune clearly visible.
“Are those—memory coals?”
“Yes," Madol confirmed, stroking his chin. “They’re relics from the Age of Tears, a millennia old. Dangerous ones at that, for Tri-Beings at least. The rune marked, for the creator, the emotion he’d embedded in the ore. We can’t decipher them, or forge them, only experience them."
Keevan pursed his lips and stared at the war hammer. “Not a risk you’d take lightly while standing next to a Danica weapon. One angry memory draws in enough fire and boom," He emphasized an exploding motion with his hands.
“Which brings us to the main mystery here," Madol said, walking around the altar’s edge till he reached the far wall. “Come see this."
One long wardrobe of cupboards, drawers and steel cages lay before them. Through his elemental vision, Keevan saw various tangles of heat or electricity, along the handles of each one, held in place by latent vines of Danica. Keevan stared closely at one, noticing a faint crack in top and bottom of the key hole where a proper key turn would separate two opposing pieces of Danica and render the trap inert.
Above them, black orbs pulsed in the ceiling, repulsor metal. Keevan gulped nervously, realizing exactly how much wealth went into this vault. Each of these orbs were irreplaceable, the secrets of their forging lost to history. Arnadi had dozens of them. Judging by the dry halos in the air above the cupboard, they pushed back moisture from the top shelves and cages of the wall, a necessary precaution for protecting fragile relics.
The cage in question lay open, exposing its barren floor and top. A disturbed circle of dust outlined the base of something round, slid free of the once locked container. Keevan leaned in close, looking at the edge of the wooden base, along the metal frame work which comprised the sides of the container.
A faint blue glow hovered there in the wood, subtle but persistent, like the energy from the war hammer or the memory stones. Switching back to regular vision, Keevan looked at the flat, smooth swirls in the wood, pursing his lips.
“Father sometimes has trouble with certain types of wood," Keevan said, hovering a few inches over the cage’s base. “The grains actually expand when exposed to water, or shrink when they get dry."
Switching to his elemental vision, he breathed on the wood. Thin wisps of water vapor tickled the wood, making the fibers thicken slightly. If Keevan hadn’t grown up watching Nariem work, he would easily have missed the connection. “This must be another memory stone."
He touched the metal side of the cage.
A blast of pain ripped through his body. Then everything went dark.
*****
Deep in the Harbor Guild's dungeons, a man sat resolutely on a tattered pile of straw. Thick chains chaffed against his calloused wrists. His unkempt hair and beard tickled the slimy floor, even as he sat up right, eyes closed as if sleeping. Scars from both knife and flame covered his torso, arms and legs. Coated in grime and dirt, he appeared more rock than statue, until he took a deep, rattling breath. Disease kept him restrained as surely as the shackles anchoring him to the cell's walls.
The moist, chilly dungeon inundated the prisoners in constant icy despair. The Tri-Beings succumbed to the cold, some wailing in sorrow and guilt until no tears remained. Others reverted to various forms of insanity, carried by the moist surroundings, to an intense focus on a single task. One woman two cells down kneaded bread only she could see. Another attempted escape by chewing at the iron bars of his cell. His teeth were long since worn away, leaving only bloody gums and a mere dent in the metal for his trouble. Prisoners like that didn't survive long.
Here, among the insane and the guilt ridden, Corvan waited. Secrets could only remain so for so long. Someone would come along with a plan and a price. They always did.
The other Tri-Beings in adjoining cells sighed in appreciation when the guards arrived for their hourly rounds, sometimes with food, always with torches. The prisoners lined the iron bars and stretched out to the heat, soaking in as much anger and resolve as they could through the warmth. But Corvan did not move.
"Here's the one," a short, stocky guard said, stopping at Corvan's cell. Years of experience lined the veteran's face, his offhand never far from his club's handle as he held his torch aloft. "This one never ceases to unnerve me. He never says a word, doesn't even open his eyes. But I can't shake the feeling he's watching him."
"Looks more like a statue," the young guard said. His boyish face free of the scars and marks of aging. He leaned in further, scanning Corvan from head to toe. "You think he's already dead and just too stubborn to decay?" Corvan took a slow, rattling breath.
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