* * *
Late afternoon light settled in the personal chambers of Stentor Folson. His suite of rooms was within the great council hall on the upper floor. Reuben would have guessed rich opulence and gilt hangings and was pleasantly surprised instead. Folson may dress the part of the civic magistrate in public, but his private life still held the hallmarks of practicality and simple comforts that Reuben had known the man for when they were both brothers in arms, though, even then Folson was always ahead of him. Reuben was seated in one of a set of large leather-covered chairs. They were works of art in their own right, old but well maintained. He felt himself coming down slowly from the overwhelming news. The quiet chambers recalled familiarity with tapestries of hunting scenes, regimental flags, and armaments on the wall which reminded him of times when life had not been so complicated. Reuben picked up the glass of fine brandy that had been left for him by Folson, who had returned downstairs to finalize preparations. He let the smooth, fiery liquid ease itself past his lips. Then he took off his battered boots and buried his stockinged feet into the rug. Near at hand the hearth crackled merrily. It was almost enough to make him feel at ease.
Reuben turned his head from watching the flames as the door opened from the meeting room of Folson’s chambers. Their owner had just stepped inside, quietly frowning but nevertheless calm. Folson pulled his robe off, underneath exposing a simple tunic and stockings. Then he wadded up the robe and chucked it on the floor with some considerable force, still the placid expression not revealing anything but polite attentiveness.
“So you haven’t completely changed,” said Reuben.
Folson let a small smile creep onto his face. “Yes and no,” he said. Folson walked to the same cabinet from which he had supplied Reuben with his drink, a large oaken affair with bright brass fittings. The pull of a cork and soft splash of liquid indicated Folson acquiring refreshment. When he was done, he padded over the wood floor to the other chair, easing into it with a long sigh of weariness. He was older than Reuben by a few years, but the stress and responsibility of his job showed readily in his salt and pepper hair. His brow furrowed deeply in a cross between a frown and deep thought as he slowly sipped on his drink.
“The city is better for having more decent folk on the council than it used to, if I might include myself among that number,” said Folson, “But changed? Yes, I have. I think more about the big picture these days, not minding too much how an individual person might be better off or not by my actions. You have to think that way, it’s just part of what the job does to you.” Folson was staring off into some image in his head, going over the facets of Reuben’s question. “In some ways I’m the same person. Same tastes, same preferences; other times, though, I wonder. I wonder if ten years ago I would make the decisions that I do today. Probably not, but maybe then I’d be just as wrong but for different reasons. Either way, I doubt I’d be sending you off on this journey.”
It was Reuben’s turn to frown, “About that, do you care to let me know just what I’m supposed to do? You lot aren’t really going to send me to the land of the gods, right?” Reuben asked. The question hung in the air; as it did so Reuben shifted uneasily in the chair that was no longer comfortable. He watched the expression on Folson’s face, it looked more unsure than he’d care to dwell on.
“I’ll not lie to you, Reuben,” said Folson, now looking directly into Reuben’s anxious face, “I never was a man of deceit; I won’t start today, either. What we’re hoping to do is send you as an emissary. But it’s awfully risky. We’ve tried before, when the cinders first started burning the western lands. The first time was the only successful one.” Folson looked away, “We sent the first messenger and after a day or so, he was sent back. Chap didn’t live very long after that, the journey and whatever it was that he encountered there broke his mind. For the few days that he had before he passed, we were able to gather that he was not made welcome on the other side. Since then we’ve tried a handful of other times, but none of the rest have ever returned.”
Reuben stood up, angrily pointing his finger at Folson, “You were supposed to be different than the rest. That’s what you always harped on about, how when you got to be in charge you’d run things better, treat people right. Now you’re talking about sending me off to my death? I could take that if it were a battle, I’m a soldier. I’d even go back to Braldoan. But this? You’re crazy. And don’t I get a say at all? I’m no tender green-foot cadet anymore. I’d be a captain, or more, if I hadn’t stayed and watched my homeland slowly burn away all those years. What if I don’t want to be your messenger?” His words bounced around the chamber, rattling the hangings on the wall accusingly.
Folson had withstood the storm of Reuben’s wrath without twitching a muscle. His gaze went slowly up to Reuben’s furious face, calm and cold he said, “That’s the thing, Reuben, I have changed.” His expression was sad, but also grim, “I remember what I said and it was true, then. It still is, but it’s different, I think of the city first, now. You are a soldier, yes, and you don’t have many choices available to you. I could simply order you to go, and then what? Or we could force you to go, bind you and portal you without your leave. That would go against the ethics of some of us around the great table, and I doubt you’d be a good voice for us at that point either. But we could do it, I could do it to you, if the situation merited it.”
Reuben looked at Folson with disgust, but before he could respond Folson held up his hand, speaking quickly, “You know, more than most, that we need help. Prayers and Karthild, a whole continent gone, and now our lands too are infected with this blight. It’s got to stop. We’ve no other choice than to go the route we’ve come up with. And I say this as one who has spent the best of his mind on this problem with the rest, exploring all our options, incorporating all our combined knowledge. We could force you, maybe even should force you. Rather though, we might hope that you would choose to take this on willingly, for whatever reason you might choose: duty, revenge, stubborn-headed pluck, I don’t care. But the city, the people, need this to happen. And here you are, the perfect candidate for the task. Your presence and effort at Braldoan stalled that advance for a long time. You come back to Entigria and get wrapped up again with new developments, this time to the east. If you aren’t meant to help us with this task then you can call me a dancing donkey and try to figure out a better choice. Anyway, the alternatives are few. Your escape was unlawful, even if your jailing was ridiculous. I have no qualms in telling you that some debate is still ongoing about whether you’re more deserving of exile or of execution, if you were to refuse to participate in our plan. If you help, though, and if indeed if you did happen to return from the land the gods, we might credit it to your account and be merciful. However, if you choose not to help us there is little reason for us to provide protection for you within our walls, at best, and there are one or two members that would take matters further than that.”
Folson watched Reuben carefully, whose face had settled into a stony appearance. The hand slowly curled around the glass and Reuben consumed the contents in one, slow tilt. He set the empty glass down and said, “I guess I don’t have much of a choice then, do I?”
“There’s always a choice, they just might not be ones you’d like to pick from,” responded Folson. Then he added, “It might be in your best interest to go anyway. Not just for the city, but for your own wellbeing. We have been considering in what manner or fashion our defenses were breached during your escape. We did not take kindly to such intrusion. It has taken much time and thought, there are a few theories; however, one has taken the lead as the most likely conclusion. We have come to believe that interaction with forces of the cinder lands, or perhaps contact with the land itself, leaves a mark upon the individual. Of what nature is unknown to us. Although inexplicable, it would account for the unnatural growth pattern of the lands always towards Chester first rather than spread in fashion more akin to a wildfire. Unfortunately, it gets worse than a mere attract
ant. Whatever this mark is, it’s a connection of some kind. I wish we understood more precisely the condition. We believe Chester bore this mark as well as yourself. With the two of you in a close enough proximity, the combined calling shown out like a beacon. Worse, it allowed a direct path to you both. Perhaps, if you have any luck at all, the gods might at least remove this burden from you.”
“I would have helped, you know. Without the threats.” Reuben looked at Folson with pity, “You have changed more than you know.”
“We all have. Once I would have simply asked you,” Folson sighed heavily, “Perhaps I’ve spent too long among those that require such motivators. Perhaps I’ve forgotten that there are still people that care more about others more than themselves.” He got up and walked over to his window, staring pensively at the city bathed in evening light. “Who’s that woman, skulking around the grounds with no good purpose?”
Reuben got up and walked over as well; he could see Pim below, clearly uncomfortable by the way she paced around. “The councilors downstairs would probably call her my accomplice. She’s sort of an acquaintance, supposed to watch over what I’m up to.” He observed as Pim settled down on one of the benches near the entrance to the council hall, near a set of steps that overlooked a small garden area.
Folson chuckled, “The council had thoughts along the same line. We’re sending along someone with you who specializes in Karthild, a young man by the name of Lucius. He’s my nephew, before you ask.”
“You’re risking your own kin on this?” asked Reuben, surprised.
“It was his idea, although I admit, I’m not too fond of it. On the positive side, at least you might get along with him better than whomever the rest of the council might have chosen for you in his stead,” said Folson. “I know this is a mess, that’s why we need someone who has dealt with the gods before, in whatever fashion. You’ve said before that you’re no priest, but why did Braldoan fall last at the church? Why did the gods provide for you with that censor? And why didn’t they answer our emissaries or send them back beyond the first? We never figured out what happened to the others we sent, they might still be there, for all we know. We’re keeping all of the options open, so we need Karthild there. This is the last time we’re trying this route you understand?”
“All right, Folson, you’ve made your point. I already said I’d do it,” said Reuben. “What am I supposed to do, deliver a speech?”
“Don’t bother about that. I’m not sure what might convince them. Perhaps just you being there, someone they obviously favored at one point, might be what’s needed,” said Folson.
“No real plan then,” said Reuben.
“How do you plan for a meeting with the gods?” said Folson with a wry smile, “Tomorrow then, Reuben. I trust you enough to not keep you here cooped up anymore. Here,” he handed Reuben a piece of paper that he pulled from his pocket, “I’ve asked Lucius to acquire accommodations for you both at this inn. He will be waiting for you there and arrive with you in the morning for your trip. Do try to stay put for an evening, will you?”
Reuben nodded, “Yeah, okay. Tomorrow then.”
* * *
Walking into the soft, late afternoon light was a relief for Reuben. Despite the trepidation at his next journey, he could not help but be amazed to walk in the fresh air of spring, perfumed and intoxicating with a clear sky above. Clouds on the horizon promised gentle showers in the evening, but for now the sun reigned supreme, making glad those it wrapped in radiance. The sound of children at play, with their mad cackle and eager shouts, reached his ears as he walked down the broad stone steps that led to the open plaza near the council hall. He could see Pim nearby, she had her back to him, looking out over the maintained lawn and gardens in the center of the plaza. Reuben stopped, scanning to see if he could spot the children and what they were playing. He could not see them, but he guessed they were in the trees and in the park beyond. The simplicity of play made him smile with fond memories of his youth. It would be nice, for a moment, to put aside care and concern. The nagging thought returned, however; here he was, standing on the steps of the greatest city, happy children nearby, and he carried secret news that could incite all these happy folk into panic. Part of him thought about telling someone, but the laughter of the children stopped him; they didn’t deserve the fright that his mission would stir up. And if he failed, there would be time enough to panic when the end came. He walked towards Pim, it was too much to hold in but Folson had been all too clear what would happen if the secret mission he was about to go on should become known to the public.
Grumbling to himself, Reuben carried onward. Pim, very out of place in the upper city, and garnering several looks of distaste from passersby, was waiting for him near the grassy lawn. She was sitting on a bench now, a small notebook in her lap. She did not notice Reuben at first as he came up, focused on her work. He looked over her shoulder and saw the reason for her concentration. There, taking shape slowly on the page were the beginning lines of a sketch. Petals and stem complete, she was shading and trying to capture the essence of whatever flower she had spotted. Pim closed the notebook quickly, nestling in behind the folds of her vest. She frowned but did not comment at first. Then, looking up at Reuben, “So, you’re back. How did it go?”
“Well, it was interesting, at least. Thanks for waiting for me, but shouldn’t you be reporting back to Gavin by now?” said Reuben.
“Trying to get rid of me, eh?” said Pim, with a smile, “Well, too bad. You’re an interesting person yourself. Trouble seems to follow you around, and that’s curious. But no matter, I like the show.” Pim hopped up from the bench, “So where’s the next performance?”
Reuben shrugged, “Well, you can follow me around if you want, I’m headed toward an inn. Supposed to meet a bloke there.” He headed toward the general direction of the inn. He was not familiar with the part of Entigria that he was being sent to, but he was hoping with enough wandering around he would find it on his own.
As they walked along, they looked an odd pair. Pim, in her street clothes from Subria, looked very out of place. Reuben was not much better either, still in clothes stained from travel in the badlands, and further ruffled by his impromptu antics with the guards at the council hall. Such scruffy looking travelers were avoided by the populace, some carefully turning their heads, and noses, away with varying degrees of offended nature.
“So, what’s going on?” asked Pim.
Reuben kept his tread measured, thinking about what he could tell Pim to satisfy her curiosity without revealing too much. “You saw, same as I, what happened at the last place I was at. The council is going to send me away on a little trip, chasing after some answers. Maybe I can find out something, a way to stop it.”
“What, just you?” asked Pim.
“No there will be another, a Karthild user called Lucius, some relation to the council. That’s the person I’m off to meet now.”
Surprise sounded in Pim’s voice, “I’ve heard of that one before. He’s been known to Gavin, experiments all the time. I don’t pretend to have the slightest clue as to what he gets up to with all that guff, but at least he won’t be all dead weight. I notice you haven’t told me where you’re going, by the way.”
Reuben looked uncomfortable, “Not supposed to tell you.” Internally he added, “As if it were believable, anyway.”
“Holding out on me, you’re kidding, right? That only makes me want to know even more. But I’m patient, me. I can niggle at you all day.” She watched the frown form on Reuben’s face and changed her tack, “But at least answer this. The way you walk right now, it’s like you’re marching. Wherever you’re going, I can see it’s important, but there’s a catch isn’t there?”
Reuben’s cheek puckered in his grimace, “I’m not sure how many catches there are in this little scheme. Probably one of them will be that it’s a one-way trip.” Reuben decided to reveal at least one detail, “I’m being sent by portal. Far away. Supposedly the wh
ole council will be needed to get me there. I doubt I’ll be back anytime soon, maybe not at all.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Pim.
“I wish I were,” said Reuben. “Come on then, let’s go.”
* * *
Reuben and Pim had been walking for some time. Reddish hues filled the streets as the sun sank slowly below the horizon. As Reuben guessed, clouds were coming up from the south west, likely carrying a good spring shower. He was wishing now that he had asked Folson for more precise directions to the inn he was seeking. Pim was still with him, having been adamant with meeting Lucius. He had her assurance that she’d let him alone after that. They were not moving hurriedly, but Reuben noticed that Pim had let her hand stray down to her long coat, where he knew there was stashed a hidden blade. Reuben’s senses came to the alert, quickly ascertaining the source of his companion’s preparedness. Some steps behind, they were being followed. Now that he was listening for it, the soft, stealthy tread of four or five sets of boots could be made out in the overall bustle of the city. It was subtle, but something in the deliberate tread betrayed their pursuers as something more than random pedestrians. Reuben was surprised, he had expected such encounters in the lower city of Subria, but not here in the upper city where violence was rare. He told himself that may have explained why his guard was down.
“Just keep walking,” Reuben whispered, with a slight shake of his hand, trying to indicate to Pim not to reach for the knife.
She frowned, this was going against her instincts. If someone in Subria was dumb enough to follow her, and even more stupid to be found out, the ethos of the under city said you paid them back then and there. To do otherwise meant you were prey; maybe not immediately, but word always got out, you’d not stood up for yourself, not challenged. And the shift was made in the minds of all that heard about it, mentally changing what column to sort you under. If you were not feared, you did not have respect. And surely, step-by-step, your fate was sealed until at last those who were stronger consumed you.
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