Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

“’Our cause’ is unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome,” said Oabdi. “Is it the conversion of these elders that has convinced you?”

  “Yes, in part,” Aylathan said with a slow shake of his head. “I begin to regret my self-imposed exile. My people feel abandoned and are corrupted by wrath or hopelessness. If your cause fails, I fear they will not recover. I will admit surprise that the best hope for my people seems to be in the survival of your human shepherd.”

  “My friend,” replied Oabdi, “I don’t believe any of us expected this turn of events, but must make of it what we can.”

  “I’m not sure how much assistance I will be able to offer,” said Aylathan. “It seems only one of my followers is moving to join the cause and my connection to him is weak. I sense some of Felith’s influence, but there is something else I cannot see. It’s as if he is partially shrouded from view. I have never encountered it before.”

  “A shroud? Yet you can still see him on the map?” Oabdi quickly asked.

  “It is as if he has become insubstantial, but still casts a shadow,” replied Aylathan.

  “As far as you can tell, has he always had this shroud?” asked Oabdi.

  “That is the part of this I like least,” Aylthan replied. “He lacked this remarkable insubstantiality before he encountered your shepherd.”

  Oabdi’s mind raced. Perhaps this mortal would offer clues to the magic that hid the rest of Bartleby’s minions.

  “Cousin,” said Oabdi as he guided Aylathan toward the nearest archway. “You may have just given us the greatest edge yet.”

  “How is that?”

  “We may learn enough to find the god of chaos.”

  ***

  No one in Arnhold had batted an eye at an unfamiliar face buying clothing, food and other supplies. A stranger would have been the subject of gossip for weeks in Byrkhill, but then, Arnhold was much larger. The hike back to the camp where Kovol and Cazmeran waited took much longer than the walk into town had. Cazmeran’s bag of coin weighed far less than the bundles Taelyn had carried back. In addition to three sturdy packs, each traveler had a warm, if not new, cloak as well as a few sets of clothing that more or less fit well. Between them, they also had enough canvass to erect a small tent, along with blankets, cookware and food that would last two weeks if they could also hunt and gather from the wild as they went.

  “I’m impressed with your handiwork,” said Cazmeran as he hefted one of three long knives. “But why these?”

  “They are too short to work well with the swordplay you are learning from me,” said Kovol.

  “Asking for weapons seemed to be a bad idea,” said Taelyn. “but those look like they might work with Delsaryn’s poky fighting style.”

  Kovol raise an eyebrow in annoyance. “I do not think he would call it ‘poky.’”

  “Well thrusting, then,” said Taelyn.

  Kovol shrugged and said, “You will die in a real contest of skill, regardless of weapon. You have much to learn.”

  “Yes, well if we’re lucky, we’ll avoid any real fighting,” said Cazmeran. “Travelers should be common enough on the road that we can go mostly unnoticed. Kovol, you’ll need to keep your hood up most of the time, but we should reach a city unmolested.”

  “I asked a shop keeper about raw wool,” said Taelyn forestalling Cazmeran’s protest by hold up both hands. “I said weaving was my mother’s favorite pass time. He said he could send to a place called Blackwall but it would take two weeks before any arrived. He said they normally only get finished goods from the city.”

  “A full weeks journey, then,” said Kovol.

  “There’s more,” said Taelyn. “I was nearly run over by a knight.”

  “What!” shouted Cazmeran. “How could you be so careless?”

  “All she did was warn me to be careful,” said Taelyn.

  “She?” asked Kovol with surprise. “I did not know humans allowed females to be warriors.”

  Cazmeran paused a moment as a smile spread across his face. “How unexpected,” he said. “Are you certain this woman was a knight?”

  “I didn’t think beautiful women cared about swords and armor,” Taelyn replied, “but she wore that and a tabard and had two war horses. She said she didn’t want to crush someone who was polite and I should be careful.”

  “Politeness is a virtue I can understand,” said Kovol.

  “Yes, she called it a virtue too, that exact word,” said Taelyn. “Cazmeran, why are you so interested in her?

  “Why, because it’s very interesting,” said Cazmeran, absently stroking his beard. “And doubly unexpected. I like unexpected.”

  “Good,” said Kovol, “because I do not expect you to help pack or carry our newly acquired goods. Surprise me, sorcerer.”

  Cazmeran absently packed a few things, with Taelyn adding some food and taking out the large stone Cazmeran had just put in the pack. The old man was still lost in thought when the trio began skirting the town toward the road to Blackwall. The road had just come within sight when Cazmeran finally spoke.

  “I think there are some very interesting things going on, my friends,” he said.

  “You already said you were very interested,” said Kovol.

  “What is it, Cazmeran?” asked Taelyn.

  If the old man had heard boy or orc, he gave no indication. He continued. “I think our patron’s fall from the heavens has caused a commotion. Delsaryn should have killed us for trespassing in that forest. This woman knight should have been able to tell who you were if she’d been sent to collect you. More, why have we not been followed or chased?”

  “You did bury an army in stone,” said Kovol.

  “Yes, but we didn’t get all of them.We couldn’t have,” said Cazmeran. “Some of those knights were definitely sent to find Taelyn and I. They were sent by Bartleby’s rivals and enemies, so why didn’t they keep coming? I can tell you that gods are not the sort to give up quickly.”

  Taelyn was confused. What Cazmeran said made sense but it led to more questions that he had no idea how to answer. “We only made it to the pass because of the fog,” Taelyn said, “and we nearly got caught anyway. How could they not find us?”

  “Exactly!” Cazmeran said. His eyes had gone bright and his grin was unsettling. “If they knew where we were, and there’s little reason to think they couldn’t, why aren’t these hills crawling with imperials?

  “If this is a mining area, are the hills not infested with humans?” asked Kovol.

  “No. Yes, but peasants, not knights, not guards,” continued Cazmeran. “No one was here waiting for us.”

  A thought came suddenly to Taelyn but he hesitated to speak it aloud.

  “Go on, boy,” Cazmeran said softly. Taelyn realized all attention was on him. Cazmeran’s eyes bore into him as if the old man could see something behind him. “Trust your instinct; it’s saved us a few times already.”

  “No one is here because the gods didn’t send them here,” Taelyn said. “The gods don’t know where we are. Cazmeran, if they can’t find us, it’s like we’re hidden by fog. We can be sneaky.”

  “Yes, there it is,” said Cazmeran. “For some reason, we can’t be seen. Better yet, Kovol, I think you can’t be seen by anyone, either.”

  “Should I then march naked to our destination?” Kovol asked, clearly unconvinced. “I am not invisible.”

  “That’s not the anyone I mean,” replied Cazmeran. “The gods can guide their minions through visions or omens, but if they can’t find us, they can’t tell their minions where we are. We aren’t invisible, but we aren’t a shining beacon to our enemies, either.”

  ”I do not like the idea that you or your god have done something to me,” said Kovol. “And I think I would like you to put it back the way it was.”

  “I assure you it was nothing I did,” said Cazmeran. “At least not on purpose. I wouldn’t have believed it possible to hide from the gods. There is more, too. We have not just benefited from a seeming blindness on t
he part of beings who can usually see anyone and everything, but their followers are not all hunting us.”

  “Cazmeran, if Bartleby isn’t an evil god, why would they all be hunting us?” Taelyn asked.

  “Well, to be honest, if he was evil, only the good gods would be after us, wouldn’t they?” responded Cazmeran.

  Kovol crossed his arms and stepped to stand next to Taelyn. “You did not answer his question,” he said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Cazmeran replied, “because an ancient legend hardly has anything to do with current events.”

  “Cazmeran,” Taelyn said quietly. “We talked about this once already.”

  “Yes, we did,” said the old man, “and I still think it’s a mistake. But fine, I relent to your judgment, oh great causer of chaos. The legend says that a very long time ago, Bartleby tried to end the game permanently. There’s nothing in the legend about why. Some say he went mad, some say he wanted to free mortals from the constant manipulation of the gods. Most think it was just a whim. The world became a place of pure chaos. Alliances and treaties failed. Entire races succumbed to madness. Even the earth began to tear itself apart. Bartleby had won the game but refused to accept victory.”

  “What would have happened then?” asked Taelyn.

  “Who knows?” replied Cazmeran. “Perhaps the world would have simply been lost and no new game would have ever happened. Or maybe all of existence would have been torn apart. As it happens, when all of the gods are threatened with permanent destruction, they set aside their differences. The entire pantheon worked together to stop Bartleby and won. They imprisoned him and let the world recover. But gods don’t scare easily. They hate being forced to do anything they don’t want to do and they hold grudges.”

  When Cazmeran paused, Kovol looked at Taelyn expectantly. Taelyn asked, “So if all the gods have reason to hate Bartleby, why isn’t everyone out to get us?”

  “Because somehow, though I have no idea how or why,” Cazmeran said, “some within the pantheon support Bartleby and it’s obvious what that means to us.”

  “You may wish to explain it to those not used to consorting with gods,” Kovol said.

  Cazmeran smiled and Taelyn shuddered. He knew what the old man was going to say a moment early, and that alone scared him to silence.

  With a wink, the old man said, “We have allies.”

  ***

  Once awake, Daniel’s recovery was swift. Dame Sarafina had taken good care of him, making certain he was fed and given plenty of water while he was unconscious. Even still, he was barely able to ride when they arrived outside the gates of Blackwall two days later.

  The city was old. While few of the original buildings stood, lost in some ancient catastrophe, the foundations remained. The stone was unfamiliar and oddly placed. Each stone had been carefully chiseled to match its neighbors precisely. The gaps between the stones was too tight to slip a dagger between and the mortar matched the stone in color and texture. Whoever had set those stones would have been the most celebrated master mason in the empire if he still lived. Had the craftsmanship only been seen in a single building, it would have been a minor footnote in a city with little merit beyond the presence of real civilization. As it was, every foundation of every building was of the same construction. Even more remarkable was that the entirety of the wall matched.

  Blackwall took its name from the soot that stained the wall along its full length. On the inside, the soot was product of generations of hearth fires and the occasional house fire. Outside, the stains bore silent witness to dozens of sieges. Burning oil and fired siege machines had left a mark where catapults and battering rams had failed. Never once had the wall itself been breeched. Taking the city had, in any known history, required destroying one of three gates. In fact, the gates of the city had been breached and rebuilt seven times before the empire had taken it one final time.

  The city within was not large by imperial standards. Daniel knew of half a dozen that were larger, not including the imperial capitol. Caliva was double the size of the next largest city which in turn doubled the population of Blackwall. However it might be found wanting, there would undoubtedly be a blacksmith who could repair Daniel’s battered armor and replace the helm he’d lost.

  “Have you visited Blackwall before, Sir Daniel?” asked the woman riding beside him. She had insisted on wearing her armor. She claimed it was as much a symbol of her order as the golden lion was a symbol of the empire. Plate pieces covered her back, chest and arms while chain protected joints and her legs. A simple but functional helm hung from a hook on her belt, leaving her hair free. The tightly woven braid of black hair ended just below the nape of her neck. Daniel felt it absurd to call her a knight, but the woman was still useful, so he paid what lip service was necessary to keep her docile.

  “This is my first visit,” he replied. “I have visited other cities, most notably my father’s holding of Stonebridge.”

  “Well then, some directions,” she said with annoying cheerfulness. “This road will take us to the trade square. On the north edge of the square is an inn called the Red Ox. I will secure rooms there for us. If you head to the south eastern corner of the square, you will find a reputable smith named Ransel. He will agree to repair your armor if you give him my name. I have coin for the work.”

  “Your generosity is a shining example, madame,” said Daniel. The words were sickeningly sweet, but it was what women wanted to hear. His own coin purse was buried under stone on a battlefield weeks away.

  “Farewell, sir, and I shall see you shortly,” she replied as she turned her horse to follow the wagon her man had driven down a side street. A knight acting as caravan guard. No, this woman was no real knight.

  Daniel made his way along the street into the heart of the city. They had arrived late in the day and the southern gate had been closest. The two- and three-story buildings left the street in shadow and lamp lighters already moved from building to building. When the street opened onto the main square, the transition was abrupt and blinding. The setting sun still hovered over the western wall, turning the square into a blaze of canvas, cobblestone and moving humanity. Most of the square was given over to tradesmen who huddled under tents and awnings of all sorts. Some of the tents had been dyed so the expanse of cream was spattered with color. The people, too, mostly wore plain, un-dyed clothing. The shimmer of silk or gold thread pointed to wealth here and there as the spatter of color seemed to drip down onto the people, as well. The lanes between the tents and awnings were not crowded, but it seemed that hundreds still shopped or strolled the bazaar.

  The ever present smell of dung was joined by roasting meat, baking bread and the acrid undertone of a not quite distant enough tannery. Smoke rose from several places within the square, but there were too many competing smells for them to account for every bakery and kitchen nearby. Neither the cow in the armor nor the wagon driver were passable cooks. Daniel looked forward to a meal competently cooked and his stomach rumbled in agreement. The crowd murmured a constant drone that was punctuated now and then by a shouting merchant advertising his wares or an angry patron protesting an inflated price. The ring of blacksmith hammers rang from the east and Daniel turned his horse toward the sound.

  The smithy occupied the very corner of the square and, for the first time since entering the city, Daniel was impressed. A square yard was fenced off and covered by a canvas awning. Four men worked on menial projects at small furnaces and anvils. One was making nails while another was bending horseshoes. Another man was hammering out a repair to an iron pot. The last man was showing an elaborate hinge to a customer. Arrayed around the men were racks and crates and stands, all bearing the smithy’s goods. In addition to the mundane needs of daily life and construction, there were indeed suits of armor. The examples on display included heavy plate like Daniel’s own armor, a suit of chain fit for a footman, and finally, a suit of the half plate that combined a bit of both. The suits were plain but clearly well made.

>   The buildings on the south and east side of the covered yard were each much larger forges. To the south, men shoveled gravel into a large crucible, beginning the process of smelting the ore. A team of six men labored to move a red-hot crucible from one building to another. The eastern forge seemed dedicated to the casting of metal. Several stacks of ingots sat near the far end of the works. It seemed this Ransel was far more than a simple smith. Daniel dismounted and began untying the bundle from the back of the saddle Sarafina had given him. By the time he had hefted the bundled armor to the ground, a soot-smeared boy was watching him from just inside the fence.

  “You boy,” Daniel said pointing at the boy. “Fetch Master Ransel. He and I have business.”

  Without a word, the boy scurried off. Daniel finished unpacking his armor and then watched the men working at various tasks within the ironworks. While Daniel certainly had no skill with hammer and anvil, he could tell a competent smith from a bad one. The men working before him had some time to go before they were masters, but it would like only be a matter of time and training. Each clearly possessed talent.

  He was just beginning to feel impatient when a large man strode out of the eastern building and began walking toward him. Like most smiths, the man had wide shoulders and thick arms. Unlike many, however, he was fat. Between the shoulders and belly, the man looked square and solid. As he walked past the men at the anvils, he made comments to each and each in turn offered the man a nod. There was little doubt this was the master of the ironworks and that he had the respect of his employees. Daniel thought that this was a very good sign.

  “Hello, good sir!” he called as he approached the fence where Daniel stood. “One of my errand boys says you and I have business, but I don’t recognize your face.”

  “You would not, master Ransel,” said Daniel, “as the business I bring is new business. Guardian Sarafina suggested you would be the best choice for some work I need. She has also promised to honor any debt the work may cause.”

  “Yes, yes!” said Ransel, the smile on his face growing. “Anything for the Guardian! I expect this business is to do with the armor arrayed beside you?”