With them out of his way, Servant finally had a chance to take a look inside the mansion himself.
He ran, light-footed and fast, to the north wall of the house, the one cloaked in the black of the night. In the distance, he could hear the clash and clang of the night-shift dockworkers and could make out the ominous shapes of ship masts painted against the backdrop of the sky. Morphing his hands into the suction appendages he'd used so many times before, he scaled the wall with little effort.
Once on the rooftop, he regarded the open chimney and smiled.
"Too easy,” he heard himself say aloud. Few places were dubbed easy to break into in his line of work, but then again, this was the realm of men.
The chimney was wide enough, and at the moment there wasn't a fire in the hearth. The flue was as clean as the recently washed cobblestone streets. Chimney sweeping was one of the few honest trades the residents of Drameda could learn and do well.
Servant shrugged off his qualms concerning his ability to accomplish his mission; his stealthy talent surpassed any other creature's. Putting his feet in first, he slid carefully into the chimney, keeping his knees against the inside stone to prevent falling straight down. Most hearths had an iron wood rack, which was never a welcome thing to land on if one lost one's grip.
He had his suction cups, though, and he smiled again, almost laughing.
It was ironic to him, in a way. The tools he was gifted with, at times, did little to help his dilemmas. But here, in this Plane, they gave him an undefeatable advantage.
Once he neared the bottom of the chimney, he managed to turn himself upside-down in the flue. He had control over his entire body and whatever was attached to it, so naturally, when he concentrated enough, he was able to pull his long hair into his scalp to avoid it making too noticeable an entrance in case someone happened to be watching the hearth. He wanted his eyes to see first.
Servant peered into the dimly-lit room. Nothing stirred, nothing was out of place and, even more pleasing, no one was there. It was late, after all, and everyone, including the mayor, would probably be asleep. He wasted little time in exiting the flue, then the hearth, and brushed just the slightest speck of soot from his shoulders and kneecaps.
His hands shifted their shape—one to a blade, the other back to normal. He had no intention of killing anyone, but he had to defend himself in case of an encounter.
He went from room to room on the first floor, found nothing, and continued his search upstairs. He found the room of the mayor, which was securely locked. After checking all the remaining rooms on that floor, he returned to the first floor foyer. There was one room he didn't check on the first round, not because he couldn't get into it, but because he wanted to check the others first before attempting to pick any locks.
His hand blade became a series of bony protrusions, crooked things resembling gnarled twigs. One by one, he slid them into the lock of the double doors, just inside and to the right of the main entrance. He had to be careful. Too much noise would bring the butler and guards, and too much time would increase his chances of getting caught by a sleepy human in search of a glass of water or a midnight snack.
A small click-click sounded when he twisted his third ‘key’ in the door's lock mechanism. Quickly, he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him and locking it again. Much to his surprise, it wasn't a room at all. In front of him was a stone archway with a torch-lit staircase spiraling downward. The air was considerably colder, and was accompanied by a stale stench like old rags and paper.
Undaunted, Servant descended. His light steps made slight tick noises on the stone stairs, which wound relentlessly around a center column. He considered taking a torch, but soon realized his eyes adjusted to the darkness just fine. Besides, he didn't want any night visitors or staff coming down those stairs noticing anything out of place. He was only searching, after all.
At the bottom of the stairs was a room, which yawned before him in only a single direction: straight ahead. There were no turns, no windows, no doors, only torches hanging along the walls on either side. There were marks on the floor, Servant noted, two lines about two feet apart, which he assumed were made by something being dragged or wheeled down the hall. The corridor seemed to go on for a long while, but finally Servant came to a ‘T’ junction, where he could go either right or left.
His decision was to follow the tracks, which turned into the left passage.
He followed it to a dead end. The tracks looked like they passed right through the wall! Curious, Servant poked and prodded at the stones to the right and left of the forward section, expecting a secret trap door or sliding wall section to open if he pressed the right one. He even tried to tug on the two sconces holding two torches in place, but to no avail.
He suddenly sensed a magical aura about the wall. The shapeshifter regarded it, brows furrowing while he rubbed his thin chin with his hand. Then, closing his eyes, he rested his two hands—after the other returned to its normal shape—on the front wall section. They began to glow brightly with a blue hue. The wall in front of Servant disappeared in a flash of bright light, and the sight before him stunned him momentarily.
He was taken back by the fact that the mayor had dabbled in the Arts enough to conjure a Deceive spell, if indeed it was the mayor who accomplished the feat, which paled in comparison to what was before him.
Servant stepped across the threshold, where the illusionary wall used to be, into a large room—a library! There it was, plain as the sun was bright. Wall to wall, top to bottom, the room was covered with bookshelves, ladders, and all sorts of book-related paraphernalia. He stood in awe of it, wondering where they had all come from and what they were doing down there hidden away from the world outside. Was it the mayor's private collection? Were these books not fit for human eyes?
Servant suddenly realized he was gawking and not achieving his goal of discovering who or what had come through the Planar portal. Although he felt right on track, he couldn't be sure. He was examining some of the books nearest to him when he thought he heard a sound behind him. He whirled, his hands swiftly—though painfully—shifting into deadly blades.
Nothing was there, but there was a small alcove tucked into the wall on the far side of the room. Servant went to it, cautiously, and looked inside. There was another small passageway with light illuminating from a source at the other end. Upon emerging, he found the source of the sound he heard.
He lowered his hand blades.
There, dangling from a rope hung from the center of the ceiling, was a small creature—a creature he knew to be a Lyymhorn.
Menishka'dun was horrified when he saw the lanky quasi-human enter the room. Though he had crossed paths with some bizarre life forms in his day, he'd never seen anything more grotesque and disfigured in his whole life. Even as he hung there, his mortality constantly in question, he found himself much happier to be up above than down below with the other.
When the skinny humanoid jumped up into the air suddenly, Menishka'dun flinched and saw his life flash before his eyes. He saw his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, his many cousins and uncles and aunts. He felt himself falling, tumbling downward into the abyss.
But then he stopped abruptly. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on the ground, face up, and staring into the face of the smiling, white-haired beast.
He squeaked and tried to get up, but a gentle hand stayed him. “Easy fellow,” it said, calmly. “I do not mean you any harm."
Somehow, Menishka'dun believed the other. He did calm down after a few moments, then offered, “You cut Menishka'dun down."
"Yes,” replied the other, who was untying the rope bindings from his wrists.
"You save Menishka'dun's life?"
"Yes,” replied the other again. “I know your kind well, Menishka'dun. I have been to the land of the Lyymhorns many times, and I know you are the one who miscalculated your last trip through the Planar portal."
M
enishka'dun hung his head. “Menishka'dun's family in danger now because of silly mistake. Master not forgive Menishka'dun this time."
Servant narrowed his eyes, and lifted Menishka'dun's chin up so they looked eye-to-eye. “Menishka'dun, listen to me. My name is Servant, and I am here to help you. But, in order for me to do so, you must tell me what happened. You can trust me. I know your father, Kinlon'oc."
Menishka'dun's eyes widened. Servant released the Lyymhorn's chin and smiled. “Now will you tell me what happened?” he asked.
"Menishka'dun tell man with strange name what me knows."
It took a little more than an hour for Menishka'dun to convey his tale to Servant, mostly because the primitive's mode of speech was very archaic and difficult to understand. Servant cursed himself silently for not visiting the Lyymhorns’ Plane more often to learn their ways. Even so, Menishka'dun did manage to tell every detail of his service to the one he called “Master".
Servant realized the Lyymhorns’ knew little beyond their uncanny survival tactics, love for their own family, and belief in the benevolent gods. Because Menishka'dun's master didn't seem to possess any benevolent qualities, at least based on Menishka'dun's story, Servant was puzzled. Lyymhorns were the superior beings on their Plane, named Was'un Mark, which was mostly made up of the waste of the Elderon—lowly creatures, miscreants, and other primitive life forms. The fact that Menishka'dun was so frightened of his master, even prior to being paid the visit from him, was even more peculiar to Servant.
"Our investigation here is over.” Servant laid his pale hand on Menishka'dun's shoulder.
The little creature had relaxed considerably during his tale-telling, and seemed far less skittish than when Servant first cut his bindings. Menishka'dun simply nodded and offered a sideways smile.
"You must also go back to Wes'un Mark,” Servant said, standing up. He saw the concerned look on Menishka'dun's face, and added, “Do not be afraid. I am coming too. My magic also allows me to open Planar portals, my small friend."
Menishka'dun somberly looked down at his feet, then snapped his head up quickly as he seemingly made a revelation. “Servant protect Menishka'dun from angry giant Master?"
Servant raised one eyebrow and cocked his head slightly. “Giant?” he asked. “You never said anything about a giant before."
Menishka'dun nodded his head rapidly, smiling broadly. “Master is big, ugly giant. Yes, big ugly. That what Menishka'dun call Master when Master not looking: Big Ugly."
Servant couldn't help but laugh out loud. “Menishka'dun, tell me, does Big Ugly have a club with which to bash Lyymhorns?” He continued to chuckle.
Menishka'dun's face became grave. “Pale man not make fun of Big Ugly. Big Ugly need no club or stick or anything else. No, nothing else. He only use voice. Yes, his voice is what he uses to bash Lyymhorns."
Servant stopped laughing when he saw how seriously Menishka'dun spoke of his master. Servant also recalled no mention of giants or other beings listed for Wes'un Mark in Elderon's Planar Navigus, the one book Servant would prefer never to see for the rest of his life.
The Navigus was the Elderon's version of an inventory, a categorized archive of each and every being created by the gods. Not only did The Navigus contain these genetic histories, but chronicled every lineage of every family of each species and their current Plane of existence, dating back to the beginning of the Elderon's inception. Servant had been forced to study the archive for years upon years before he was ready to begin training for Planar travel using the Elderon's Wild Magics. And, every so often, the Planes would shift on their axes, typically changing something vital in the process. When these events occurred, it was Servant's job to research what had happened and report it back to the Elderon so The Navigus could be changed.
Servant firmly clenched Menishka'dun's shoulder again, bent down to the small creature, and said, “We will get to the bottom of this, I swear. But first, I want you to tell me who brought you down here."
Aerinas stood out on the porch of the inn the group was staying at. He didn't care about the inn's name, a feeling he never thought he'd have on his travels. He sat there, looking up at the night sky, dreaming of the far away places he had yet to see and thinking of Nimoni.
The vision at Lunathar had stung him, probably more than it did Tristandor, but Aerinas never let it show. The magic he possessed and the hatred for his father was the catalyst to the hardening of his heart. It had to be. If Aerinas was to be who Aeligon believed he was, what his father thought him not, and what Nimoni wished he weren't, more, not less, of the emotional detachment was required. Every time the magic crept into his mind and body, it was in reaction to anger and fear, doubt and aggression.
Aerinas closed his eyes and sighed, for he felt the pulse of the magical energy within him begin to rise even with these simple thoughts. It wanted to feed, always hungry, especially when he was wielding the sword his father had given him. He unsheathed it and held it in front of him. The runes were glowing with soft red luminescence, throbbing in sync with the beat of his heart. He wondered where it came from, what the history was behind such a force, and why this sword, and no other, would react to him.
While he stared at it, a flash of white moved in the distance beyond his focus, but within his line of sight. He had hoped to get a good night's sleep for once, but he had already vaulted from the porch and was running amongst the shadows toward the mayor's mansion.
A figure had slipped into the rooftop chimney.
Servant listened while Menishka'dun relayed yet another tale. This one pitted four drunken men against the Lyymhorn. They had overwhelmed him quickly, knocked him unconscious, and had thrown him into a holding cell of some sort. Then, according to Menishka'dun, they had come for him at some point during the following morning when there was a hustle going on outside. Menishka'dun related overhearing a commotion involving strange visitors who had just entered the town uninvited. After that, he had been moved to the room they were currently in and tied up.
"Those men won't bother you again, Menishka'dun; you have my promise,” Servant said with a gleam in his eye. Menishka'dun's keen sense of survival had caught the twinkle in Servant's eyes, and offered an understanding smile.
"They actually inadvertently told me you were in the mayor's custody before I...” he paused and looked up suddenly. He stood and stealthily crept to the room's entrance, his right hand shifting into a deadly spike. Menishka'dun held his breath in fear, but when Servant returned, he let it out slowly, relieved.
"I thought I heard something outside in the tunnel. We have to go now, Menishka'dun. I will finish this story another time. In either case, I found you, I know why you are here now, and we must get back to Wes'un Mark."
"Not anytime soon,” echoed a voice down the room's small hallway. “Come out slowly, and throw out your weapons before you do. I am armed, I assure you."
Menishka'dun ran behind Servant's legs, trembling with fear. Servant's eyes narrowed and he sneered. “Who are you to be giving such an order?” he asked back. “You have not even given me the courtesy of your name."
"My name is Aerinas, and I saw you break into the mayor's mansion from the rooftop. Your tracks led to this room. I will have your name."
The familiar name struck Servant, but he couldn't place it accurately. “My name is unimportant to you, but you are meddling in affairs you have no business meddling in,” Servant barked. “I am no thief, if that is what you are worried about."
"Aw, how rude of you!” Aerinas taunted. “You mean to tell me I had to tell you my name, but you won't tell me yours? Most disconcerting."
Servant had had enough. He motioned for Menishka'dun to stay put and to be quiet. Servant closed his eyes. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead; his hands morphed into hand blades. He rushed the tunnel leading into the library room, but stopped suddenly when he entered.
No one was there!
Not until the next instant, when Aerinas came bearing down on Servant fr
om above with his feet pulled up to his chest and his sword angled straight down.
Servant instinctively sprang clear of the spot where Aerinas’ sword slammed into the floor. Pieces of splintering wood and carpet flew up from the space, but the sword got wedged between the floorboards.
"Not a smart move, foolish elf,” Servant said. He sprang again, this time in Aerinas’ direction.
Just before his hand blades could run Aerinas through, Servant crashed into an invisible barrier. He crashed to the ground hard, but was on his feet in the blink of an eye. Aerinas, guarding his face with his right forearm, looked where Servant was looking.
Aeligon was standing in the doorway with Pux in hand.
"Enough!” the wizard roared, his countenance appearing far more vicious than Aerinas had ever seen.
Servant stepped back a few paces, wary of the Vaalunan wizard, but unafraid. He was coiled like a snake about to strike, his skin, bones, and muscles all moving and shifting to places that would serve him best if he had to defend himself.
Aeligon, poised in an offensive stance with Pux, relaxed and pulled his forward right foot back into alignment with his other, standing in the entranceway. He patted his left hand in the air to try to calm the shapeshifter down.
"Easy now,” he ventured calmly, attempting to put as much of the subtle influence in his voice as possible.
"Your ancient magic will not work on me, Wizard,” Servant said matter-of-factly. “I have quieted many wizards’ tricks with my bare hands.” He put his twin hand blades in an “X” pattern in front of his face for Aeligon to see.
Aeligon narrowed his eyes, casting a questioning gaze at Servant. “You are not from here,” he stated confidently.
"Your assumption serves you well in this case,” Servant replied, smirking. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have no time to be battling with you, and I have no desire to discuss anything further. I have business requiring my immediate attention."
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