Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol

by Dan Gillis

  “That is an interesting brooch. Was it passed onto you?” He looked at her intently, his eyes inquisitive. She had forgotten the jewel but now recalled all the previous events that had brought it to her.

  “Oh, it’s just something I found. Sometimes you get lucky finding stuff lying around.” She chuckled less sincerely that she would have liked.

  “I had one just like it, but I lost it not too long ago.” He stared down the road as they wove a path through the local people.

  “Really? I’m sorry to hear that …” Firah felt a ballista go off in her guts. Could he be the one? No, he couldn’t. It would be impossible. Still, she felt the conversation taking a dangerous twist. It was time to divert to other topics. Any topic. “So, I’m curious, what were you and Tohm talking about on the way here?”

  Zyr paused, then continued. “We discussed the weather, the land and the people, but generally, we talked about you. His concern for you runs deep, Firah, as I’m sure you know. He is a man of exemplary character with a heart and mind attuned to peace, a quality truly unique among men.” Zyr’s expression softened. He looked at Firah. “I consider it a blessing to have worked for him.”

  “Oh yes, work …” Firah trailed off. She was becoming somewhat speechless. The conversation was turning dangerous once again. As a confirmation of her intuition, somewhat uncharacteristically, Zyr continued the conversation.

  “Imagine, one moment you are travelling the countryside without a care in the world, and the next you are copper-less. I have never given much thought for trivial things, such as money. My philosophy is that ‘it comes and it goes’. However, having no place to stay or no food to eat was difficult, although it’s not the first time it’s happened. Master Tohm was good enough to let me work for food and pay. Quite an honest man, Tohm, with a heart the size of Llian's Spire.”

  Firah was now intimately inspecting the local insect life upon the cobbled road. The ants scurried as rapidly as her frenzied mind. Her face was burning, and she tried desperately to hold onto her dignity. He knew. Somehow he knew and he was testing her to see how she would handle the problem. Curse his probing! She couldn’t live with herself now, especially after what he did for her and Tohm on the road to Khyvla. She opened her mouth to speak.

  Zyr was one step ahead, as usual. “Of course, whoever ended up with all that worthless money would probably be better off with it than me; all it does is gather dust in my purse. It would be better drinking money than not to be spent at all.” He laughed softly, and then pointed in the general direction of a shop farther down the street. “Didn’t you mention you had clothes to mend? That looks like a reasonable shop.”

  Firah came to her senses, suddenly dumbfounded at being offered an escape. He had reeled her in like a fish and she still had the proverbial hook embedded in her gaping mouth. Zyr’s last words about clothing took hold in her mind. She realized that she had forgotten everything due to yesterday’s events as well as this morning. She had left her worn out clothes at the tavern after her argument with Tohm. Certainly, after being tanned at Tohm’s hands, clothes were the last thing on her mind. Then she remembered the Thrushtals, the remaining money and small items in her leather vest. She looked up at Zyr, watching him tentatively as she spoke.

  “Uh … I decided to get some new cloth and have some clothes made … the old ones are pretty worn … been through a lot of repair … you know how it can be …” She looked at him desperately. At a moment’s word he could unveil her whole crime, even have her arrested right here. She was fated to this man whom she barely knew. Justice demanded a punishment and it seemed to be consistent with his disposition to expect nothing less. A sickening feeling swirled in her stomach. Zyr reached over and touched her glistening brooch. He smiled gently in response to her foolish, young and reddening face.

  “I’ll be down the street a bit, securing our lodgings. Don’t be long.” He turned and moved down the street with that same methodical pace he carried the previous rainy night in Lenhir. Firah scratched her head and breathed out very slowly. True, he might be odd, but she doubted that she could find a more compassionate soul than this man named Zyr. She turned and trotted off to the seamstress, grinning foolishly and wiping tears all the way.

  ***

  Ebyn watched the cloaked one disappear into the crowds and the girl just afterward moved toward a shop. Two targets, but which to follow? Lady Nuril wanted the girl; following her would be the obvious first choice. Yet he was feeling subtle energies surrounding the man, which was worth considering. To lose sight of him while trying to capture the girl could lead to complications later. He would follow her companion and determine a location of residence, if any. At that moment he considered whether he should warn his blood-brothers. But share the glory with them? It was too much to bear, to think of being considered on an even field with those simpletons. Ebyn swelled with pride considering his combinations of the most potent dark abilities with powerful Arcane Lore. His assaults left opponents in his wake, sending them to the afterlife. Or to the Underworld. No, he was all the Lady Nuril would need for this task and his reward would be great. His mind caressed the thought: First Consul to the Dark Lord Ahtol. With his dark cloak shifting about his legs, Ebyn stalked slowly after the nearly vanished man and smirked at the thought of great expectations.

  ***

  Tohm finished pulling the large canvass across his cart and inspected the spring bars and body loops at the front of the waggon. Satisfied they were soundly fixed, he proceeded to rub the ponies down, eased their whickering and made for the makeshift camp he had erected. Tohm was no stranger to hardship, many a day he had spent on the trails of this land. Most of the other merchants had hunkered down for the night, and he considered that they were as disappointed as him to be in such close proximity to the now shut gates. He saw a lantern swinging toward him in the failing light, and squinting saw another larger man in traveller’s attire approaching.

  “Lo’ there, good man!” Tohm cheerfully stated as the man grew close. “How about sharin’ a fire with a lonely soul?” The visitor extended his hand which Tohm took. He looked to be in his middle years like Tohm, and the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed many a winter, in merchant’s terms.

  “Actually, I was about to offer you the same courtesy. Some of us are gatherin’ up a few waggons ahead. You’re more than welcome to join the group. There’ll be singin’ and tale spinning if you don’t mind the company?”

  “I’ll bring the ale.” Tohm smiled as he took the man’s arm in the embrace of meeting. Tohm secured his camp and made for the gathering.

  After a few jokes and songs and many drinks later, the group of merchants were becoming fast acquaintances. All were pleasantly surprised at the quality of Tohm’s special blend. It had a nice bouquet and, being powerful, was not meant to be consumed in vast quantity as with so many other typical ales. Although Tohm usually charged a significant price for his own special blend (it took many working hours to culture it to perfection), he decided this night he would forgo with business. The group was a merry bunch and recited every song common to all, at considerable volumes. The sun had dipped below the horizon when the group settled down to small talk.

  Tohm sat next to another fellow who had been somewhat quiet that night, though had partaken of the hospitality. His face was shrouded by a hood and the growing darkness, which further hindered the inquisitive eye from discerning detail of the man’s appearance. He sat upon a barrel with a small cup of Tohm’s ale, which was barely touched, the surface of the ale reflecting the flickering fire that burned in the center of the cheery merchant circle. Tohm looked fuzzily at the man and the nearly full cup.

  “Whasha matter? You don’ like my ale?” Tohm weaved slightly and waited upon a response. The man’s head turned, though the fire did not illuminate his face. It was a few moments before the reply came.

  “You came with two companions today.” The voice was hollow sounding and barely audible. Tohm’s mind was addled with brew
and his thoughts swam through oceans of molasses trying to connect and form ideas. The voice had a palpable soothing effect upon his senses. His already sodden brain began to slow its synaptic processes.

  “Yeah … I did.” Tohm’s arms and legs felt heavy and his mind slowly turned the conversation around in his head. Somewhere, deep within the recluses of his conscious a voice was screaming. “You fool! Be careful! Where's your sense?” Tohm’s eyelids slid downward across his now bloodshot eyes. It took every effort to lift them again. Another unseen whisper melted away his defences.

  “What were their names again?” The cowled head was now focused upon Tohm. His head was sagging and burdened by an unseen weight. Tohm looked into the darkness within the hood with pleasant interest. He was unsure why he had sat down, and overly perplexed as to where he was. The hidden face in the dark consumed his whole mind and body. He felt peculiar, as if caught in the clutches of a sensual, comforting beast and having no desire to escape. Slowly, his mouth formed words as the screaming voice diminished into whispers and shadows.

  “Fira’ ... and Zyr.” Gaeth stood slowly upon hearing the names and paused in front of his incapacitated prey. He felt he should end this miserable speck’s existence, and normally would; however, there was a specific charge to avoid suspicion at this critical phase of the plan. More importantly, this news merited haste. Zyr. Lady Nuril must be informed without fail. For, it seemed that the ‘prize’ had arrived at last, but with an unexpected and dangerous companion.

  ‘Pity to have to leave him alive’ he thought as he passed his hand over Tohm’s now glazed-over expression. Tohm’s eyes closed slowly. Would he leave a small present with the man, a ‘possible future’ which was in store for his precious charge? Why not aggravate the conscience? That was a far more effective and demoralizing punishment. Yes, that was worse than death in many ways. Gaeth smiled within himself. As Cerephor, his ability to manipulate the mind combined with significant advances in Nexism would make him a fit First Consul. Nuril would reward him greatly for this information. Gaeth placed a hand upon the brow of the entrapped simpleton. Just a small delay would be sufficient, and then the nightmare would begin. Gaeth’s body pulsed as he transferred a small portion of energy from the Root within the land. It twisted and convulsed under his masterful control, shifting into a horrific scene that burrowed itself in Tohm’s memory. Then the Ashori whisked away into the dark, unseen by the merry drunkards. His body moved smoothly through the night, and slipped through a small enclosure in the stone wall, which sealed itself anew without a sound.

  “Nooooo!” A distorted scream broke the night air replete with agony and utter despair. “Firah!” Tohm lurched to his feet and being inebriated promptly fell over into the fire and searing coals. The agonizing heat of his demented mind far outweighed the physical pain of scorching flesh. At first, he sluggishly tried to regain his footing out of instinct, but failed. Finally, he rolled from the fire and extinguished his clothing. Tohm’s entire right side was sore and blistered from severe burns. His mind was completely aware now, sharpened by the horrific scene in his memory. Tohm sprinted from the campsite, knocking over gaping merchants who witnessed the peculiar scene. He charged to the city wall and rammed his fist on the rigid wood beams of the gate. “Firah!” Tohm’s voice was harsh now from damaged vocal cords, which were pushed to their limit. He slammed his large knotted fist into the gate again and again. Tohm kept calling out her name, knowing that there would be no answer. She was inside, the subject and sacrifice of the darkest ritual the Defiler filth could invent. His hand was bleeding profusely and his body ached painfully from the intense burns. Tohm seemed disconnected from the pain while his mind could not escape the scene in which it was entrapped. It kept playing over and over, as real as any memory. Whenever the dagger in his mind would fall upon her, his hand would smite the wall vibrating the cool, unforgiving beams. Guards atop the wall looked down and jeered at Tohm in disgust.

  Those within the city, who listened intently, heard the most peculiar sound but could not pinpoint it. The noise which sounded like soft distant thumps or taps carried on into the night.

  Nature had been kind to the Sapling; it had grown unhindered, soaking in the sunshine and rain. Now, an unforeseen shadow was cast across the Sapling’s path. Blocking Nature’s sweet nourishment, it threatened to choke out the life of the tender plant …

  Drawing the Glyph and Dagger

  TAMERS CRAWL provided the means for all travel and connections in Southern Kenhar society. It was first born from the chilling heights of Llian’s Spire. From thence, coalescing from the vast ranges of Tamers Reach, the mighty Tamers Crawl meandered ever westward to the shores of the sea. Though wide and deep, its flows were calm and trustworthy. It was upon this great river that all traffic passed continuously through the land. The talk and trends swirled about the nobility, who were centered in the great capital city of Syrion. The Royal city’s walls were last to touch the river before it emptied into the sea. From those great ageless towers rumours would endlessly flow, nearly as swift as the Crawl, coursing back upstream through the provincial lands.

  Khyvla was positioned conveniently along the banks of the Crawl as it passed through Mehnin Province. Local businesses made great lucre servicing the nobles and social ‘acrobats’ seeking to climb ever higher toward glory and fame. One such establishment was the Gilded Scabbard, which took pride in its noble patronage. For most of the public house residents, any news was welcome to reignite forgotten and faded rumours. For some, it was the opportunity to discredit a rival while spreading their own accolades. Naturally, this all required a certain degree a tact and timing. The Scabbard was such a place; far enough away from the royal hub to be free of recourse but fertile enough to plant the seeds of lies and sedition. Certain information, in skilled hands was as valuable as any finely crafted weapon or royal treasure.

  Shien was the newest resident at the Scabbard this fortuitous week. The paths of fate were converging and, at any time, fortune would shine upon him … after so long.

  The entrance admitted a pristine woman, who glanced around the room, her eyes brushing over Shien. After whispering something to the owner (who waited upon her), she proceeded into a private room adjoining the busy common area. Shien took a moment to survey the small crowd growing from the arrival of the last transport. The vessel was requisitioned by the Blade of Ahtol and as such it was prestigious to book passage along with the new cadre. It was past dusk and more and more pompous, snobbish looking patrons entered and began to mingle and acquire lodgings. The river transport was a charter direct from Syrion which was a haven for the stuffed up, high-born folk. Shien listened in disgust to their mindless prattle. The people were so transparent to him. He slowly rose to his feet and straightened his own fine silk outfit. It had cost him significant wages and he was hard pressed to “throw away” his money on things that served no tactile purpose. ‘Well’ he thought ‘at least it helps me pass as one of these idiots.’ Shien slowly but gracefully wove through the crowd into the private room occupied by the woman.

  Upon stepping to the threshold, he observed the woman. She was sitting quietly and staring lazily out the window. Her demeanor was somewhat haughty, but Shien figured that was probably an act. He could sense that beneath her attractive allure was a quiet fear, kept well hidden. He never wondered why he had such impressions, only that he was always right. That was why he had come to her. She was an easy target.

  “Excuse me, my Lady … the room is becoming quite full and I don’t do well in crowds. May I impose upon your hospitality?” Shien played a sincere smile as he addressed her. He knew that he was regarded as handsome to the opposite sex. He toyed with the emotions of women, finding them opaque and easily manipulated. Men were harder to figure at times because they seemed to be more calculating and logical, while woman tended to think with their emotions. He sensed trepidation mixed with amounts of interest. Good.

  “I was waiting for the rest of my companions …
they will be here shortly. You may share the room until then if you wish.” Her tone was guarded and sent an obvious message that any potential assailant would not miss. He took the bench seat across from the regal woman and bowed his head to her.

  “You have my gratitude. I find crowds to be uncomfortable and stuffy.” He chuckled within himself; that part was completely true. He looked into her eyes which quivered slightly as she caught his gaze. Her feelings were shifting to curiosity. “I was wondering how you felt about the ride today down the channel. I can’t abide the swaying motions. Even now the very thought of it …” Shien gripped the table and put a hand to his mouth. The woman looked alarmed and her soul exuded concern.

  “Are you quite alright?” She put a hand on his wrist. Her gloved hand squeezed his arm gently. ‘Perfect’ he thought. Now he had to choose his words very carefully.

  “I would be fine under normal circumstances … except that I was removed from my quarters upon departure due to the safekeeping of some special cargo. I would like to know what was so important to cause me so many days of discomfort in their common rooms. I doubt any of my friends knew of my presence on the boat, being overcome with boating sickness.” Shien sniffed and dabbed his nose with a kerchief. The woman’s eyes flashed while he read a mix of excitement and uneasiness. She glanced around the room and then leaned forward and spoke quietly, her grip tightened.