Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol

by Dan Gillis

“We were forbidden to even speak about it.” She lowered her voice even further, “however, I could suggest what it might be. The cargo is supposed to be for the new cadre, you know … The Blade of Ahtol. I haven’t seen what it is; however, the talk is describing the goods as enchanted trinkets or even weapons. I also heard that they have something that will control the will of all the citizens here,” she quickly gestured towards the city outside. Shien mocked a look of horror and surprise. His entrusting confider drank it in.

  “Surely there could be nothing that could bind the mind and will of those of us here,” Shien indicated to the patrons of the Gilded Scabbard. “However, perhaps the mindless rabble could be affected …” Shien trailed off with a whimsical look and he gazed out into the darkening night.

  “Yes, perhaps.” Her hand gently moved along his arm. He looked from the hand to her longing face. Her emotions were shifting to the slightly hot variety. She stared at him intently and spoke again in almost the same whisper as before. “How comforting it is to be able to rely upon others … for strength.” Her hand caressed farther up his arm. Shien was amused slightly. Her elegant beauty would be an intriguing prospect at another time. On this night, however, his mind was set upon one purpose and he would not rest till it was accomplished.

  “It is well then that your companions are expected shortly. Here I have delayed you with such impertinence. Forgive the intrusion; I should take my leave of you,” Shien stood and bowed low to the woman, who was visibly put out. He moved toward the door.

  “Wait … my friends aren’t …” Shien slipped from the room as her voice trailed off, “coming at all.” She stared longingly at the seat he had occupied with a simpering scowl. Sighing, she looked back out the window and fanned her now flushed face.

  Shien stalked through the shadowed streets, after taking a moment to change his garb. The goal was in sight. After all his endless searches and an eternity of waiting, it had come full circle. Now what was taken would be reclaimed - The Spirit of Vyn-shi: Isil and Kiros.

  ***

  The material was perfect. Her night gown would be deep cobalt - the silk shone in the lamplight with a sensuous luster. Somehow Firah did not feel guilty choosing the finest material. Zyr had helped her feel at ease with the uncomfortable situation she had landed herself in. He was so kind to her, and that was the strangest thing of all. This world seemed so cold and cruel at times. Everyone looked to themselves (except for Tohm of course) and hardly gave a thought to the suffering of others. There were dangerous folk about too, and one could not rely upon the mercies of bystanders in the advent of being assaulted. Aeredia was a different world than the one recited in worn-out old songs. Somehow, it had changed in a short period of time. Firah felt the change even amongst the country folk of Lenhir. The change scared her.

  She came to from her musings and folded the material over her arm. The tailor of the shop who waited upon Firah, kept a close eye upon the girl. That annoyed her, but Firah realized that she was young and others would hardly expect her to procure coin enough to purchase such luxurious material. She lifted her head slightly in an aloof way as she approached the shopkeeper.

  “I will take this material; please take the measurements now so I can collect the garment in the morning.” The woman regarded her with an air of mistrust. Angrily, Firah withdrew her purse and jingled it sharply in the face of the startled woman. “What does this sound like?! I’m paying here or somewhere else!” The woman snapped into action, either by the sound of gold or the rebuke. Either way, Firah smiled broadly as her every care was attended to with the utmost speed. Money was useful in many ways.

  A yawn escaped Firah’s mouth before she could catch it with the back of her hand. It was getting late now and the shops were all closed. In the distance she heard a crier announce that the city-wide curfew would begin shortly. She shifted her shirt about her shoulders and subconsciously touched the glistening brooch pinned to it. She was having her leather vest mended and was having a couple shirts tailored in addition to her night gown. All would be prepared for the morning.

  It was odd not wearing her vest, and she almost felt naked without it. She still wore her brown breeches and sturdy knee-high boots. Yet, her mind could not ignore that her body was certainly more pronounced in the shirt. Considering her attire, she wasn’t sure how she felt about hinting what nature had blessed her with, but under the circumstances, she had little choice. The vest had conveniently held everything in place, which was ideal for vigorous activity. The items and money were now secured to her belt within a well-built pouch. She tightened the cloth cinch that corralled her long curling brown hair and sighed. The day was over, and for once she had actually enjoyed the city; well, the shopping anyway. Then she remembered that Zyr was waiting for her. She moved deftly along the cobbled stones towards the inn Zyr had indicated to her. The soles of her boots tapped softly upon the stone as she ran.

  It was night and still no Firah. Zyr wouldn’t have minded but for the fact that he was uneasy. The feeling had come the moment he spied those cursed daggers upon the cadre banners. Somehow he had to know if she was here. It pained his heart to think about it. His mind could not focus with his thoughts dwelling in the troublesome past. The silent monk pondered whether bringing the girl to the city was wise, considering the imminent danger. Khyvla had its guards, but the Defilers were really the power in the city. He was sure that the curfew was imposed by them so they could maneuver about in the night, going about their evil works. He spat upon the ground in vain to remove the images of past experience. If she was here … Zyr closed his eyes sharply and his left hand gripped his right which was clenched tightly. He raised the fist into his field of vision. Slowly, the hand uncurled into an open-handed gesture. If it came down to it, would he have the strength for vengeance?

  He stared out into the street from his perch upon the steps of the inn. In the faint distance, he detected the sound of footfall upon stone. Reaching out with his will, he detected her presence. The curfew was good in that way. It was dangerous running about alone, yet he had taken steps to keep her reasonably safe. He hoped that if the need arose she would find shelter in the attunement of the stone. As she rounded the far corner of the street, his sense of danger intensified. He glanced about the street surreptitiously, examining the shops and houses. Nothing. She slowed as she approached and gave Zyr a guilty look and mouthed ‘sorry’ as she came toward him. He partially regarded her and continued his survey of the street. There was a definite increase of power in the area. Zyr wasn’t sure what caused the change, but it was certain. Followers of any path possessed the Sense, and experienced the sensation in different ways; for some it was like ripples in a still pond, others interpreted it as waves of wind or heat that washed over the mysterious Sense. The stronger the power drawn forth, the hotter the feeling burned in anticipation and warning. Currently, Zyr’s mind was on fire. He saw Firah’s mouth moving, but he heard nothing. All of his senses were stretched out and desperately trying to locate the source of power which was building steadily. Most weavings would have stopped building by now; clearly the unseen enemy was connecting potent reserves.

  “Are you listening to me?” Firah half yelled at the quiet man. He seemed as if in a trance. The creepiest aspect was in his eyes, which were obsidian black; the pupils had dilated so far as to remove all trace of blue. His head never moved and his body was still. She would have guessed Zyr wasn’t breathing except for his eyes pulsing ever so slightly at odd intervals. She gave up and just watched the strange behavior. Something tickled the back of her mind, a feeling of alarm, but she ignored it.

  Suddenly Zyr took hold of her arm firmly and pulled her into motion. "We have to move. Hurry, Firah!" Before she could say anything she was being pulled along in a near dead run. She could see they were heading for the city gates. Shadows seemed to appear in the darkness under the gate archway. Zyr turned their course down a side alley and Firah fought desperately to keep the rigorous pace. Her mind was full of
fear as she coursed through the labyrinth of stone and wood. Their unseen foe seemed to be closing in through some elaborate web, and she wondered if there was a way out. In the commotion she had not noticed that Zyr had opened her belt pouch and hastily removed the small white stone. He pressed it firmly into her palm.

  Suddenly, something caught her attention in the corner of her eye. A glowing spike of red heat and ash flew swiftly toward them. The form resembled a fiery lash which hissed through the wind like some strange serpent of flame.

  “Firah! Don’t let go of the stone!” Zyr shouted and pulled his cloak around him while falling to the ground and sheltering his face. Firah had less than a moment to react. As the flying mass of heat snapped about them, she clamped her fingers hard around the stone. The wave of fire struck them and exploded into a cascade of flame and sparks. Her eyes closed instantly from the brightness and impending blaze which threatened to consume her. She waited what seemed many moments before she dared open them again. The whole area around them was scorched black, except for a small circle of untouched stone at her feet. As she examined herself, she found she was unharmed. Zyr’s cloak lay upon the cobblestone burning in flames. She shrieked suddenly in fear that he was consumed by the lash of fire, but then saw him sprinting at full speed down the courtyard. “Find the Watch!” he cried out as he ran into the distance.

  Zyr had braced himself for the stinging heat which overwhelmed him. It had been painful but he could mend that later. In an instant, he had rolled out of his cloak and was sprinting towards the source of the attack. The order to Firah served two purposes. Mainly, he wanted her away from the area, where dangerous weaves could fly unchecked. Also, he wanted her under the care of capable guardians, which the Watch were. He could consider no other options as they were quite alone in the city. He was up against a powerful and calculating foe, more dangerous than most physical combatants. Tonight, it would be a contest of wits and weaving. Zyr had no connection to the elemental paths of the Root but he had studied many long hours into the nuances of those disciplines. Hand gestures, glyphs and some verbalization all sufficed to enhance an Ashori's attunement and focus. It was a boon to have an attuned stone to counter Ashori weaving; however the protective item lay now with Firah. He would have to make due with Alacritor counter-weaves to avoid damage from offensive strikes.

  As the healer rounded the corner of a house, a writhing ball of fiery threads exploded upon the wall beside him and sprayed flames throughout the area. Zyr winced as his skin scorched and trembled under the heat. His opponent was just up the alleyway and likely elevated to gain the advantage of sight; probably three floors or more up. Just then, Zyr caught movement in a stained window above him. It was the Ignitor and he was weaving another attack. Zyr noted the movement of the hands. “No! Don’t do that here!” he shouted out in desperation to his enemy. His mind was a blur of thought. He had but moments now to weave a counter, before the whole area would erupt in a conflagration of flames. People would die if his skill was found lacking.

  Zyr relaxed his body and began to draw a large circle in the air. Traces of blue energy lingered from his fingertips and remaining suspended where his hand passed. He could not miss a step. Carefully and deftly he traced the counter-glyphs for the weave of fire. The monk’s mind raced through memories of his past studies as he worked feverishly. The blue patterns glowed in the air surrounding the pulsing circle as Zyr painted them. In the last moment, he felt the massive surge of power from above. In a blur, he embedded his fingers into the center of the protective glyph and, wielding it as a shield, slammed it forcibly upon the ground at his feet.

  The air around him exploded into a consuming inferno which coursed through the alley and street. For a moment it licked hungrily at the motionless kneeling monk. Then the circle’s pulsing blue energy began to overwhelm and consume the flames. Zyr could see the patterns within his threads of power twisting and snaring his opponents work, choking the flames. The effect spread rapidly through the area, waves of Alacritor power rippling outward from the circle. As quickly as the inferno began it was ended, all the collective energy being drawn into a vortex at the center of the circle which glowed white hot under the strain. The ground rumbled in protest as the energy was released into the land. Slowly, the glyphs and lines faded away.

  Zyr summoned energy through his arms and into his hands, while simultaneously triggering his adrenaline. With great exertion, he leapt high onto the wall of the building, just below the attacker’s window. His strengthened hands crunched into the sheer surface, supporting his precarious perch. With one movement, he released one hand and twisted his body around, re-anchoring the hand, his back now pressed against the wall. Finally, he thrust his legs upwards over his head, while pushing off the wall with a shout. Zyr’s body arched toward the window. His legs crashed through, shattering glass and splintering wood. The healer rolled into a crouch and spied his enemy fleeing through the bedroom door. As Zyr sprang into pursuit, he passed the occupants’ lifeless forms upon the bed, twisted and charred. Zyr vowed that such an unmerciful demon-sworn could not be allowed to live.

  ***

  Firah's breath was coming hard as she sprinted with all her strength down the main street. She wished she knew the city better; it was impossible to tell where she was going or where she came from. Every alley, every home began to look the same. Finally, Firah lurched to a halt and collapsed against a shop wall, sucking deep racked breaths. She was frightened and looked around desperately for the city Watch. The problem was she had no clue where they were. In the distance, she saw flashes of light which sketched strange dancing shadows upon the near walls. ‘It must be Zyr’ she thought. She uttered a silent prayer for his safety. Meanwhile she looked around hopelessly. He was counting on her! She kicked down hard against the wall behind her and then grimaced in pain. ‘Standing here is accomplishing nothing’ she chided. The best bet would be to keep going the same way and pray she would bump into someone, anyone who could help. Setting herself, she ran into the darkness at a quick pace.

  ***

  Shien cast his gaze upon the strong box before him. He kicked the lifeless form of the guard over to access more room. The struggle had been quick but tricky. Suffocation proved the best tactic as it prevented cries for help from his opponent. The guard was strong and the cramped, confining quarters on the lower decks of the transport barge did not help. The barge gently swayed and rocked as he carefully examined the box. Traps were notoriously unhealthy for the unwary. Methodically, he examined the container which rested upon the floor of the cabin. It was about five feet in length by a couple feet in depth and breadth. The light of one candle was limited, so he was doing most of his searching by feel and experience. He moved his hands slowly along the edges of the chest. ‘There, got it’ he thought as he heard the click of a spring being released. He slid a slender needle out of a small narrow compartment along the box’s frame. His hands were gloved for good reason: the poisoned surface glistened in the low light. He pressed the small weapon into the leg of the motionless guard. Best to get rid of it now than risk having someone else die accidentally; besides it wasn’t going to hurt the guard. Only one thing remained, something Shien had accounted for but had no skill in disarming. The chest belonged to a cadre comprised almost wholly of weavers of every sort. Odds were good that another surprise awaited him. He looked back to his improvised stick-pin cushion.

  “Hmmm,” he mused quietly, “I may need your help once more, my stalwart friend.” Dragging the stiffening body upward, he glanced into the pale face. “You don’t mind do you?” he asked as he patted the pallid cheek. Shien draped the body over the strong box and extended a collapsible metal rod he had brought. Everything was going smoothly and according to plan. He flicked the tip of the rod at the latch. A bright flash of light illuminated the cabin and the body flew off the chest and tumbled to floor, visibly damaged by some sort of charge. “Well,” Shien chuckled softly, “that’s it - Ashori are fairly predictable.” He r
aised the lid of the strong box and gazed silently upon the contents. Without a word he scooped up two long and slender shapes which were wrapped in ornate cloth. He bowed his head and touched the cloth to his brow, whispering a silent oath. Never again would the honour of his family be violated. Never would these ancestral symbols of power come into unworthy hands. Shien raised his head and paused in thought of past memory. No one would ever understand the cost of these two swords, what blood had been exacted from his family. Now, the spirits of his fathers could find peace. “Be at rest.”

  After finishing the oath, Shien made to leave. But something else within the box caught his eye. He did not regard himself as a thief since what he had acquired tonight was stolen long ago. Still, curiosity overwhelmed him and he glanced further into the depths of the container. A simple dagger lay sheathed within a rather plain scabbard. Seemingly worthless, Shien doubted it would fetch a silver in the market. Likewise, it would not be missed either. He needed a dagger as his last was gambled away in attempt to pay for those blasted silks. Slowly, his hand grasped the blade.

  A sudden surge of pain shot through his body. Shien reacted by dropping the heirlooms and dagger and stood up sharply, where his head connected soundly with a support beam along the cabin ceiling. Wincing in pain, he stumbled over the dead guard and crashed into a desk and chair in the corner, further smiting his head against the wall. “CURSES!” he swore aloud as his head and hand reeled in pain.

  “Someone’s below!” The voice penetrated the foggy chasms of Shien’s mind. Scrambling to his feet in a dazed panic, the young man stumbled over to the items upon the floor. Shien quickly removed his large pack and tossed everything within. Strapping the pack behind him and around his shoulders, he heard voices being raised in alarm. ‘So much for stealth’ he thought to himself. ‘Idiot.’ Shien had chosen to come as lightly equipped as possible to avoid detection; however, he now had a serious problem. He glanced to his fallen enemy and spotted a metallic glimmer of hope. Stooping, he picked up the guard’s discarded broadsword. Quickly he tested the weight; it was somewhat decent and fairly well balanced. Footfall was thumping closer from the main deck. He steeled his nerves for what lay ahead. It was going to be a fight for survival tonight but Shien remembered his silent oath. He would not fail them now. “I’ll prove my honour,” he spoke to the blackness, to his forefathers. Taking a deep breath, he burst from the room into the waiting dark.