The masking interface has been initiated on schedule. Technical personnel have advised against this implementation, and have requested permission to submit a complaint based on my decision. Permission was denied.
***
CLASSIFIED-Log entry #1442-Janis Dolen-Data retrieval-Time code.
A specific signature matching codes mentioned in Kwibee's notes was detected from within the program, emanating from a remote connection. Our initial trace was broken, but did yield enough data to confirm that the filter does in fact work.
There were several other anomalous characteristics, such as the split link, that are not mentioned in any of the data Kwibee left behind. This, and the connection drop, followed directly after detection, sufficiently indicates Kwibee to be closer than we originally thought. As such, I have accelerated launch of the interception package. Due to the sensitive and potentially volatile nature of the situation, I have elected to subject only myself to this procedure. If something should go wrong, I'm confident that my associates will locate the Doctor.
However, in the event of mission failure, my recommendation is to scrap the project and archive all data until such time as any possible media breach may be defused. This will be my last entry until extraction.
***
~ Subgenus Two: Strophe One. ~ Be watchful my children, whispered The Thief unto his Scapegrace. For Behold, I shall render unto you an affinity of partisan hearts.
~ Subgenus Two: Strophe Two. ~ Behold The Valiant, whose realm shall become as dust before The children of Iniquity. His are the gifts of Justice and Courage.
~ Subgenus Two: Strophe Three. ~ Behold The Muse, whose heart and song shall become the Catalyst of salvation to the outcast children of Hominid-Fay.
~ Subgenus Two: Strophe Four. ~ And Behold The Trickster, for he is The Grinning Wolf who shuffles chaos to Jest with Fate in lengthy sleeves.
~ Subgenus Two: Strophe Five. ~ And Seventeen shall be their sign when first assailed by Unclean Children of shade, or stone on the eve of seasons' true return. Make Light thy shield, and then crystallize thy escape in good faith of our Covenant. Remember, the only worthy survival is my Covenant.
Here marks the outset, whereupon the borders of madness and reason shall arise unto the Fates, there to deliver salvation, or damnation, as the discord of our worlds sway in the balance of immutable opus.
***
[Did it work?] [Well?] {What?} [Are they off the scent or not?] {Er…yes.} [Great. Hook me back up.] {I'm afraid it won't be quite that simple after all.}
Chapter One-Quicksands In The Hourglass
"Oh, please come in, Master Stelthak," Ambassador Thindell gestured.
"You appear a bit…surprised, mistress," replied the cloaked figure as he entered, and then drew back his hood before taking a seat.
"It is usually your grandfather who comes to see me at this hour," she explained, glancing quickly at the hourglass on her desk while wondering what would stay her friend's usual cribbage night.
"Yes, I'm afraid Grandfather's attentions are required elsewhere at the moment."
"Is something the matter?" she asked. "He hasn't taken ill, has he?"
"No, mistress. He is busy procuring supplies for our journeys."
"Oh, I see," she said, her expression becoming more subdued. "Has the time of our parting come so soon, then?"
"We touch upon the seventeenth winter, and my Master has emerged from meditation with a vision from Lord Surripere."
"I knew it was pending. I…I suppose I had simply hoped for a few more games," she smiled halfheartedly.
"I'm sure he will miss you as well. In fact, I believe that is why I was sent in his stead."
"A wholly practical man," she frowned, conveying both respect and frustration. "Well then, perhaps I could interest you in a game," she offered, forcing a smile.
"I'm afraid there's really no time, mistress."
"Oh dear, you really are leaving, aren't you?"
"Grandfather thought you might be upset."
"Old goat!"
Master Stelthak stood, and took his leave. Agupy followed, and walked him back to the vestibule. Before opening the door, he faced her, kneeling to address the Ambassador more directly. "The Scapegrace stands in the debt of both your people and yourself, mistress," he began formally while bowing to reach for the tiny woman's hand.
Before he could kiss it, Agupy slapped his hand away. "I can't believe you, Goren! Given just a bit more time, and perhaps a good stout pair of shackles, you might be calling me Grandmother, yes?"
"I've no doubt," he smiled.
"Well?" she intoned expectantly while reaching her arms up.
He picked up the tiny woman. She locked her arms about his neck in a tight hug, and then kissed his cheek before being placed on the floor again.
"Safe journey to you, Goren," she called as he walked away. "Safe journeys to you all," she whispered.
***
Several of the Pack watched as Digger climbed the crag. When he reached the highest point, he began to trot about nervously, sniffing the ground as if searching for sign.
Finally, he faced south. The wind rushed past his flank in erratic gusts, marked by the powdered snow it gathered, and then drifted over the edge to spread across the southern ridge. Along that southern horizon was yet another mountain range, similar to the one where he stood now, but many kilometers away. He could discern nothing by scent. Even were the winds to reverse, a most unlikely prospect, what pulled at him was simply too far. It lay beyond the visible horizon, far to the south.
He cast back in the direction of the den. These scents were clear. His pack was safe. Norwinds was not forbidding to creatures who knew its secrets. They would hold the den with ease. There were pups coming soon, but the land offered plenty. Their numbers were strong, and without illness. Still, it was not an easy thing, and he lay down as indecision gnawed at his conscience. Abruptly, and without thought of looking back, Digger stood and leapt over the edge to descend the mountain face.
***
As Teristha passed a small contingent of Dis'Errants, they faced her while coming to attention. In unison, they all brought both hands down and at their sides, palms forward, in an official salute of respect. Ordinarily, the customary response was to place one's left palm over one's right fist. In Teristha's case, the adaptation was her left palm over her right stump.
She had lost her right hand during the fall of Arbitos, now known as New Malice. She had even been awarded the Seething Claw for her role in that coup. As for her stump, she had been auspiciously informed by Heartrot that such a magnificent wound would always serve her better than any ribbon or medal ever could. She could even remember his bearing at the time. As strange as it seemed, she believed that the nasty little Wognix earnestly envied her loss.
In all her time among them, she had never come truly to understand Dark-elves. Oh, she had learned quickly enough about their customs. She both knew and practiced the proper steps of customary cultural adherence. To fracture even the smallest of their moral codes would be a most regrettable experience, if she were lucky. Ultimately, comprehension was not a requisite. Knowing the motions, and then knowing when to make those motions, were the only crucial devotions of practical concern.
From behind her, a number of the Dis'Errants extended various other gestures. She could not see them, and certainly had no interest in observing such gestures, though time and experience had given her a good idea of what was no doubt a combination of lewd and perhaps even life-threatening hand symbols.
Regardless of her station, she was still Human. Abhoron's children had a very low threshold of endurance for her kind in the sense of cultural equality. Still, the Empire's word had been given to insure her cooperation in a critical time. Dark-elves could and would endure many things if need be, but a slight upon their good word to a traitor was not on the list. The trick was to always keep that threat between her and them.
She came to the final archway leading to Hear
trot's chambers. On either side of the arch, stood the immense figures of two living trophies: two reminders of the fates awaiting those who dared to defy the Empire.
As she passed between the Ogre and Barbarian Juggerknights, she glanced briefly at their absent expressions. Their unblinking eyes remained empty of anything save those directives provided by Heartrot's Master Enchantress.
She looked away, facing forward as she passed through. Somewhere behind those empty masks were Heartrot's true trophies. The idea of their never-ending inner entrapment had always served to unnerve her.
***
The shout-scream came again. This time Cleetis was unable to avoid jerking as Perdil's vehement barking demanded his attention. The tiny mast slipped from his tweezers, which in turn slipped from his grip, dropping to strike the mast, which then fell askew of the freshly glued decking, and finally cracking the fragile container as it slammed against the glass bottom.
He turned the bottle about, examining the undeniable damage, and then unceremoniously pitched the almost completed oceanic vessel into the trash bin where it shattered. Then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before rising.
"He moved! He moved!"
"Who moved?" asked a young woman's voice from behind him. Perdil wheeled about, and then looked down to address her. "Who have I been wet-nursing since you were but a tot?" he asked with an air of irritation to answer her ridiculous question.
"You said the same thing not a fortnight ago," she returned, matching his tone. "Come to think of it, last Solstice you swore he turned his head when the music started. Of course, if it really happened, it was just the one time, cause nobody but you noticed."
Perdil's brow furrowed. "I just imagined it? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"Oh, you're just too quick for me, aren't you?"
"Show some respect, girl!" Cleetis admonished.
"He scared off half a dozen customers!"
"Tuda!" Cleetis began in a scolding tone, and then paused to regain his composure. "I'm sure we can extend more courtesy than that. After all, the good Squire Shiverley has been most gracious. He donates all of his valuable time to the well-being of our entire family."
At this, Perdil fairly beamed with pride, folding his slender arms over his chest as it expanded to a point where it appeared as if it might actually lose its more predominant concave features.
"Squire? Bah! He's nothing but a blasted mooch! He sits about all day, every day, doing next to nothing!"
Perdil's scowl quickly returned as his hands dropped, along with his almost inflated chest. "That's not true!" he protested.
"Yes, you're right. You do become quite active around supper time."
"What's all the commotion?" Ezlea asked from under a large bear hide as she climbed the steps to her wagon.
"Perdil's hallucinating again," Tuda replied matter-of-factly.
"Oh, dear," she mumbled under her breath while quickly returning to the task of replacing her old throw rug, but bumping into the door twice before finally locating the handle and quickly disappearing within the interior of her wagon.
"I'll take it from here," said Cleetis flatly while proffering a stern glare.
"Is that supposed to mean I'm dismissed?" she retorted.
"I am sure you're needed at your cart." Perdil added.
"Don't see why. It's not as if I've got any customers left." Then, noticing Cleetis's menacing stare, she offered Perdil her own air of disapproval before spinning about and marching off toward the family vending cart.
"By-the-by!" she called, without bothering to slacken her march. "Our poor overworked Squire might consider taking out his dusty razor! Last time I looked, his patient's face was almost as hairy as my feet!"
As they returned to the hospice tent, Cleetis clasped the frail man's shoulder in an affable gesture. "My friend? I'm sure you realize how unlikely the prospect soun…"
"I'm not deluded, Cleetis!"
"Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing. Still, after all this time… Well, I'm sure that the contemplated relief in completing such responsibilities as you have so graciously seen fit to take on could easily warrant the mind to…envision that goal."
"No! I'm not imagining it this time…"
"Your services have been truly invaluable. However, perhaps you should consider a small sabbatical. I'm sure it would do you a world of good," he concluded as they reached their destination.
"It would do us all some good!" Magnatha shouted from inside the tent next door.
"Am I to be discharged then?" Perdil asked with a wounded expression.
"No, not at all," Cleetis inserted quickly, while pulling back the tent flap. "We simply feel that you've earned a vacation. Your skills are far too valuable…" he cut himself short as he turned to enter the hospice, thereby witnessing its occupant sitting bolt upright and rubbing his eyes.
***
"Darling? Have you seen the honing stone?" That query came couched in an abrupt and thoroughly disrupting shout from below.
"It's right where you left it," Selina shouted with just a hint of exasperation.
"I've looked simply everywhere! I don't believe the accursed thing is anywhere!"
"Top drawer, right hand corner, ochre pouch with the green drawstring!"
"Oh,yes, there it is. Thank you, Love!" He shouted his appreciation.
Shortly, there came several quick footsteps from outside the basement door, followed closely by several rapid raps.
Reluctantly, he got to his feet and opened the door to the makeshift den. "I thought we agreed it was healthier to avoid disturbing one another during meditation," he intoned.
"Yes, Dear. I could not possibly agree more," she returned expectantly.
"Oh, my! It was I who interrupted you, wasn't it?"
"Well, I don't wish to appear overly sensitive, Marc." she replied politely. After his insistence upon implementing the new rule about respecting each other's training time, she was prepared to launch a proper protest. Now however, it seemed pointless, with him already gearing up to apologize.
"I feel just terrible," he offered, proffering a positively dejected expression.
"No, it's all right…"
"Not at all," he interrupted. "After the fuss I made? It's simply inexcusable!"
"I'm sure it's just a matter of adjustment." she soothed.
"No, no. I insist that we exchange places. From now on, I'll use the roof, and you may have the basement. It really is much quieter down here, and there's none of that…Brinehaven air, if you'll pardon my affront to our fair city," he persisted, his mild inflection possibly as near to sarcasm as he was likely to come.
Ordinarily, she would have offered an argument. As it was, she would be late if she didn't leave immediately. "If you simply insist." she agreed hastily.
"Oh, that's jolly wonderful!" he crooned. "I feel better already…"
"I really must be going," she said quickly while turning to ascend the basement steps.
"Oh, that's right," he intoned brightly, thus halting her progress in mid-step. "You're due to lecture this morning."
"It's only a favor to Borin. Reginald is…under the weather again."
"Perhaps, but that's how many a great career begins, you know," he offered in that ever-present positive attitude he seemed to project almost ruthlessly of late.
"Perhaps," she agreed absently while continuing her assent. About half way to the top, she experienced an odd sensation, and paused. It was not so much a thing of malady, as much as an absence of other things.
The lights seemed to dim, as colors about her appeared to momentarily congeal. The sound of her boots on the rock steps lost a quality within its echo from the stairwell walls while her perception altered from looking at the steps and the open doorway beyond, to looking upon some childish rendition of the same scene: one that offered various flat block representations of the same steps and door frame, but with thick blackened outlines, as if to punctuate the boundaries of a c
hild's finger-painting caricature, where one must not, though often does, paint outside of the lines. After a moment, the experience passed, as did its memory. Still, there remained an indefinable…
"My love? Is everything all right?"
"Oh, yes. It's just our fair city's therapeutic scent," she smiled, perhaps with a greater confidence than she felt.
***
"Get out of my blasted way!" Magnatha shouted as she pushed and kicked and whacked her way through the large crowd that was fairly swarming about the tent. Her vehement shouts went unnoticed by all but those nearest her as the overall effect of the crowd's murmuring was quite loud in itself.
***
"I told you he moved!" Perdil boasted smugly as Tuda waited in line to greet her old friend for the first time in seventeen summers.
She turned to him, matching his scowl, and then motioned him closer with her little index finger.
Cautiously, Perdil complied, ready to bolt if need be.
When in range, the small woman reached up and hugged him about the neck. "I'm so sorry for doubting you, milord," she whispered softly, and then kissed his cheek.
Presently, a highly pronounced blush engulfed the spindly man's normally pallid complexion, and while he could not flee the tent, due to his medical responsibilities, he did scurry across to the other side, there to duck behind the dressing curtain.
Tuda's smile was a crooked blend of satisfaction at besting her old foe, with perhaps a touch of genuine warmth toward him as well.
At that moment, the tent flap was swung wide as Magnatha entered, then closed behind her. "All right!" she shouted. "What's all this boarwash about Jester wakin' up!" she intoned doubtfully while craning about in all directions, hoping for the slightest glimpse of what the crowd about the bed was concealing.
Presently, the crowd parted, and for the first time since their escape from Arbitos, she could see his eyes. For a time Magnatha didn't move at all. She just stared at him as he stared back at her.
"Nanna?" Jester queried in a cracked voice, both hoarse and weak.
A moment longer and she lowered her head, releasing her held breath in a long exhale.
Rendering Nirayel - Thief's Prophecy Page 2