by A L Hardy
Jurod jumped off his horse and they tied each mount to a tree before pulling their blades and creeping into the bushes on the edge of the clearing.
“Why did we stop?” Jurod whispered.
“The drop’s pull stops in the middle of the clearing...” Ilays hesitantly replied.
Jurod looked out and saw a bland, empty clearing. Short, green grass spread around the roughly circular clearing with only a single, lone tree stump about the height of Jurod's knee. On the perfectly flat top of the stump was the slight glimmer of gold.
Ilays's hand sprung out and caught Jurod before he even began moving.
“It's too easy.” Ilays said.
“What do you mean?”
“Xardan has been running from us for days! Why would he just leave that drop sitting in the open like that?”
“The likely answer is that he just now realized he had the drop in his pocket and got rid of it in the closest place he could. However, with it being out in the open like that and not tossed on the side of a trail, I see your point. What’s your plan?” Jurod asked.
Ilays's eyes glazed purple and Jurod felt the complex emotions of her spell wrap around the clearing.
“I can't sense anything,” Ilays concluded, “Magical or otherwise.”
“Can you normally sense Xardan’s shadow magic?” Jurod asked while surveying the clearing for any shadows that seemed out of place.
“Sometimes I can, but not always,” Ilays replied quietly. “In addition to its being the power of a Knight and hard to detect, Xardan is one of the best people I’ve ever met at hiding his power.”
“Well, it looks like we’re just going to have to test it. I’ll go first so you’re free to keep your senses open for traps.”
Jurod took the lead as he and Ilays ventured into the open. Blades extended, both Focusing with spells prepared to fend off any attacks, and Jurod with Drashyre on his fingertips the pair slowly made their way to the stump in the clearing.
Nothing happened.
Slowly Jurod lowered his weapon and slid it into the sheath before retrieving the drop.
Nothing happened.
Ilays visibly relaxed when Jurod was able to safely tuck the drop into his belt.
“Now what?” Jurod asked.
Neither Ilays nor Jurod had any ideas.
Jurod turned abruptly back toward the horses and started to untie one when Ilays caught up to him.
“What are you doing!?” she screeched.
“We have to keep moving.” Jurod replied, “There's no telling where Xardan is or how far he's taken the spell book by now! If we ride hard and fast, we can get to Learth and try to pick up some rumors about where he might be!”
“Jurod that's lunacy!” Ilays shouted, “Tennlka's soldiers have been killing every Lythrain and wizard that enters Faelhart at all! We're lucky to have made it this far without encountering them already and now you want to just walk right into one of their strongholds!”
“I don't see any other choice!” Jurod answered.
Ilays sighed loudly before her eyes glazed purple again.
“Alright,” she said, “But this is going to hurt.”
*
After Ilays finished working her magic, Jurod didn't see himself until the morning they were to enter Learth. She had been right when she said it was going to hurt, but he had been able to push the pain away like he did while Focusing.
They had slept in a barn and Ilays asked for some privacy once they had been awake long enough to get their things together and eat a quick meal. He had assumed she was going to change her appearance so she wasn’t as obviously Lythrain, but he didn’t expect the change that she had wrought. When Ilays came out of the barn, she looked nothing like herself. Her short black hair had bright pink stripes, her ears, eyes and face were rounded in the Kin style instead of the angular features of the Lythrain. She looked in all ways... Kin.
Stunned by the change, Jurod went immediately to the well to draw a bucket of water. Looking in at his reflection, he did not recognize the man staring back at him. There were some vague features that slightly resembled his usual reflection, but practically every detail imaginable had been changed, even down to the shape of his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. Jurod was speechless.
“Let's go.” was all Ilays had to say.
Chapter 14
The Kin were short lived beings, and the Titans grew bored and weary watching their generations flash by. Using the stone from which they were born, the Titans created the Penshalt to be stronger, tougher, and longer lived than the fragile Kin - and they sent them to purge Khes'yc of "lesser creations."
*
Ilays and Jurod carefully stowed and covered their weapons before riding out for Learth. They rode quickly and stopped only briefly to eat and let the horses rest. When they finally came to the city they approached it at a slow, easy pace.
Only four Faelhart soldiers stood guard at the gate to Learth. Jurod knew from his travels across Strolm that this was an abnormally small guard duty, but they held themselves with military precision and were inspecting every person, animal, bag, and barrel that tried to enter through their gate.
As they waited their turn for inspection, Jurod felt Ilays Focus quickly and saw some spells flash around them before she released the flows of magic running through her. He didn't have time to analyze the spell she had cast before a woman walked from the city toward the gate. She wore basic, dark leathers with the symbol of Talar printed boldly across the back and chest of her uniform. She carried curved scimitars on each hip; a quiver of arrows was slung over her right shoulder and a short bow over her left. Her hair was pale white, tinged blue and her skin was a grayish tinge of pale blue. Most definably, she had tall, Lythrain ears.
Before anyone had a chance to say a syllable, the dark-skinned woman began barking orders and the Faelhart soldiers saluted sharply before jumping to obey. There was little confusion as the guard changed and the Faelhart soldiers left to return to their barracks. Jurod and Ilays exchanged brief, confused glances as no less than half a dozen other dark-skinned Trelir women took their positions.
As the patrol spread out among those seeking entrance to the city, one of the Trelir came over and began searching through Jurod's bags and looking him over.
“Throw back your hood!” she barked in a strange accent.
Jurod obediently lifted his hand and threw back his hood, thankful that Ilays’s Changing still held over the pair, letting his fingers lightly graze the hilt of the knife that was sheathed between his shoulder blades.
“Good.” the Trelir continued, taking in Jurod’s rounded Kin ears, “You may enter.”
The Trelir handed Jurod a small scroll and proceeded on to help another guard sort through Ilays's bags. Jurod got nervous when they took extra time on her pouches of healing herbs, but eventually they replaced the bags and gave Ilays a second small scroll.
“Who do you think they are?” Jurod asked when they were free of the gate.
“Trelir from Talar.” Ilays answered.
“I had guessed that. What are they doing here?”
“I'm not sure,” Ilays replied, “But I think King Tennlka is making some very dangerous alliances.”
The crowds in the city were thick and bustling, so much that Ilays and Jurod had to dismount and lead the horses. More than once Jurod caught a wandering hand drifting into their bags.
“Is it market day today?” Jurod asked, after searching over their bags for the third time.
“No,” Ilays responded, “There aren't any merchants in the square up ahead, just more crowds.”
“What's going on then?”
“Your hearing is almost as sensitive as mine Jurod,” Ilays said, exasperated. “I haven’t heard a thing about what’s going on and I don’t think it’s any kind of a holiday. Keep your ears and eyes open.”
Eventually, Ilays and Jurod made their way around the back of an acceptable inn and had begun pulling their bags and weapon
s off of their saddles. When they walked into the inn, they were directed to a scrawny, gray-haired man that sold them old pheasant, warm ale, and overpriced rooms. After depositing their bags and casting concealing spells over their weapons on their backs and hips, the pair made their way from the back hallway and found a table in the common room to wait for their food.
A few minutes passed as Ilays chatted about a Trelir noble from Talar before their food arrived. Jurod barely pretended to listen. Being in Learth had Jurod on edge, and as Ilays talked Jurod surveyed the crowd in the common room. There were a handful of small groups and parties such as himself and Ilays that sat alone and unarmed per decree from the Earl of Learth, but they were few indeed. In one corner, a very large group of several dozen dark-skinned Trelir was celebrating something.
Jurod took notice that all the armed Trelir were women, while all the men in their group remained standing or knelt beside the women; he resolved to ask Ilays about that later.
Despite the presence of the Trelir, most of the common room was full of soldiers of Faelhart's army. Loud conversations and uproarious laughter drifted to Jurod's Lythrain ears in bits and pieces.
“And he thought to get away with it!”
“He'll learn better at the court tomorrow...”
“Hope they choose to execute him...”
“Knight of the Black Era...”
As Jurod wondered what sort of trouble Xardan had caused now, he noticed another Trelir walk into the common room from the street. His features clearly defined his gender; though he was the first male Trelir that Jurod had seen carrying any weapons. Catching a short glimpse of what was under the man’s cloak, Jurod saw that he wore a scale mail tunic with plate vambraces and greaves. A quiver of arrows hung on his left hip, and a Lythrain gladius hung on his right.
As he entered, his eyes shot around the room and took in the Trelir soldiers in the corner. Hastily, the man pulled his cloak closed over his shoulders to ensure his weapons were covered and pulled the cowl of his hood forward to hide in its shadows.
The new Trelir moved off into a dark corner and lit a pipe. From his unique, unseen vantage point he was able to easily watch the entire common room. Despite all the activity and commotion in the room, Jurod took note that the man's eyes found himself and Ilays too easily and he remained watching them throughout the evening.
After several hours, the Trelir soldiers in the corner had begun to wander drunkenly back toward their barracks, the civilians stumbled to their own homes, and the travelers retired to their rooms. As the crowd in the room thinned, Jurod pointed the man out to Ilays.
“Who do you think he is?” Jurod asked.
“A pet.” Ilays spat in unmistakable disgust. “That's all men are in Trelir society; sold and traded as pets and worked as slaves. They're not even trained in weaponry and magic.”
“He's not a pet then,” Jurod explained, “He wore a quiver and carried a sword.”
Ilays stopped with her goblet half raised to her mouth and locked eyes with the Trelir.
The room erupted in seconds; Ilays pulled one of her scimitars from its concealment and leapt across the room, eyes glazing purple as she ran. The Trelir reacted almost instantly, drawing the gladius to block Ilays's stroke. Ilays spun quickly into another stroke and the Trelir reacted with a parry that lead into a counterstrike.
Ilays pulled her second scimitar to deflect the strike and placed the first blade into the gap in the Trelir's defenses. The man's gladius clattered to the floor as soon as he saw Ilays’ scimitar at his throat. Jurod quickly retrieved it and held it in a simple guard position. Slowly, the Trelir raised both hands away from any place that could hide a weapon.
“Whose are you?” Ilays snapped.
“I am Aramill Goldenfields,” he responded.
“I asked whose you are,” Ilays replied, “Not who.”
“I am my own.” Aramill answered, “I left my mother's farms when I was still young and was taught to fight and pray; I am a paladin of the Pacifist.”
“Ilays, what is this about?” Jurod asked.
Every one of the few eyes in the common room was watching the scene as it played out. The purple glaze over Ilays's eyes clouded her emotions, making her hard for Jurod to read. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently touched her arm.
“It's time for us to retire to our room, Jurod.” Ilays calmly stated, “Bring the Trelir.”
As fast as they had appeared, Ilays's weapons disappeared into concealed scabbards. Aramill didn't resist, but simply followed as Ilays walked back to the rooms. Once they were away from prying eyes, Jurod took out a few of his throwing knives and began trimming his nails while standing at the door to watch for guards. Once they were sure no one had followed them, Ilays continued her interrogation.
“Alright paladin,” she started, “Why are you here? What errand does Talar have you on that keeps you watching us?”
“I am on no errand of Talar,” Aramill replied simply, “But I will explain your own situation to you.
“You two are not fighting a single war, but two. While Talar and Faelhart have made an alliance in the war against magic, I am one of our few allies in the second war that you fight. There are great, divine forces at play; greater even than the Pacifist.
“Everything comes down to Laglan Darkshire's Spell Book.” Aramill concluded, “There are secrets that he studied and recorded during his lifetime that no other mortal has since understood; secrets that the Trelir helped him to uncover.”
“So why do the Trelir want the book then?” Ilays asked, “If they helped him to uncover those secrets, wouldn't they have their own records of the findings?”
“No.” Aramill answered, “You see, Laglan was mad, but brilliant. The Trelir were helping him, but he held back some of his own findings and solved the puzzle first. He made a terrible enemy of the Trelir when he refused to share his findings.
“They have been searching for that book ever since his death.”
“You expect me to believe that an entire society has been looking for this spell book since before I was born?” Ilays asked skeptically.
“Whether or not you believe me is irrelevant. The facts are there. Why else would the Trelir be here in Faelhart? You know as well as I do how much they hate dealing with men in power. Do you really think they’d be making a deal with Tennlka if there wasn’t something in it for them?”
“Regardless of reasoning or why the Trelir are here, it still leaves the question of what all this has to do with you looking for us?” Jurod quarried.
“I want to get to Laglan's Spell Book before they can!” Aramill concluded.
Ilays rose and began pacing around the room. “Why do you think that we have it?”
“I have been in almost constant communication with Master Xardan Ta’Caran,” Aramill stated calmly. “He informed me that he left the book for you in a location that only the three of you would know about. I assume this means somewhere familiar and considered safe, but he wouldn’t give me more information than that.”
Ilays and Jurod shook their heads in unison.
“There is no place that I can think of.” Ilays said.
“What!?” Aramill roared. “This is a very delicate situation! If you don't have the spell book, then Xardan is the only one that knows where it is and he's due to be court marshaled this morning!”
*
Duryg often dreamed of his childhood in Wilderland, on the other side of the Lythrain forest. Happy memories of his father and brother teaching him to hunt and fight were rare good nights. Most nights, Duryg was tormented with nightmares of his outcasting, his brother’s attempts to keep him alive against all odds, and eventually getting separated from the one who had cared for him his entire life.
As it was, fate led him into Reth as the Lythrain army was entirely occupied fighting Faelhart and the Knight of the Black Era. Of course he encountered some rangers, but fortune smiled upon him and he crossed the northern borders of Reth with two gladii,
a Lythrain short bow with a quiver of arrows, and a pack with survival supplies and rations.
He took mercenary work in Laketown, but was selected by King Tennlka himself to serve as bodyguard; and thus he had served. Always present by the King's side, he still carried the Lythrain gladii, but also a large battle-axe akin to the style he learned to fight with in Wilderland.
The axe was in his hand now, the gladii in their scabbards at his hips. Behind him was the tall desk used by the Earl during court, though King Tennlka sat in the Earl's chair now. On the floor, Sir Xardan Ta'Caran knelt bound and drugged, barely able to keep his head off the floor.
“Xardan Ta'Caran,” Tennlka began, “You are brought before this court on counts of treason and dereliction of orders in the taking of Riverguard and the death of Lord Brath, Earl of Riverguard. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Xardan simply knelt before the King, barely able to lift his head, and unable to utter a syllable in his own defense. After several minutes of silence, Tennlka spoke again.
“By your silence, I conclude that you have nothing to say in this matter?”
Again several minutes passed while Tennlka waited for Xardan's answer, but did not hesitate to continue without it.
“Is there anyone else present that wishes to say any words on Xardan Ta'Caran's behalf?”
Duryg shifted slightly at the sound of a bird landing on a branch outside as those in attendance waited for someone else to care enough to rescue Xardan.
“By the silence of all those present, I conclude that there are none in attendance with any words to offer.”
Even Duryg, who was relatively unaware of Faelhart's written laws, could tell that King Tennlka was strictly following the protocol as it was written in the official records.
“Xardan Ta'Caran, with all defense heard on your behalf, I conclude that you are guilty of all charges brought before this court. For dereliction of orders, I sentence you to ten days in the stocks.
“For treason, I sentence you to death by beheading. You will meet the headsman's axe in Faelhart once you can be safely taken there under armed escort.