by Rowe, Andrew
“All right,” Lydia said. “Stand up. We’re going to take a look around this place and make sure you don’t have any friends listening in on us. When I’m satisfied we’re alone, we’ll talk further.”
The ensuing tour of the house took a few tense minutes. The house was particularly large by Jonan’s standards – he never could have afforded such a home on his own. The entrance chamber was cluttered with tables where he worked on various glasswork projects, such as mirrors, windows, and spectacles. The kitchen was directly across from the entrance, the majority of its brown wooden cabinets empty, but a few of them containing useful food or other more obscure supplies.
On the right side of the main room, beyond a practical wall of junk, Jonan led them to the reading room. A single bookshelf held a dozen books on subjects ranging from local history to esoteric sorcerous theory. They represented the bulk of his personal collection, and the most valuable of all of his possessions.
Beyond the reading room was his own bedroom, which he showed them hurriedly, explaining that he was embarrassed by the mess. Lydia maintained her usual dubious expression, but he didn’t think she detected any of the irregularities that the room hid.
Opposite the reading room was a stairway leading to the upper floor. The two upstairs doors led to the “private room” – which contained a bath and chamber pot – and the guest bedroom.
The sorceress paused in each room to mutter a brief incantation, which Jonan assumed was a knowledge sorcery spell similar to the one she had used earlier. Afterward, Lydia still appeared nervous, but satisfied that there was no one else to eavesdrop.
Nothing on her garb to identify any affiliations aside from her current cover, Jonan considered. She’s cautious enough to be one of ours, though.
With the tour concluded, each of them returned to the front room, taking seats. In the absence of a third chair, Lydia sat on the table across from the two men, still looking like she might draw her blade and murder either or both of them at any moment.
“All right. If we’re satisfied, I believe it’s time for some honest discussion,” Jonan offered, gesturing magnanimously with both hands.
The masked man glanced at Lydia one last time, to which she responded with a curt nod. With that, he pulled down his hood and removed his mask, revealing a surprisingly young man with dark hair and bright eyes.
“You can call me Taelien,” the unmasked youth said in a new voice, still somewhat deep, but much smoother in tone. “I came here to meet someone. My arrest was, so far as I can tell, a simple misunderstanding.”
Jonan laughed for just a moment before shaking his head to stop himself. “Sorry, sorry. A misunderstanding. Ah, my friend, you are far too kind to the people of this city.”
“What do you mean?” Taelien asked, furrowing his brow and leaning forward on his knees. Without the mask and the intimidating voice, he seemed a completely different person, almost child-like.
Is he just playing another character now? Jonan wondered, but it was too soon to tell.
“Jonan is right,” Lydia began before Jonan had a chance to explain. “Following the Tae’os Pantheon is illegal, but it’s such a minor crime that it’s almost never talked about. Typically, they’re just given a small fine and sent on their way. You carried a sacred relic into the city. The court sorcerers believed this was an intentional act of aggression from Velthryn, a provocation meant to trigger an action on Orlyn’s part. I’m not sure I disagree.”
Taelien shook his head. “I had no idea about the law. I’m not a spy, nor would I be interested in starting any sort of conflict.”
“No, but what about whoever sent you?” Jonan asked.
The dark-haired man reeled back as if he had been struck. “My parents? They would have no motive for that. I don’t think they’ve ever even been here.”
“That would explain their lack of knowledge of the law,” Lydia said. “But your average civilian doesn’t just carry around a weapon like that.”
Taelien nodded. “I apologize for inconveniencing you. I will be more careful about disguising the weapon in the future.”
Jonan quirked an eyebrow. “You’re missing the point, friend. Even if your parents didn’t have any idea about the law, it sounds as if someone set you up. Perhaps whoever you were sent to meet in the city.”
“Erik Tarren?” Taelien mused aloud.
“The scholar,” Jonan said incredulously.
Lydia glanced at Jonan, offering him a wry grin. “That’s what I said, too.”
Ah, she can be amused. Progress.
“Okay, so your parents told you to come to the city to meet a famous scholar, and I assume gave you the most conspicuous object on the continent to bring along. Did they happen to give a reason why?” Jonan asked.
“To learn about my heritage,” Taelien explained, shaking his head. “My parents, well, they are not my real parents. They just took me in when I was a child, you see. They were given instructions to give me the sword when I came of age. I’ve been practicing with it for several years now, and my parents felt I was ready to come to try to discover where I came from.”
“You can use the sword?” Lydia recoiled, eyes widening slightly.
“Only in the loosest sense of the word ‘use’,” Taelien replied, sounding oddly embarrassed.
“Wait, who gave your parents these instructions?” Jonan asked.
“Erik Tarren did. He’s the one who left me and the sword with them. He said that I should come find him when I’m old enough.”
“This is quickly turning into an interrogation,” Lydia pointed out. “Taelien, you don’t have to be so quick to volunteer information. In fact, I’d advise against it.”
Jonan gave Lydia a pouty expression for spoiling his fun.
“It’s fine,” Taelien said. “I have nothing to hide. I’m sure you two are both thinking about using me – and this information – to your political advantage. I don’t really care. Telling you what I know is probably the fastest way to reach my own goals.”
“That makes things much easier, then.” Jonan flipped his dour expression into a grin. “So. Does your family have any enemies?”
Taelien shook his head. “None that I am aware of, and certainly none in this city. I suspect you’re overthinking this. My parents, not knowing the law, send me to find information. I, not knowing the law, blunder my way into an arrest. The sorcerers see a conspiracy, but I see little more than a coincidence.”
“Perhaps,” Jonan replied dubiously. “There is only one way to find out with any certainty, however.”
“Find Erik Tarren?” Lydia mused, folding her arms. “That’s doubtful, at best. The man stopped publishing books more than fifteen years ago. In all likelihood, that’s because he’s dead. He was over a hundred years old. Even a powerful sorcerer can only extend his life for so long.”
“You’re awfully quick to discard our only source of information,” Jonan wagged a finger at Lydia for emphasis.
“First, we haven’t even established that we’re actually on the same side. And second, searching for a presumably dead man while hiding a fugitive who is carrying one of the most valuable relics in the world is somewhat absurd, don’t you think?” Lydia countered, staring back at Jonan.
“Sounds like fun to me,” Jonan said, looking over at Taelien. “What do you think?”
Please be as impressionable and foolish as you look.
“That does sound pretty exciting,” Taelien said, nodding lightly.
Thank you.
Lydia shook her head fervently. “Look, I can’t just go running around the city with a fugitive. He needs to be out of the city, and then I can pursue this Erik Tarren business – if there’s anything to be pursued – without having to worry about having Taelien recaptured. Taelien, I’d be glad to bring Erik Tarren to meet you somewhere outside the city if I can find him,” she offered, a pleading expression on her face.
“Assuming, of course, that you work for someone we can trust. You�
�ve already clearly betrayed the government of Orlyn – who’s to say you wouldn’t just kill this Erik Tarren if you find him, or turn him in to your own people to steal his secrets?” Jonan leaned forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes. He was making a rough gamble and he knew it. He had to hope that Taelien’s lack of trust for Lydia was sufficient to put Taelien on his side.
Taelien, unfortunately, remained silent. He scratched at his chin, looking to Lydia, apparently seeking her guidance. Resh.
“All right,” Lydia said. “You tell me who you work for and why you’re here, and I’ll tell you who I work for and why I’m here,” she offered Jonan. “Do we have a deal?”
Jonan nodded without hesitating. This should be interesting, if nothing else.
“You first, then,” Lydia said.
Oh, come on. I didn’t expect that?
“Very well,” Jonan said. “I am a humble servant of the priesthood of his majesty Vaelien, the King of Thorns.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed.
That can’t be good. Jonan tried to subtly reach for one of the pouches at his side, but it was too far away at his current angle.
“You’re a Kesite?” Lydia asked, tilting her head to the side.
Jonan nodded. “Yes, of sorts.”
“Bad luck for you, I’m afraid.” She gave him an apologetic look, standing up. “I’m Lydia Hastings of the Paladins of Sytira, and you are my prisoner.”
All things considered, Lydia was a fairly courteous captor. She had bound Jonan’s wrists with some of his own hemp rope – which he had “graciously” provided to her – and ordered Taelien to keep an eye on him.
A gods-curst paladin. Really? I couldn’t have been fairly expected to guess that.
Lydia apparently worshiped Sytira, one of the seven gods of the Tae’os Pantheon. Sytira was particularly associated with the acquisition and distribution of information, which made Lydia’s usage of knowledge sorcery unsurprising within that context. More surprising was that she was a paladin – essentially a warrior dedicated to enforcing the tenants of her religion. Paladins of Sytira were usually assigned to finding and stopping abuses of sorcery – he had never heard of one being utilized as a long-term spy.
Jonan, on the other hand, was a follower of Vaelien, a solitary deity with many demigods – known as the Vae’kes – in his service. The two religions were often at odds, and many legends depicted the leader of the Tae’os Pantheon as Vaelien’s personal rival. At present, the followers of the two religions were not engaged in any open hostilities with one another, but they tended to keep their distance. For Lydia, Jonan knew that the sword would be a symbol of the strength and love of her gods. For Jonan, it was a bargaining chip – the weapon of Vaelien’s legendary opponent.
Deciding to steal a Tae’os artifact is probably a bit above my level of authority, Jonan considered. But it’s awfully tempting. Using the wielder of the Sae’kes as a tool, however, fits perfectly within my mission parameters. It even cleanly deflects blame away from Vaelien. The Tae’os Pantheon would look responsible.
“You can still help yourselves to the food,” Jonan offered weakly.
“It’s probably poisoned,” Lydia replied dryly. She hadn’t drawn her sword, thankfully, but now she was watching him with twice the intensity she had been before. This was impressive, seeing as she had already looked like she could burrow straight through a wall with her eyes.
“It’s not poisoned. It’s food. I eat it. Here, bring me some bread. I’ll take the first bite,” Jonan offered.
“You’re probably immune to your own poison.” Lydia shifted in her seat.
“That’s absurd. Look, I admitted I work for the priesthood of Vaelien. I’m not a priest myself, and even if I was, that wouldn’t make me some sort of assassin,” he offered.
“No, working for the priesthood and not being a priest is what makes you an assassin, or at very least a spy,” Lydia replied.
She’s not entirely wrong, Jonan admitted silently. They did have other branches to the organization, but he was a field agent, not a civilian or even a member of their own pseudo-military. He had never killed anyone, but he was certainly a spy.
“Right, yes, I’m clearly a spy,” Jonan said in a deadpan tone. Lydia tilted her head to the side inquisitively. “No more or less than you are, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. And I doubt you poison the contents of your cupboard, just for the contingency that you might be having guests that you need to murder.”
Lydia nodded slowly. “You’re right. That would be a needlessly extreme measure, as well as careless. Taelien, you can bring us some of his food.”
The dark-haired youth turned his head to her. “I appreciate your permission, but it’s not necessary. I don’t work for you,” he noted in a bemused tone. He paused for a moment, and then stood and added. “But I am very hungry.”
Ah, the lad has some autonomy after all. That’s good, that could work to my advantage later.
Lydia sighed as Taelien started walking to the kitchen. “Sorry to presume, Taelien. Please bring us all some food to eat. It’s been a long day for both of us.”
Jonan watched Taelien go to the cupboard, nodding silently in response to Lydia.
Good move, paladin. Remind him you’re human and smooth things over. Keep your game piece friendly.
“Look, we don’t need to be at odds about any of this. While I recognize that our religions don’t always get along-“
“And occasionally engage in holy wars against one another-,” Lydia added, folding her arms and smirking.
“-We can still find common ground on these issues. Neither of us wants the Sae’kes in the hands of the local gods. Neither of us wants anything of importance in the hands of the local gods.” Jonan gestured to the ceiling with his bound wrists.
“True,” Lydia confessed. “But I find the idea of the Sae’kes in Vaelien’s hands...or worse, his son’s, to be far more disturbing than losing it here.”
Jonan deliberately kept his expression as neutral as he could, but the mention of Vaelien’s son sent a torrent of painful memories through his mind. A teenaged girl with a manic grin, the blood on her right hand illuminated by a globe of flame hovering above it. Oppressing heat everywhere, smoke thick enough to crush his lungs. The screams of the dying reverberating around him, while he hid, useless, praying that he would not be seen.
No, he considered grimly, his son is not the one you need to worry about.
“Well, while I am quite certain that I would be rewarded – immensely, in fact – for securing that weapon, you’ve made it more than evident that I will not succeed in doing so. Moreover, our good friend Taelien,” he gestured to Taelien, who was returning carrying a plate with a loaf of bread and a carving knife, “would likely be averse to either of us taking charge of the sword he carries.”
“The sword stays with me,” Taelien said simply, setting down the bread plate on the nearby table with a loud ‘clack’.
“Right,” Jonan said with a faint hint of laughter in his voice. “So, since that is settled, we can feel free to cooperate on other matters.”
Lydia glanced at the bread that was now seated next to her, and then back to Jonan. Taelien began to cut the bread into smaller slices.
“I see little else we could cooperate on. I appreciate you providing a place for us to stay for the evening. We will keep watches to ensure you do not try to kill us – or take the sword – while we rest. In the morning, if you have not betrayed us, I can escort Taelien out of the city.” Lydia shifted her gaze between the two men, scrutinizing.
“I’d like to hear his proposal, actually,” Taelien said.
Lydia frowned, turning to glance at Taelien. “You don’t know these Kesites. They can’t be trusted. Think back to the beginning of our conversation with him – he tried to mislead us twice before admitting who he worked for.”
“What, you mean sort of like you dressing up like a court sorceress and helping a prisoner escape?” Jonan shot back.<
br />
“I am a court sorceress,” Lydia growled. “I was hired legitimately.”
Jonan nodded, putting on an impressed face. “So you actually infiltrated the government of a nation, rather than just putting on a costume. Well, that’s certainly a step up in scale.”
Lydia glowered at him. “Yes, I’m capable of deception as well. Taelien doesn’t have to trust me, either. The distinction is that I’ve already helped him escape a prison, so he knows that unless that was some sort of absurdly long-term plan, I am legitimately trying to help him. You, on the other hand, just happened to be tracking us on the way out.”
A good point, and one I don’t have a very strong counter to. Still, I’ve planted a few sprouts of doubt in Taelien’s head, at least.
“Peace,” Jonan said. “I concede that. You are clearly trying to help him.” That wasn’t really true, it was plausible this really was a longer term plan on her part, but he didn’t need to antagonize the Paladin any more. “Let me help you both. Not out of goodness, as you would never believe such a motive, but out of self-interest. I didn’t come to this city for the sword, just as you didn’t. We are both working against Orlyn in different ways. Allow me to assist you.”
Lydia swept up a piece of bread with her left hand, bit into it, and put her hand back down without ever looking away from Jonan. He blinked in response.
“All right,” Lydia said. “Let’s hear why you’re in the city, and what you have to offer.”
“Excellent,” Jonan replied, grinning slightly. When her eyes narrowed in response, he knew he had just made his pleasure a tad too overt, but he continued regardless. “One of Orlyn’s ‘gods’ is called Edon. He appears to be human, but he has presided over the city for fourteen years with no signs of growing older. Much as you pointed out when we discussed Erik Tarren, slowing the aging process is difficult, and every sorcerer that I have studied has eventually run into limitations. Baron Edrick Theas is perhaps the oldest human alive, but even he appears to be ancient and withered – he will eventually die. This Edon apparently looks younger than when he first appeared – which could be an illusion, or it could be that he’s found some way to reverse the aging process.”