It took several moments for Alant to realize he had not moved, and that he held his breath as well. Glancing around, he could not tell if any of the guarders he thought were watching him, were in fact, watching him. Or, if they were just looking at the crowd as a whole. When the person standing behind him, a middle-aged woman carrying a basket of red apples, brushed past him, he nearly came out of his skin. This, at least, served to spur him into action, and he followed on her heels as she entered the massive tunnel leading into the city proper.
Even at this early aurn, crowds filled the Bazaar. Sellers hawking their wares, while everything from animals to carts, wagons to sedan chairs, weaved through the sea of bodies that milled about the area. No different from the dozens of times Alant had come here while an Initiate at the Chandril’elian. It did not take him long to slip into the flow of the crowd and work his way to the first inner gate that led to the Palintium.
Almost a turn of the seasons had passed since he had laid eyes on the wondrous building. However, in his haste, he paid no more than a cursory glance at its tall spires and large statues of the Twelve Gods of Man. Although, a large alabaster statue of Saphanthia reminded him of his encounter with the zealot in the woods.
I have not figured out yet how that woman knew so much. The one thing I am sure of, is that she was insane!
Walking next to Amphitheater Park brought back fond memories of the plays he attended with the other Initiates on the rare occasions they were allowed free time. This early in the morn the park sat deserted. Cutting to the right and away from the main gate of the Chandril’elian, Alant wound his way through the narrow streets created by the buildings housing most of the people who worked at the school. He did not know why the main gate was never used. In the near two turns of the seasons he lived at the school, they had never been opened.
Approaching the side gate, what he saw puzzled him.
Why are there so many Hobbswords milling about?
He could not remember any time in which there was more than one guard manning the gate at any given time. Three of them turned as he approach.
Nothing to fear. You already know they are not looking for you.
Walking up to them, he stopped out of arms reach just to be safe. “My name is Alant Cor and I am here…to…see…” After he spoke his name, hands flew to hilts and every Hobbsword in the area turned to face him. Taking a step back, he raised both hands out in front of him. “Hold up, now. I just need to speak to one of the Siers. I do not want any trouble.”
An older Hobbsword stepped forward, the starbursts on his collar indicating he was a ranked officer. “If you are Alant Cor as you say, I am afraid you have already walked into trouble, lad.” He hitched his sword belt and pointed to a few of the other men. “However, if you come along with us quiet like, I think we can avoid any unpleasantness.”
Alant’s mind raced. How could he have gotten through the main gates if they were looking for him? For that matter, how would news of what he had done in Hild’alan have reached Mocley ahead of him?
The merchant train that passed me. They must have carried a message about me from the Shapers in Hild’alan! Still, why did the guarders at the main gate not stop me?
Boots scuffed behind him and he realized that now was not the time to let his mind wonder about things other than his current predicament. Without warning, he lunged toward the officer, breaking right past him as the man took a step back to reach for his dagger. Alant ran in the only direction he was sure there were no armed guards—at the wall that surrounded the Chandril’elian. Veering to the side just enough not to slam into the wall itself, he ran faster than he ever remembered running. Fear of men with swords wanting to take him against his will became a great motivator. Once he dared glance over his shoulder, he found that almost a dozen men pursued him. The fact that they wore chainmail shirts and plate shoulder and neck guards, not to mention the swords most held in their hands, caused them to fall many paces behind, however.
Even though it had been some time since Alant had been in the city, this was the one area of town still fresh in his mind. One thing stuck out clear in his mind about this area—he was running directly into a dead end. If he continued into this back section, he would be trapped. Cutting down a side alley, he doubled back and headed in the general direction of Amphitheater Park once more.
Leaving the area next to the Chandril’elian, he continued down side streets and alleyways until, with a look over his shoulder, he noticed he had lost his pursuers. He jogged down an alley that led to one of the gates to Old Town. When the gate neared, he pulled up his hood and slipped in with a group of workmen. The guards, not looking for anyone other than the common ruffian, let Alant pass without incident. From Gate Town, he continued on into the Warehouse District, where he lost himself among the multitudes of shops and other buildings. He became one of tens of hundreds in brown shirts and pants, many of whom wore their own cloaks with the hoods pulled up to protect their faces from the cold wind that blew in off the harbor.
He continued to zigzag his way through the city until he was sure no one pursued him any longer. Glancing around, he realized he was hopelessly lost as well. By the time the sun reached its zenith, his stomach reminded him that he had skipped firstmeal. To his right, he saw an inn that did not look particularly run down. Heading over to it, he pulled his hood off and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Whether it was with a caravan or some other method, the Shapers in Hild’alan had sent word of what he had done. He did not like the idea that people were hunting him. He had done nothing wrong! It was not fair. After all he had been through—all of it being outside of his control—he did not deserve this!
I cannot believe I am this close to getting some answers, and I am to be denied!
He was certain the answers he sought lay with his old instructor. He also knew, however, that he was not free to enter the Chandril’elian.
I will have to find another way to speak to Sier Sarlimac.
A salty breeze blew across the bow of the two-mast brigantine as the captain ordered the sweep stilled and the guide ropes thrown overboard. Soon the ropes pulled taut as the underwater guides, the Mermidians, took them up and started to pull the ship into the harbor of Mocley.
Though Elith had seen many paintings and maps of the city, the sheer magnitude of it made her stare. Walls, like none she ever imagined, stretched high into the sky. One side ran away from her following the coast, the other cut inland until it curved away from sight. Spires and domes jutted up beyond the wall’s reach, and she could not believe that anything could stand so tall. Nothing in all her homeland compared to this. The rocky island shores of Komar provided much of the protection needed to discourage invasion. And the severity of the winter sea storms deterred anyone from erecting a building of more than a few stories tall.
The wind picked up and she pulled her cloak tight around her body. Not for warmth—the material was too thin for that—she did not wish for anyone on shore to catch a glimpse of her bare gray skin. Though everyone on board the Hunter was loyal not only to the Priests of Fatint, yet to her as well, she could take no chances of someone from the city seeing her. She knew she would draw the eye of the locals and start rumors flying if seen.
She knows this! As she knows each of the names of the crew!
Though she had not experienced another memory loss, Elith felt the need to remind herself of things she should not have to. She brought each crew member’s face to mind and ran their names once more through her head. Then, she ran the names of all the priests assigned to Mocley—those who traveled with her on this voyage and would care for her while she searched the city for the Mah’Sukai. She even remembered all the slaves whom she trained on since she was old enough to train. For some reason, Jarill’s face lingered in her mind when she reached his name.
She knew the Mah’Sukai was either in the city or surrounding countryside. A ti
ngling had cascaded down the base of her skull the moment land came into sight. It would only be a matter of time before she found him. Bringing him back to Komar was a simple matter of stuffing him into a sack. Her training gave her the confidence to complete her task.
And she will not…entice him to come of his own free will!
Her mind wandered back to her last meeting with the Highest and she regretted not slapping the man. The knowledge of forgetting that, for the past fifty turns of the seasons, a ship sat manned and supplied, ready to set sail without delay the moment news arrived of a Mah’Sukai’s appearance upon the Plane of Talic’Nauth, frightened her more than she cared to admit. The fact that the man who spoke to her then—the most powerful man in all of Komar, save the Revered Father himself—had slipped from her memory even as they talked, turned her blood to ice.
“Shikalu?”
Elith flinched. Turning, she glared at the young priest standing next to her. Lost in thought, she had not heard him approach. At her glare, the priest bowed his head and cast his eyes to the deck of the ship, waiting. When she felt he had waited long enough, she cleared her throat. “Yes, Varin?”
“What are your orders?”
She continued to study him for a moment more. Varin Rayn, young to hold the title of Battle Priest, had risen fast through the ranks. His sandy-blond hair, uncommon for one born on Komar, made a stark contrast against his olive skin. Blood red robes, baggy at the shoulders and bulging out from the plate of mail breastplate he wore under them, flowed down, stopping just short of touching the ship’s deck. The silver and gold weave belt around his waist held a scabbard and sword that she knew he could wield with competence. His piercing green eyes held the same zeal for the Twelve as all the priests who accompanied her. Like most of the Battle Priests, he had been given to the Temple as an orphan—an orphan of the Twelve as they were called. She had known him for most of her life, though for fear of a repeat of what happened to her and the Highest, she held his image in her mind as well as his history. She realized she had stared at him too long when he began shifting his feet on the deck. “The Mah’Sukai is here in the city. She can feel him.” If this news affected the young priest in any way, he made no show of it. Glancing up to the sky, she guessed the sun sat about halfway past its zenith and dusk still lay a few aurns off. “She cannot move about the city until after nightfall. You will escort her to the villa where she can rest until then.”
“As the Shikalu commands.” Bowing, he rotated his hand from his chest, index finger pointing up, thumb pressed to the other three—the sign of the Inner Sanctum of the Twelve. It not only showed respect for her station—him having made the sign and not her—it also was the first step one used to identify oneself as a member of the Inner Sanctum. Everyone on board the Hunter, from the lowest deckhand to the captain, was a member. Varin waited for her nod before he turned to organize the men for their arrival.
The ship moved agonizingly slow as the Mermidians pulled it into the harbor and tied it to one of the docks. Humans scrambled in every direction on the wooden piers jutting from the shoreline. Yells and shouts, grunts and bellows—a cacophony of noise filled the area. Long ropes tied to wooden swing-arms lifted crates and sacks from, or dropped them into, the holds of ships. Stooped men carrying boxes or bags on their backs walked to and from the ships, depending on if the cargo was coming or going. Women with trays held in front of them supported by a strap around their necks, called out what they had for sale. Behind it all sat the panoramic view of the massive buildings within the walls of Mocley, creating a formidable backdrop. No different from the bustle on the docks of Komar, except here the men were paler of skin and fairer of hair. Her eyes wandered to the city once more.
The buildings are much grander than anything Komar has to offer.
As the gangplank slammed home on the dock, the captain, Master Ratilian, stepped before her. He made the sign of the Inner Sanctum while bowing his head. “Shikalu, my vessel will await your return.” Breaking protocol, he glanced up at her. “May Alza’Dysta see you to your goal with alacrity.”
Pursing her lips, she decided to let the transgression slide. “She thanks you, Captain Ratilian. Her hope is that your wait is not prolonged, and that soon you shall have their precious cargo in your hold and sail home for the glory of the Father.” With a nod of her head toward Varin, the dozen priests who had accompanied Elith on this voyage surrounded her. Letting her gaze pass one last time over the expanse of the city, she bowed her head, hiding her face within the folds of its hood.
With her hood pulled down, she could not see more than a pace in front of her and was forced to trust in her guides to lead her to her destination. With so many Humans crowding the area, she wondered if they would need to push their way through the crowd. However, the small group took long, unbroken strides as they left the pier and stepped onto the paverstone-lined streets. She assumed the citizens gave her small party of priests room to pass.
It is good to know that the servants of the Twelve are respected even here.
Walking along, surrounded by her guides, Elith drank in the city with the only senses she had at her disposal—her nose and ears. Wagon- or cart-wheels ground their way to their destinations. The aromas of their burdens—fish, spices, meat and muck—all mixed with the tinge of salt clinging heavy in the air.
Hawkers cried out their wares. “Pins and thread!” “Knives of the best steel!” “Fresh baked goods for the sweet tooth!” “Fish ready to fall off the bone!” “Ribbons for the ladies! Cloth of the finest quality!” “Boots! New or we repair!” “Leather belts and pouches! Leather vests!” “Get your meat pies! Meat pies from the freshest cuts!” This and so much more was offered. The bray of a donkey, whinny of a horse, or snort of an ox mixed in with the angry shout of a driver trying to make his way through the crowd. The yell for the driver to be careful echoed back. She drank it all in as the twelve Battle Priests guided her through this foreign city. This city of so much wonder and folklore.
A sudden dizziness gripped her and she stumbled. It was hot. Sweat dripped from her brow and she reached up to remove the hood that threatened to suffocate her. A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Out of instinct, she whipped her free hand up. Slipping her fingers around the thumb of her attacker, she spun, forcing the hand of her assailant to extend and his arm to lock out at the elbow. The hand belonged to a blond haired man in a blood red robe who grimaced at her sudden attack. Before he could reach for the sword that hung at his hip with his free hand, she snapped her knee into his face. He crumpled before her, though she paid him no mind. She was stunned to see that she was surrounded by men.
How did they get so close without her hearing them?
Dressed in the same red robes and each wearing a sword, the men stood on every side of her. Crouching into a defensive pose, she realized there were far too many for her to take alone. She would not escape this alive. She hoped she took several of them with her to the Aftermore before they killed her. For reasons she could not guess, they seemed stunned that she took out the first attacker so fast. Each man stood looking at her passively, even while barring any avenue of escape.
Without giving them time to react, she launched herself at the nearest two. It amused her that neither reached for their weapons. The first, she slammed her foot down on the side of his knee, breaking it and driving the man to the ground. His scream echoed in her ears even as she spun, smashing her now flat and rigid hand into the second man’s windpipe. Cartilage crushed, a look of horror and shock filled this second man’s eyes as he staggered back, holding his ruined throat before he fell to one knee.
The rest of her attackers backed away. Still, none of them drew sword. It was then that she took a moment to look over her surroundings. She stood in a large open area in front of a spacious, beautifully constructed building. Marble pillars radiated out from an entrance stairway that led to a set of massive double-doors. Where she s
tood reminded her of a courtyard. Paverstones lined the area not covered with grass or manicured shrubs. A distant nagging in her mind begged her to think about how she had gotten here. She ignored it. It was not important. Surviving was all that mattered, and the men still outnumbered her ten to one.
The blond man, the one who had attacked her first, rose from the ground. Blood flowed from his nose that jutted to the side, and an odd smile graced his face. “I had forgotten how explosive you are, Shikalu. Though, I am not sure why you chose this moment to remind us.”
It was obvious the man addressed her, however, she did not understand why.
Why would they surround her and not attack?
She glanced around at the building, certain she had never been here before.
Why bring her here?
The blond man took a tentative step toward her, one hand lifted in front of him, though not in a threatening manner. “Shikalu? You seem…distracted.”
Shikalu. That is not a name, it is a title.
Memory snapped back. Looking down, she watched the man she had hit in the throat gasp and convulse one last time before he fell still.
Gowan. His name is Srit Gowan.
The man next to him gripped his ruined leg, wincing in pain, though he did not cry out. Glancing around the courtyard, Elith knew where she was. “This is a villa. She is in Mocley.” She recognized it from a painting she had studied back at the Temple.
The Temple, yes. In Komar.
The young blond priest, Varin was his name, cut his eyes to the dead man on the ground and then took another tentative step closer to Elith. “Yes, Shikalu. We have arrived at the villa. You do not seem well.” Fear filled him now. She had no doubt in that. He had the look of a man who did not know what to do next. “Come, let me see you to your rooms.”
With one more glance at the two men on the ground, Elith let her guard drop and stood straight. “It has been a long journey. She would like some rest before she starts her search for the Mah’Sukai.”
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