by Greg Curtis
But it wasn't just the fortifications that were missing. There should also have been large barracks and parade grounds where soldiers could drill. There should have been soldiers out on the streets in formation. There should have been gun emplacements. There should have been a castle!
No castle! Elan craned her head left and right, looking in vain for a castle that it appeared didn’t exist. In Abysynth the castle was the one building that could be seen from every part of the city as it stood tall, watching over the city. Not here.
This city, as large as it was, was really more a village that had grown out in all directions, but never somehow become a true city.
Of course, she reminded herself, Egoli was not a royal city and Wynde Par itself had no royal family. They did not have lords and ladies, and they did not live in castles. The nobles they had might claim the titles but they were not the same. And though she looked she couldn't see any mansions or stately homes either. But perhaps that was as it should be in the fae realm? Their nobility weren’t wealthy as they were in Abylon. They didn't have vast estates nor did they have large numbers of servants. They weren’t responsible for setting the laws or impose tariffs and taxes. They didn't have armies either.
But the faerun nobles were perhaps more highly respected because of that. The fae ran a system of two Houses. The Council formed one House, and it made most of the day to day decisions for the various provinces. The other House was comprised of the nobility, a relic of a bygone age, and they formed an approval authority. So, if the Council made a ruling or passed a law, the assent for it was given by the local lord. Equally if someone needed to challenge a decision of the Council, they would do so through the Lord. If he thought it was a worthy case, he would bring it before the Council.
It was a needlessly complex system and in her view, it diminished the power of the nobility. It denied them their right to rule as they should. A king should simply make decrees and the nobility render judgements, and none should nay say them. That was the divine order of things.
Still, the fae culture did have several advantages for the fae nobility that she hadn't seen elsewhere. Their lords and ladies were actually allowed to hand-fast for love. They could be hand-fasted to who they liked. But perhaps of even more wonder, their people loved them. In Abylon the nobility had guards for a reason – and not just to protect their property from thieves. Too many of the commoners wanted to kill them. Even among those of the people who professed to love their Kings and Queens, lords and ladies. Not here she guessed.
Naturally Elan kept her thoughts to herself as they rode down the streets and through the city. These were not her people and they had a right to live as they chose. Instead, she concentrated on sitting tall in her saddle and giving the appearance of royalty to those she passed. It wasn't the same as it would be in Abysynth. There people would have bowed and curtseyed to her as she rode by, and the soldiers escorting her would have been the Imperial Guard. Here those they passed just stared at her. But this wasn't Abysynth as she had to keep reminding herself.
Ten minutes at a restrained trot brought her to Lord Daelyn's house and her immediate thought on seeing it was that it too was wrong. So very wrong! A lord should not live in a house! Least of all a house like any other in a street full of them. It was beyond her understanding. A lord sat above the people. He did not descend to their level. And they certainly should not be found standing in their front yard waiting to greet her. That was what servants were for!
Still, she said nothing as she dismounted and then walked across the yard to greet Lord Daelyn. Not about the fact that there was no wall or gate, nor about the lack of soldiers on guard, the absence of a grand entrance or even a proper path through the garden. If this was how a fae noble lived, it was their business. Hers was to find, interrogate and kill that accursed morph.
But she did have to hide her shock when she saw that he was dressed in what looked like common garb. He wore no hat, elegant dark suit or long coat with brass buttons. His boots didn’t look particularly polished and his clothes were not adorned with any chains or ornamentation of any kind. Instead he wore a simple vest with a wraparound jacket and what looked like canvas trousers. In short, it was much the same garb as she could see others wearing throughout the city – though he was choosing to wear green. It was probably warm and functional, but dressed as he was he could have passed as a man off to begin work in a shop or as a clerk. And the manner in which his long dark hair hung loose around his shoulders was odd too.
By contrast the man standing beside him was dressed far more formally in a long dark robe with an embroidered silver eye on the chest. He was the soothsayer. The one who would know if she lied or even tried to deceive. That was another difference between the fae and humans. Every important meeting was attended by a soothsayer. But she couldn't imagine a soothsayer being present in any meeting of the Court in Abylon. The Lords had their secrets to keep.
“Lord Daelyn.” She greeted him with a polite nod, wondering if she really knew what she was doing. Because she was going to have to be very careful with her language. A soothsayer was a tough man to fool. But there was the truth and then there was the truth as they said.
“Princess Elan Feldmight,” He returned her gesture. “Though you are of course welcome, it is a surprise to see you here.”
Elan noticed immediately that he hadn't said that it was an honour to see her. Because of course it wasn't. He was no part of Abylon and she wasn't his princess. Fortunately, she had expected and planned for that. She hoped.
“Perhaps we could enjoy the sunshine on this long overdue spring day and you could tell me what has brought you to Wynde Par.” Lord Daelyn indicated a stone table and chairs sitting to one side of them.
It was then that Elan realised things were going to be even stranger than she'd expected. Discussing matters of the realm outside? In front of others – any of whom could hear what was said? That seemed very strange to her. Still, she followed him to where he indicated and took a seat on one side of the table while he sat down opposite. The soothsayer pointedly did not, choosing to stand to one side and watch them. This was not her realm. These were not her people and their customs were not hers. She had to keep reminding herself of that.
She had to keep reminding herself of it a lot more as a woman came out with a tray full of fine but not particularly elegant cups, a pot of tea and some warm biscuits as if they were all commoners. Especially when Lord Daelyn introduced her as his wife. In short the Lady of the house was serving them tea! Where were the servants? Where was the silver? Or the wine?
“So, you have travelled a long way to reach here?” Lord Daelyn started the conversation once the menial matters had been attended to.
“Indeed Lord Daelyn. There has been trouble in Abylon as I'm sure you've heard, and things are not well.”
“We've heard.” He nodded, his expression carefully neutral.
“What you have not heard is that the entire royal family has been struck down. It is a fact that has been hidden from the people, but regrettably true. My father is dead. My brothers are unable to take the throne. And the Court, the inner circle at least, is desperate. The realm needs a king if anarchy is to be avoided.”
“In their desperation they have selected a husband for me. One who is unsuited for the job of either husband or king of Abylon. They have chosen the barbarian Prince Vel Moran. Because of that decision I have chosen to flee my home. Even anarchy is better than the rule of barbarism.”
That got through to the lord. She knew that when she saw his eyes widen in shock before a look of horror covered his face. The fae knew of the barbarian Prince. And they despised him. The last thing they wanted was for him to become king of the realm that bordered Wynde Par. The chances were that it would lead to war. Vel Moran was a warrior with ambition. Abylon would not be enough for him. Not forever.
“We had not heard.” The lord looked at the soothsayer and he nodded.
“It has been kept quiet for ob
vious reasons.” In fact, Elan thought she was probably lucky to have been told herself. They could well have sprung this hand-fasting on her at the last moment as they would have guessed her likely reaction.
“But there is hope. A morph entered your realm about a month ago. A man by the name of Briagh. He is in some way connected to the events that struck down my family. I do not know how. But what I do know is that it involves the use of an ancient artefact stolen from the Arcanium. A globe. This globe was somehow used to strike down my family.”
“There is a priest of the Great Sage – Father Argen – who believes that what was done may possibly be able to be undone. If my brothers can be restored to health, then Myrim can take my father's place on the throne and Vel Moran's dreams of claiming the throne of Abylon can be denied.”
“I must find that morph.”
Elan did not even bother to look at the soothsayer or wait for his verdict, because she knew what he would be telling Lord Daelyn. That every word she had spoken was the truth, but that there was still deception in them.
“It is true Lord Daelyn, as your soothsayer will surely tell you, that I am unhappy with this. There is very great anger in my heart for this morph. And I would truly wish to kill him. I ache to slaughter him for what he has done. But if he has the cure for my brothers, I cannot. Yet. I must cure them first and restore the throne to its rightful ruler.”
And that was true too – to an extent. She still intended to kill the morph, but her vengeance could be delayed if it allowed her brothers to be cured. Of course, she doubted that he could lead them to a cure. Not even if he knew the morph who had done it or where he could be found. There was no cure. She told herself she would hold back until he told her what she wanted to know. Then she would take his head.
The Lord stared at the soothsayer, looking no doubt for the truth in her words. Elan didn't look at the man. She didn't need to. What she had said was the truth. And though there was deception in her heart she had explained that too. A soothsayer was only so good and even the best of them could not tell which lie was the greatest. So the man knew she was being deceptive when she said she would hold back from killing the morph. But he also knew she spoke the truth when she said she hated him and intended to kill him. How was he to know how long she intended to wait?
“She intends to kill the morph My Lord. But to get the cure too.” The man finally spoke, choosing his words carefully, and confirming everything she'd said.
“Princess Elan, I do not know this man. But we can find him. And it is true we cannot allow the barbarian to grow in power along our border. So we will help you. But this man has committed no crime upon our soil as far as I am aware. And our law must hold sway here. There can be no murder. No abduction of him either.”
“We will find this man. We will bring you to him. And we will allow you to interrogate him. But you will ride with the Forty First Rangers. You will remain in their company at all times. Your weapons will be taken from you. And this man will not be released into your custody. He may travel with you back to Abylon, if he chooses or if it should be shown that he has committed serious crimes against your family. But he may also choose to stay if it is not so shown.”
“Is that understood?”
“Clearly Lord Daelyn.” Elan nodded politely, working hard to keep a smile from reaching her face. Those were more or less the conditions she'd expected and prepared for, soothsayer and all. Because they hadn't asked the right question. They knew she wanted to kill the morph. The soothsayer might even tell them that she would disobey their rules if she could. They had taken steps to prevent that happening. But they had not thought to ask if she had a way to overcome their precautions. And why would they? After all she was just a woman alone. How could she?
The man had fallen completely into her trap, and he didn't even know it.
Chapter Twenty
It took time to adjust to living in a world where everyone knew his secret. A surprising amount of time. It was some three weeks since Briagh had first arrived in Wynde Par and even now there were days when he thought he would never get used to it. But he was slowly getting better at hiding his discomfort. Some days he even managed a polite smile for those who greeted him, instead of staring suspiciously at them and wondering where the attack was coming from.
He'd wandered back into Perna Sil half a dozen times since having arrived in the realm, to visit the markets and the shops. He'd even visited the garden – a sort of outdoor tavern – though that was one place he was in no hurry to return to. What was wrong with these people?! Where was the ale and the stout? Because everything they drank from ciders, to wines, meads to nectars, was simply too sweet for him. Some of it was like drinking liquid honey. He just couldn't choke it down. Their brews were heady though. Having sampled one or two, he now understood why there was a problem with public drunkenness in the town.
But at least whenever he'd wandered into the town and spoken with someone or even passed them in the street, he'd controlled his instinctive urge to run. It wasn't easy knowing that they knew his secret. And yet he sensed no ill will in them. No fear. Actually, he sensed almost no care in them for him at all. To them he was just another person. A stranger, nothing more. Some said hello – mainly the merchants he dealt with. The rest barely noticed him.
Despite his fears, no one had come to arrest him, even though some knew where he was staying. It wasn't hard to find him after all.
Oddly enough it was his visit to the gardens that had given him the greatest confidence that he was safe here. Because though the drinks were unpalatable and the mix of languages unknown to his ears, the gardens also openly displayed a number shrines. And in one of those gardens taverns – Tarius El Lin or The Crooked Leg – he had found a shrine to Morphia.
A shrine to Morphia, out in the open! It was something that would never have been allowed in Abylon. There such a shrine would have been torn down and the priests run out of town. As for the followers, if any had been found, they would be run past a seer and if any were found to be morphs, harsh treatment would soon after be their lot. There was a reason that the children of Morphia in Abylon never worshipped her. But here in Wynde Par, open worship of the Goddess was allowed. That gave him hope.
Unsurprisingly though, given Wynde Par’s intolerance of theft, he had yet to find a shrine to the six fingered god!
He had also learned was that there was apparently a family of morphs who lived here. He had only heard of it through a comment made in passing and didn’t know their names or where they lived. Since then he'd thought about making enquiries. But only that. He didn't yet feel ready to meet others of his kind. Perhaps he was worried that meeting them would be just one shock too many? Perhaps he was just worried that they would reject him. Because that would truly be horrible.
For the moment he was comfortable here. It seemed that as long as he was polite and law abiding – and he made certain to be both of those things – he faced no great threat in Wynde Par. Of course, it did mean that if he stayed here he might have to turn his hand to a lawful trade.
Briagh had set up his camp about half a league from town in a clearing alongside a small stream that he assumed ran to the gorge. There was a grain field immediately alongside it and only a small copse of trees between them. He was far from hidden.
But despite that so far no one had come calling on him. No one at all. Not even when he'd taken his courage in hand and walked back into town and the market.
His first night in the camp he had been awake all night. Feeling on edge, he had expected someone to come after him with weapons and a rope. Or bows and arrows. But his fears had eventually been allayed and he'd ended up collapsing from exhaustion soon after the sun had fully risen in the sky. No one had come the next night either, or the one after that. And it wasn't as if they hadn't guessed he was there. He'd seen some of the workers in the fields and they in turn had seen him. They knew he was human simply from looking at him, and probably that he was a morph. But they didn
't bother him.
Strangely, the only thing that had bothered him was a cockatrice of all things. It seemed he had camped near a nesting pair. At first he hadn't believed that these ugly birds were in fact cockatrice, and had mistaken them for ugly turkeys. But the locals had named them as such when he'd enquired. And far from the magnificent fighting birds they were supposed to be, they seemed to like scavenging. His pack was fair game to them – which was why it now hung from a tree branch out of their reach.
Really he thought, they were like turkeys, just with wickedly large hooked beaks and sharp looking claws on the end of their talons. And he had no doubt that they could deliver some nasty damage to him if he was foolish enough to try and grab one. But they bore no relationship to the rampant fighting birds depicted on the city gates of Abylon. In fact, they even ran away if he approached. They were surprisingly quick on their feet too.
After a while of dealing with nothing more frightening than a pair of hungry fast running birds he'd learned to relax a bit. Not to trust – that would be a long time coming – but to slowly accept that he wasn't in any imminent danger. After a lifetime spent running and hiding that was a big thing.