Chapter 27
Reminiscence
The warm sand spread out in all directions and even under the nighttime sky, it held some of the warmth it had gained from the day. There was little commotion, as the men and women were asleep, save the few who remained on watch. The creatures of the desert were also still, avoiding the host of warriors, for they were a well-trained group that sprang to immediate action, even though they were not the king’s elite forces. Feral monsters or not, they sensed the power here.
Yet though the host was calm, they were on a mission from the king and they pursued it with pride. It didn’t matter that they expected to arrive uselessly beyond the time they were needed; their king required them and so they went. Perhaps their skills would be necessary anyway. While they slept, they dreamed of winning the king’s favor, which could only improve their lower standings and thus conditions for their families who relied on their tenure of service to the crown.
Only one among them had thoughts wandering off in a different direction, and because she had to remain still while on watch, she could do nothing to distract herself from her reminiscence. Indeed, she had tried doing minor exercises to remain limber and to keep her mind quiet, but the captain had scolded her for the commotion. Rather, she was forced to battle within herself.
Leaving Magehaven and the life she had come to know was hard for Kitalla. Traveling with her companions had instilled her with a hope she hadn’t expected to feel, and she had built a camaraderie that rivaled her thieving days with Poltor. Worse than that, though, were the growing emotions for Gabrion, whose noble spirit drew her despite all she knew about herself. No, she had made the right decision after her Trial in Magehaven. She couldn’t afford to let her heart sway her so powerfully any longer. Besides, Gabrion wasn’t even available to her anyway. He yearned too strongly for a ghost.
Kitalla punched the sand, then glanced around to ensure she hadn’t disturbed anyone. She could leave this troop as soon as she wanted, but it was more convenient to travel with them for her current mission. She still couldn’t believe she was doing it. Hadn’t she just said to herself that she couldn’t afford to let her emotions control her actions? She scoffed, shaking her head.
Her departure from Magehaven had been a rash decision, but with all the emotions she had been forced to relive in the Trial, she didn’t have much choice. She had left the metal jade with Dariak and she missed its company. Something about the cold shard resonated with her, and she wasn’t sure if it was its uniqueness, its loneliness, its power, or just her own need to feel close to something. Kitalla gritted her teeth with the last thought.
She had stormed from the tower and made directly for the castle. Though she was aware Poltor and the others had gone to Marritosh, she knew her old master well enough that he wouldn’t remain in a small village for long, not when a ripe castle town wasn’t far away. She had jogged toward the palace to reach it swiftly, ever ready to pull out her weapons to slay the desert creatures on her journey. But now that she was thinking about that trip, she barely remembered the fights at all. She had fended off reptigons and sandroaches without hesitation. Partly, she was grateful, because it echoed the ruthlessness of her thieving days. Yet it also meant there was no point to it, either.
The thief grabbed a fistful of sand and let it drift slowly between her fingers like an hourglass. It reminded her of how even Poltor had slipped away from her upon her arrival at the castle. It frustrated her deeply. Sure, she knew him well enough to locate him in the castle grounds, even dressed as a filthy manure merchant. However, he had treated her like a stranger in the daylight, using a broken dialect he had picked up in the dingier parts of Marritosh. So she had pursued him at night after doing some reconnaissance of her own.
The master thief hadn’t received her well. Poltor expected her arrival, having denied her attention that day. Kitalla fell prey to the traps purposely so she could talk to him. He was all she had left in this world.
“If you continue to follow me, I will have you slain,” Poltor had said by way of greeting.
“I wish to resume our old practices,” she had responded.
“It’s impossible. You’ve become too well-known in our kingdom and even here. You won’t be able to escape into the shadows as in the old days. No, I won’t have it, I’m afraid. It’s a shame, though, for you were always talented.”
“I’ll prove to you I can—”
“No, Kitalla,” he had said harshly. “You made your choices a year ago when you assisted that mage and left us all. Your ambitions are greater than the petty thieving we do, and you know it.”
Her eyes had fallen low as the truth of it hit hard. “And you only followed us here so you could reach this place and start anew.”
“It was an opportunity I could not deny.” There was a long silence. “Out of respect for you, you may sleep in the loft here tonight, but then you and I are no longer acquainted.”
She hadn’t taken him up on it. It took everything she had, as she sat there on watch on the sand dune, not to grumble with aggravation and loss. Instead, she grabbed more sand and watched it rain down endlessly from her aching fists. Everything was rushing out of control.
She spent a few days in the castle town and within the palace itself. Unlike the alarmed gates in Kallisor, most citizens were allowed easy access to the castle grounds. It took wearing a crest in some prominent location to be allowed entry. It was something only the people of the area knew, but Kitalla could easily dig up information. Obtaining the crest itself had taken a little effort, but sneaking into a hawker’s hut and swiping a bandana took relatively no time at all.
She wore the bandana as a bracelet on her upper left arm, just below her shoulder. The image of an open, judging eye was surrounded by rays of a fiery sunlight, with birds wafting all around. She figured the eye represented the king, the sunlight signified the magical prowess of this country, and the fluttering birds were the citizens who would scatter under the king’s wrath if they disobeyed. She didn’t know if her assessment was at all accurate, but it amused her, nonetheless.
With the armband in place, she walked straight through the gates and into the castle itself. She spent a couple of days perusing the halls and getting a feel for the layout, while also surveying the castle’s defenses. She hadn’t decided what her goal was, but the information would be useful to her some day in some way, she just knew it.
Kitalla visited the well-kept library on two occasions. The first was an accidental turn down one corridor as she was attempting to trace an escape route from the kitchens, but because others were in the area, she didn’t feel she could turn and go another direction without arousing suspicion. Her second trip was more purposeful.
Though the thief was distracted by her immediate quest of learning her surroundings, the past year kept swaying her thoughts. When she thought she had put enough distance between herself and her companions, some comment from a passerby or some basic magic spell sputtered from an acolyte always reminded her of Dariak and the others. She felt almost haunted by them.
The library beckoned to her after her first visit, for Randler’s stories and songs swirled in her mind when things were otherwise quiet. He had spent so much of his life learning about the Forgotten Tribe that even Kitalla’s curiosity had been piqued. She wondered if the library here would have a better record of the original king and queen’s lineage than the library at Magehaven. She didn’t really expect to find it, but the descendants of the king would probably want a historical record kept close to the castle.
Though she needed to maintain an authority about her while walking through the castle, it was perfectly acceptable to be lost within the library itself. There were a few scholars roaming around who were more than glad to help the less-educated find the tomes they sought. Kitalla didn’t ask directly for a copy of the lineage, but instead sought guidance for the historical texts.
Mearan, the lanky scholar who helped her, was overjoyed to show her the section she
was seeking. He practically floated through the library in dark black robes that were slightly too long, even for his tall frame. They were belted tightly around a narrow waist and Kitalla couldn’t help but wonder if he would vanish if he turned sideways, he was so thin.
Once they were in the section, Kitalla practically ignored the scholar and let her eyes dart about, hoping to avoid wasting days in her search.
“For what period are you searching particularly?” Mearan asked.
She tried hard to keep a straight face when he spoke, for he pronounced things differently than most, and clearly it was a ruse to make people think he was more erudite than he was. For instance, he set heavy emphasis on the wrong vowels in most of the words, like the ‘i’ in ‘period’ and the ‘u’ in ‘particularly.’
She composed herself quickly, “Well, I’m not entirely sure, now that I think of it. There was some incident my grandfather once spoke about that his grandfather had told him, from his own childhood.”
“Do you have any recollection—” he started, pronouncing each letter individually, which forced Kitalla to bite her lip—“as to the nomenclature of the presiding liege at the time of interest?”
“The king… er, I don’t, actually,” she frowned.
“Hmm,” Mearan had pondered for a moment. “It may have been Hallibar or Demollia, or perhaps Forithius, depending upon the longevity of your own family line.” He then turned and pulled a book from a shelf and handed it to her. “Unless you have more specific details as to the time period in which you seek, then perhaps it would be best for you to peruse this volume and narrow down your search. Would you like my assistance or should I leave you this for the moment?”
Kitalla glanced down at the book and nearly dropped it in shock. He had handed her a copy of the royal family tree. She flipped open a few pages and saw an intricate number of lines and notes, such as “lineage continues on sheet 48” and “from hence the line has ended.” It was exactly what she was looking for, but she wasn’t entirely sure it would make sense.
“I think I will spend some time with this first and when I need you, I’ll come for you.” She touched his arm softly and winked enticingly, which made the scholar flush a deep red and scurry off to another section of the library, though she knew he would remain somewhat visible so she wouldn’t have to look hard to find him. It was her way of ensuring he didn’t sneak up on her.
Thinking about the scholar’s reaction made Kitalla snort aloud, which in turn alerted one of the sleeping warriors, who turned over and looked at her. She shrugged apologetically and waved him back to sleep, then grabbed more sand as she considered what she had learned from the lineage.
Which was to say, she hadn’t learned much from it. Randler’s mother, Sharice, had claimed that no one would be able to trace the lines of Hathreneir and Kallisor down through the ages accurately, but this one immense book did a fine job of it overall, though the constant flipping of pages to the next generations made it somewhat tricky to follow. Whoever crafted the tome did an excellent job of marking years in an effective way, so that it was relatively easy to see who was alive at the same time, though it did sometimes require flipping ahead or backward three to fifteen sheets to see the connecting pages. Surely the genealogist trained apprentices solely in the keeping of this work, for its organization was very precise.
In the lineage, she looked for the people she knew, which wasn’t an uncommon thing for visitors to do. Yet none of Dariak’s, Gabrion’s, or Randler’s family were even remotely connected to royalty except through service, which of course did not appear in this book. She did lose herself at times with names that seemed familiar to her from her childhood, including the dread mayor who had murdered her unborn child and her beloved Joral. As those memories had started filling her again, she closed the book and replaced it on the shelf, unable to continue.
Upon the sand dune, Kitalla grunted quietly. Now she wished she had looked further. She knew Joral had been the son of nobles. She wondered now if perhaps his family would have been in that book. If so, then her unborn child’s name would also have been written there on the pages someday.
It was a painful thought and she struggled to push it away. The Trial in Magehaven had ripped her protections away, leaving her raw and hurting from all the old woes. She wondered, and not for the first time, how she had ever moved on from that tragedy, and more so, how she had allowed herself to become close to Gabrion, even a little.
She looked up at the night sky and breathed deeply. As she exhaled, she cast her sorrow from her and pushed it away. It didn’t do her any good to dwell on it. She certainly couldn’t talk about any of it with any of the people near her. It would have required admitting she was from Kallisor, for one.
That made her grin.
After a couple of days roaming the castle under the subtle eye of the guard, who never interfered with her wanderings or the wanderings of others, Kitalla had bumped into an opportunity. She overheard an angry conversation between two members of the guard that was taking place in one of the vacant hallways; that is, vacant except for Kitalla.
One of the guards was furious with the captain for refusing to allow her time away from her post to visit with her family. The other guard was a friend who was commiserating by yelling with just as much outrage.
“It’s like they don’t even have families!” the friend had raged. “They protect the kingdom, sure, but aren’t we doing this for the people we love?”
“Exactly!” hissed the scorned guardswoman. “And I asked only for a few days! Enough time to head for Geraul, spend a day with my man, and then return. I wasn’t asking for a month off!”
“Inhuman! I just don’t understand why not.”
“‘We gotta protect the king,’ was all he said. ‘Trouble’s coming from the east. No one can take a leave now.’ I can’t stand it!”
“I know!” agreed the friend. “It isn’t like this is a new threat, by any stretch of the mind. And one guard won’t change the outcome of a major battle, not really.” Then she added quickly, “I’m not saying that you’re not an amazing fighter; I’m just saying—”
But her friend growled and cut her off. “Never mind. If I didn’t need this employ, I would go anyway.”
“There’s got to be something…”
“I told you; if I leave, I’m a traitor. Not only am I out of a job, but they’ll come and kill us all.” She shouted in anger again. “I haven’t been there in months and Keel’s last letter begged me to come home.”
“What if you were sick, Jareesa?”
With a sigh, “No, it would be too obvious now, wouldn’t it? Dammit, what am I to do?”
Kitalla had chosen that moment to intervene. “A moment, ladies, if I may?”
It had taken a bit of convincing, but Jareesa’s need and anger were great enough that she conceded to Kitalla’s plan. Her friend, Haasa, loved Jareesa so much that even she agreed to the ruse. And so, after two hours of preparatory work, Kitalla was suited up in Jareesa’s guard outfit, given an outline of her duties, key passwords she may need in the event of an emergency, and with a two-week plan in mind, Kitalla became Jareesa.
Kitalla still hadn’t any plans for herself at the time, but she felt it wouldn’t hurt to know the inner workings of the castle. Jareesa’s role was more of a common guard, and with her willingness to depart her post for a tromp with her lover, Kitalla wasn’t surprised she hadn’t gone up the ranks. Part of Jareesa’s personality was sharp, so there were times Kitalla could say what was on her mind without having to play very nice, and her portrayal of Jareesa was close enough to fool most of the people around her who didn’t care much for her anyway.
After only two days in the position, Haasa and Jareesa were reassigned to another part of the castle, which suited the situation better, because they both needed to learn new routines under a different captain. Now it would matter even less if Kitalla slipped. Everything was working well. The only thing missing for Kitalla was a purpose.
She had infiltrated the castle in Kallisor by clobbering a guard and stealing the uniform she had worn, and it was all to free the wild mage who had promised to show her a way to tap into her innate skills. Everything had been done as a means to an end. Now there wasn’t such a focus and it left her feeling empty. She wondered if she could take a role like this and not need a bigger purpose for fulfillment. But she was too antsy to think she would last long at all, and part of her wondered if she would get through this stint until the real Jareesa returned.
Her new patrols hadn’t taken her too far into the castle, but from her ever-alert eyes, she was able to estimate the locations of key rooms within the castle proper. She also happened on Poltor one afternoon as he was scouring a hallway that was not open to the public. She carried herself with such authority that he responded with the bewildered tone of a wimpy child until he realized who she was. He had admitted that he was surprised at her new line of work, but she only winked at him before giving him time to flee ahead of the next patrol.
Kitalla chuckled to herself as she remembered the expression on Poltor’s face. He had trained her himself to assume others’ roles and it was a deep compliment to her skill that she had fooled even him. Once recognition had set in and she sent him on, he had whispered something in her ear that she hadn’t expected, and it had given her a goal for her temporary new position. Though, it also meant that she would be reconnecting with her recent past.
Kitalla’s new uniform didn’t have many pockets or much room for growth. She couldn’t conceal the number of daggers she liked to have on her person, so her next goal would be a bit trickier if things went awry. She couldn’t ask for help from anyone. Clearly, Poltor’s tip was the only assistance she would receive from him. Haasa was devoted to the guards, despite helping to conceal Jareesa’s sojourn; Kitalla couldn’t ask her to violate any other rules of the crown, but her support for Jareesa would provide a perfect alibi. And once the real Jareesa returned, no amount of questioning would reveal what had happened, except possibly her own departure from the castle.
The Shattered Shards Page 33