Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos

by Nathan P. Cardwell

  She turned to leave, but momentarily stopped. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. I'll expect you in the lower training quarters, promptly at dawn. Our first session will cover a preliminary on piercing, and perhaps a few basic pointers on throwing techniques."

  At first he was too stunned to speak. Then, just as she was leaving, he blurted, "Your blade! You forgot your dagger… Master!"

  "Dagger? I know of no dagger," she replied without stopping.

  His eyes dropped to the serpentine curvature of the dagger's blade, then to its jewel-encrusted hilt and the inscription at its base. It was written in Dark Speech, but he had received enough tutelage in the language to make out what it said.

  ~In Service of the Scapegrace.~

  ***

  She had just exited the stairwell when a loud and adamant banging came from the painting.

  "Confounded guards!" exclaimed Tobar as he emerged from his study.

  "I suppose the Sergeant is worried," she postulated wearily.

  "He's a most insistent fellow, isn't he?"

  "It's time I returned to the Garrison anyway."

  "You know, you're more than welcome to stay here, my dear. We've plenty of room."

  "No. It is safer for everyone if I remain under guard, at least until I am more accepted."

  Her Master nodded in acceptance of her wisdom, and then escorted her back to the painting. Along the way, she noticed the mirror creeping just above the top step, and her smile returned.

  As Tobar slid the door open, she could see the grave look on the soldier's face. "Is there a problem, Sergeant?" she asked, and then smiled as Goren ducked in front of her, brandishing his newly acquired dagger.

  The Sergeant appeared not to notice that he was being fended off. "I beg pardon for the intrusion, mistress, but I'm afraid we must escort you back to the Garrison." His tone was serious.

  Noticing the dagger, Tobar glanced at Delphi's holsters. Both blades were still seated and latched. Then he glanced to her shoulder scabbards. One of the two upper daggers was missing. He quickly shot Goren a dour look of disapproval.

  Goren quickly shuffled to his new Master's other side, placing her between Tobar and himself.

  Oops, she thought, recalling Goren's account of what he was not to receive until his next birthday. She turned from Goren to witness her own new Master's stern expression, only now, she was his target of disapproval. She suddenly found herself grateful for the guard's presence-that is, until he spoke again.

  "I am not sure of all the facts, mistress, but apparently there has been some break in defense at the Investiture ceremony," he reported, reluctant to meet her gaze.

  Delphi's good eye grew wider as she experienced a sudden sinking dread.

  "I… I fear there has been another Assassination," he concluded.

  "Jesterwolf," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  Both the Sergeant and Tobar failed to hear this, though they were equally aware of her situation and could easily guess.

  Goren however, was closer to her and needed no further understanding. He had heard what she said, and what she felt when she said it. He reached out and took her hand without thinking.

  "The messenger's content was only preliminary, mistress," prompted the guard with a bit more compassion.

  "It could have been anyone at the ceremony," Tobar offered gently.

  She appeared to have heard neither of them. Several long moments passed as Delphi continued to stare at the floor.

  Finally, "Ahem…" prompted the Sergeant, turning his head while doing so, as if the interruption to her inattention was only incidental. "We really must be going, milady."

  "Yes, of course," she replied, regaining some measure of perspective. She would not believe the worst; not until she had no other choice.

  Her attention was then brought back to Goren. At some point, he had taken her hand. Now, his hand trembled.

  She turned to him, kneeling. His eyes reflected the same fear she still felt, with the only difference being his lack of comprehension behind it. Again she was reminded of the concept of empathy, and the powerful impact it had on those who wielded it.

  He had managed to hold back the tears, but she could see this was not something he could do for much longer. She forced herself to relax. She must not allow her fear to cause him further distress.

  She smiled, and he tried to return the smile, but only succeeded in making a grimace. This only served to reveal just how close he was to breaking his earlier resolve. It's so hard to look grown up when you're nine, she thought.

  She reached up, brushing the hair from his eyes. His grimace eased, becoming a closer facsimile of the smile it was intended to be. "I will see you in the training quarters at dawn, yes?"

  "Yes, Master," he replied.

  "All is well then." she concluded with conviction, then turned to leave. Still, Goren was reluctant to release her hand.

  She returned her attention to his. He appeared intent on her, as if searching for something. Then, he stepped closer, placing both arms about her neck, and then hugged her to him.

  "Please, mistress," prompted the Sergeant.

  "Come, Goren," Tobar said. "It is past your bed time."

  Goren stepped back, smiling easier.

  She rose and turned. Her own smile faded as the prospect of Jester's fate returned. As she and the guard took their leave, the door became the painting, and Goren, who bolted to the secret eyes, could not see the dread on her face.

  A moment later, Tobar gently pulled him back, and then closed the sliding panel. "You've had a busy day, Goren. You will need sleep if you intend to be up before dawn."

  "Yes, Grandfather," he agreed, then started back toward his room. He stopped short before reaching the stairs. "May I keep Master Bane's gift, Grandfather?"

  "I suppose you're old enough, but I will expect you to take care of it, and with it. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, Grandfather."

  Tobar turned in the direction of his study, but stopped when he was unexpectedly jolted from behind as Goren hugged him tightly, before bolting down the stairs.

  ***

  Pet was not where Clawtorn had indicated. Nor did it appear that she was to arrive any time soon. It was quickly becoming obvious that the Colonel had other intentions than assisting in a rendezvous between a Tailor and the son of her political rival.

  He considered her carefully. She had led him to the end of a blind alley where there just happened to be a torch lit, as if it was already waiting for them, and though still dim, it was easy enough to read the disquieting look of malice on her face. Were she anyone other than a soldier of Arbitos, he would have sworn that the entire situation smelled of deception.

  But she isn't anyone else. Regardless of what animosity might exist between his father and this woman, she was still his superior.

  "I really don't understand the meaning of our business here, milady, though I'm sure that whatever it is, it can be resolved at a later time. Ambassador Thistle is no doubt being sworn in as we speak. I think it would be prudent if we were to return before I am…"

  "He is not being sworn in, you ridiculous dolt," she crooned in a parity of her previously ingratiating manner. "As a matter of fact, I feel confident that he's quite dead by this time, as you soon will be."

  Now he could hear shuffling in the dark. At first, from behind Clawtorn, and then to his left, and soon all about both himself and the Colonel. Ordinarily, the infra-vision afforded by his Elven blood would have been more than equal to the task of revealing all these shadows. Ironically, the very torchlight that enhanced a Human's range of sight served only to restrict his to the short radius it cast.

  Then a lone silhouette stepped from the shadows. The dark figure paused for a moment, apparently glancing in Borin's direction, and then continued to walk toward the Colonel.

  "Ahh, there you are, Effigee," crooned the Colonel. The woman to whom she spoke, who now stood in sufficient light to make out her features, was dressed in servant's
attire. Her appearance suggested she was probably one of the local vendors.

  "Your troops, as requested, milady," the woman responded in kind, then stopped briefly to offer the Colonel a quick curtsy.

  "What's going on here?" Borin demanded.

  The Colonel and the woman turned to face him. The woman then took several steps toward him. Her image shimmered briefly as Borin suddenly discovered she was in fact a female Dark-elf. An Enchanter! he thought with alarm.

  "Well, hello again, Ambassador," she smiled, her image then shifting to become that of the Barmaid.

  "What?"

  "No pets allowed," she said as she wagged an authoritarian finger at him while his eyes grew wider with alarm.

  "That was you?"

  Then her image shifted once again. "Well, maybe just one Pet," she snickered as her image became that of the Magistrate's Tailor.

  "Borin's mouth dropped, completing his expression of unadulterated shock as the implications fell into place.

  "You had better be on your way, Effigee," the Colonel intoned. "I need you to keep an eye on the good Captain for me."

  "Yes, milady, she replied as a white mist enveloped her. "Farewell, Ambassador," she laughed, and then disappeared.

  He wheeled about, reaching for a sword that was not there. Neither was he wearing the protection of armor, as he yet wore the ceremonial robes.

  "No sword? What a pity," Clawtorn offered mockingly.

  At this, Borin shot her a disquieting look of his own. She had expected fear. What she got was cold and hostile. She wavered, and retreated a step.

  Then something was thrown from outside the circle of light to land near its center. Clawtorn froze, momentarily snared between Borin's accusing stare of dawning outrage and-what? Reluctantly, she turned. As Crimsin's figure came to register within her range of peripheral vision, she relaxed, releasing her held breath in a long exhalation.

  "Selina!" Borin cried, rushing to her prone figure. She was unconscious and bleeding from a blow to the back of her head.

  He gently turned her on her back. She stirred as he cradled her head, her eyes fluttering briefly before focusing on his.

  She spoke, though she was obviously dazed. Her speech was garbled and broken, but it was almost as if she was offering some kind of advice: some odd business about getting used to the couch. Nothing but nonsense. She was no doubt delirious from the blow. Then she lost consciousness altogether.

  "How touching," Crimsin commented, strolling just within the radius of torch light as the son of Goulder Heartrot's enemy knelt, fawning over the Paladin he had caught eavesdropping.

  He would present this half-breed's head to the Baron. Soon, the father's head would rest beside the son's, and before this night was done, he fully intended to pay a visit to that one-eyed traitor. Her, he would save for last. When her time came, it would require more of his attention. One must never rush when it comes to affairs of the heart. Plus, adding her head to the others would secure him a veritable fortune.

  He offered a disarming smile, as though he were only about the business of extending a heartfelt greeting. Then he brought out his sword, as if the gesture were only to display fine cutlery to newfound friends.

  Borin's eyes tracked the wielder, not the weapon.

  He turned the blade so as to catch the torchlight, its corrugated surface splashing the reflected fire across Borin's face like moonlight in water.

  Borin's expression did not falter. He was not impressed with Crimsin's little dance of intimidation. If this was his time to die, so be it. So long as he was afforded the right to die as a Warrior, perhaps even to do this spore of Abhoron a bit of harm in the process, then all was right with the world.

  Reading Borin's face like an open scroll, he asked, "Friend of yours?" indicating Selina with the point of the same sword with which he had just taunted, while his free hand, yet held behind his back, became engulfed in a dark aura as he prepared his deadly touch.

  Borin's attention returned to his injured friend. He could not abandon her, not even for the sake of honor.

  Again, Borin was effortlessly read. This was almost too easy. Mayhap he should dally. Heartrot might enjoy hearing the story of how his enemy's own son was forced to watch as his Lady Fair was entertained for an hour or two, before finally expiring. Yes. This idea warrants merit, he thought, grinning like a shark while allowing the aura to fall away.

  His own death was his business, but Selina must be allowed her own choices. She was yet unconscious and garbed in nothing but an evening gown. At least he was to meet death on his feet.

  "Pretty, isn't she?" Crimsin commented appreciatively.

  While examining the nil protection offered by the plummeting front of her garment, Borin recalled an argument of several summers past.

  He leaned in closer.

  ***

  There came a flash from the North. At first Delphi was forced to look away, but as the light rose higher, its brilliance dimmed slightly and she became more accustomed to it.

  Shielding her eye enabled her to track its path as it streaked above the city until, having reached its zenith, it exploded soundlessly, and then divided into three distinctive sections.

  The largest of the three pieces burned the brightest, drifting slowly down toward the northeast corner of the city's outer wall. She remembered that this area was where the ceremony was being held. She could even make out the pavilion's ivory dome, which Jester had pointed out on the previous day from atop the Garrison. That was when he had asked if she would attend the ceremony, escorted by him.

  The second piece drifted straight downwards, approaching quite near the Garrison before burning out while still several stories up. At the moment before winking out, it burned brighter, as if in punctuation.

  The third piece continued southward and on toward the ocean, but stopped short. As it descended, its light visible from directly below, it illuminated several buildings along the sea front. This was the smallest of the three, but the last to burn out. Like the second piece, it also became brighter before dying, as if to emphasize its passing.

  She turned to the Sergeant, but he seemed not to have noticed. She glanced about. None of the other soldiers offered the slightest reaction either. It was, as she expected, an Ultra-light signal flare.

  She had been ignorant of the details of the Baron's plans, but had always known his Quest could never simply end as a matter of defensive recon. Fact-finding just wasn't his style. After the first Assassination she should have been better prepared. She should have known. He's out there , she thought, facing inland: the direction in which the signal had originated. He's out there, and he's coming.

  What was she to do? What credence would she be afforded? Then again, what choice did she have? She turned to the Sergeant, placing her hand on his arm.

  He turned his attention to her, but continued to march.

  "Pardon the interruption, Sergeant," she offered cordially.

  "Not at all, mistress. How may I be of service?"

  "I was wondering what you might know about Ultra-light signal tactics."

  The Sergeant stumbled, and then caught himself, bringing the entire Detail to a sudden stop and very nearly causing a pile-up.

  That's what I thought, she thought. If the Humans had not been studying her people's covert tactics in this matter, she doubted that he would have come so close to breaking his neck at the mention of it. This left her with only one problem. How was she to convince him of what she had just seen? This was not an easy proposition, considering that Humans were basically oblivious to the entire Ultra-spectrum.

  There was a way. She just hoped she survived it. She opened her eye wider, pulling the lower lid down, thereby offering better access to the tear duct. She then raked her thumb across it, gathering as much saline as possible. The next part was what worried her.

  "I'm afraid I am not authorized to discuss such matt…" he began, but was cut off as Delphi's foot swept in a low and wide arc, thus knocking b
oth of the Sergeant's legs out from under him. Before he could react, she was on top of him, apparently endeavoring to poke his eye out with her thumb.

  The initial reaction to this disturbing spectacle was such that the other soldiers could only stare in disbelief.

  After she had accomplished the first part of her precarious task, she endeavored to subdue the flailing soldier. She pulled both his arms behind his back, pinning both his gauntlets between the street and her knees, thereby effectively clamping him to the ground. Then she grabbed the top of his helm with one hand while reaching over his shoulder to apply a firm grip on the man's chin. She then guided his line of sight, forcing him visually to trace the path of the flare.

  There, still in the sky above him, was its residual trail. A faint, irregular, aura-like line segmented the sky, and then split at its peak into three smaller lines. He was too late to witness the actual flares, but from what he had learned from Intelligence reports on the subject, these lines led to strategic positions where the focus of attack would be most concentrated.

  Free of their shock, the others were now about the business of wrenching the crazed Wognix from their Sergeant. With five of them pulling her to the ground, she was helpless to stop them.

  "Release her!" barked the Sergeant, coming to his feet.

  Now it was he whom they examined for signs of instability.

  "Immediately!" he issued again, doing a fair impression of the good Captain, himself.

  ***

  Borin suddenly plunged his hand down the front of Selina's gown.

  The initial reactions to this unprecedented faux pas were the raised brows of both Clawtorn and Crimsin while the restless shuffling in the dark beyond the torch light suddenly ceased.

  For a fleeting moment, Crimsin faltered. Was it possible that he had misjudged the lad's character? This level of truly admirable behavior was specifically atypical of everything his training had supplied him on Arbitos customs.

  Then there came a flash of light. Crimsin squinted, regaining some measure of sight as he tracked the flair. The signal! The Baron advances!

  The Colonel, who had not quite recovered from her outrage at Borin's unforgivable advances on the helpless young woman, failed to notice Crimsin's own odd behavior. It's one thing to kill a person in cold blood, but to molest an insensible maiden? Shocking! Simply shocking!