Dontis nodded.
Blake slapped Dontis on the back again. “Come on, let’s get back. I hear we’re all supposed to be at the front gate before the hour is over.”
Rook sighed and slung his leather pack over his shoulder as he watched the two guards head off down the road.
Rook felt a soft hand fall on his shoulder. He turned. “Thanks again,” said Val. She smiled softly. “I’m glad that ended well for you. I was about to go get my husband and his friends.”
Rook returned her soft smile. “Thank you. But don’t risk yourself for me.”
Val nodded. “It’s just, many of us don’t know what we’d do without you and your family around. You’re good people, Rook. You’re a bright spot in this world.”
“Thank you.” said Rook. “Come by with your husband like we spoke about, okay?”
Val promised she would and they said their goodbyes. Rook thanked Ralf for seeing to Bones during the incident and told the large man to get home before the Sisters came. Then he headed up the road to Diotus’s shop. It was a humble building of old brick that sat between two larger buildings. Upon an iron rod hung a wooden sign with a picture of a medicine bottle on it. The windows were always shut with green curtains pulled over them because Diotus claimed the sunlight could harm the potency of some of his potions and tinctures. Rook tugged on Bones’ leash and hopped up the stone steps.
A tiny bell above the door chimed as he walked in. It was a dark and cluttered store that was permeated by the pleasing odor of strange herbs that somehow mingled into what smelled like a woody, flowery incense. What little light filtered through the green curtains was bolstered by a couple gaslamps upon the stone walls, illuminating shelves and cases full of potions, tinctures, balms and strange artifacts.
At the front counter stood Diotus. He was an old man dressed in a brown robe, though he was not frail. He stood straight and tall without aid of any cane or staff; too proud to let his seventy-years of age wither him. Only the liver spots on his hands and the gray hair that peeked from his hood gave any hint to his age. His face was partially concealed by the edges of his hood that wrapped over each of his eyes. Where his eyes would be were thin, black circles of fabric which he could see through. Rook alone knew why Diotus concealed his eyes.
“Ah, Rook.” said Diotus, his voice sharp and hoarse. “I figured you’d be by today.” He seemed to eye the dog a bit disapprovingly.
“Bones.” said Rook. “Gabidar’s quick-hound. I’m bringing him home.”
Diotus nodded slightly. “Lock the door.”
Rook turned the bolt closed on the door and then slid the chain lock over. He tied Bones’ leash to the doorknob and followed Diotus as he came around the counter and went toward the end of the shop where a tall shelf of herbs and bottles was set against the wall. Diotus slid it across the floor and then knelt down and pulled open the secret hatch, revealing the stone steps that led into his laboratory. Rook followed him down the stairs.
The basement was lit by a number of gaslamps set upon the walls. Despite the light, the gray stones of the chamber gave the place a dingy, dungeon-like quality. There were some shelves and tables in the room, all containing various chemicals and gadgets. A couple of half-assembled bolt-throwers that Rook had been helping Diotus with were on one table. But most prominent was the suit of black plate armor and broadsword set in the corner, bathed in the yellow-green light of the lamps. The armor stood upon a mannequin frame with its gauntleted hands resting upon the sword’s pommel. Elegant, wavy lines—sound waves, Rook knew—were painted up both arms of the armor and in the gaslight they seemed to glow with electricity. The sword, although a masterwork, was very obviously missing the crystal that was once embedded in its pommel. At the other side of the room, upon another mannequin frame, was a black robe with a tall, pointed hood. From its face a pair of emerald-lensed goggles stared out lifelessly.
Diotus walked to the far end of the room where a large, metal chest rested on the stone floor. As he bent over to unlock it Rook couldn’t help staring at that armor. Diotus had, long ago, been one of Duroton’s Jinn. He had made Dark Star Knights, and that armor and sword had once belonged to a warrior named Lord Ardur. Rook had purchased the black power crystal from the sword a couple years back. He still, however, pined for the armor. He knew it was just regular armor; there was nothing special about it other than the fancy sonic lines painted upon the arms. Still, he wanted it. More than that, actually. He wanted Diotus to mark him and make him one of the Dark Star Knights. Unfortunately, Diotus refused to sell him the armor or mark him, never having given him a satisfactory answer as to why he wouldn’t.
“How much do you need?” asked Diotus, hunching over the chest.
“The usual. Plus a bar of gold and two silver and some silicon.” said Rook. “And I’ll need more phoenix beak.”
Rook could hear the metal bars and glass bottles clanging as Diotus collected them from the chest and placed them in a basket. Diotus walked back to him, carrying the heavy load. He set the basket down on the table next to Rook, and Rook briefly inspected everything as he carefully placed them into his leather bag. He could get the gold and silver elsewhere if he wanted (and slightly cheaper), but Diotus was the only man in town with silicon and the other element bars and chemicals he needed. They were all very rare and expensive, and Diotus had most of it smuggled in from Duroton using the connections he still held there. It all cost a small fortune.
In the basket was a small, wooden box and Rook opened it. Inside were a few ounces of black powder. It was the ground beak and talons of a phoenix, a bird only found in the forbidden lands of Duroton beyond the high mountains of Narbereth. Without the beak there was no way to get the fires of the forge hot enough to transform his special element mixture into Everlight.
“A thousand crowns.” said Diotus.
Rook placed a couple large, bejeweled coins in the old man’s hand. Diotus looked at them for a moment and nodded before slipping them into the inner pocket of his robe.
“Tell me how you make Everlight and I’ll give you half back.” said Diotus.
Rook smiled. They shared this exact same conversation each time they met. “Make me a Dark Star Knight and I’ll give you another ten-thousand.”
“I can’t.” said Diotus.
Rook looked at the armor and frowned, once again denied his ultimate dream. Dark Star Knights were fast and powerful. He had learned all they could do from Diotus. They could match a Saint in combat, and possibly more. Rook bit his lip. What he could do if he had such power…
“Is the beak part of the metal, or part of the process?” asked Diotus.
Rook looked back at Diotus and smiled again. “It’s not really a metal. And it’s all process.”
Diotus waved a dismissive hand and grumbled something. “That’s all you ever tell me.”
Rook laughed. “You know the deal.”
Diotus shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t. I just can’t.”
“But why?” appealed Rook. “You’ve done it in Duroton. If it’s equipment or resources you need, I can get it. I’ll pay for everything. Or better yet, take me to Duroton. I’d love to go to Duroton. The Jinn there could certainly do it.”
Diotus regarded Rook through those fabric lenses that covered half his face. “Even if I could get the proper power crystal—even if you had all the resources in the world—I still couldn’t.”
“But why?” asked Rook again, a little annoyed. ‘I can’t’ was all Diotus would ever tell him. The man had shared all his secrets with Rook; all his knowledge. He had taught him how to read and write; had taught him and showed him how mechanics work and all the magic of mathematics. As a boy, Diotus had showed him the miraculous properties of the phoenix beak and the transmuting properties of certain chemicals. It was through Diotus’s teachings that he had figured out how to recreate the
metal of that dagger he stole from Karver all those years ago; a dagger that had once belonged to one of his forefathers; the dagger that now belonged to Chazod. But this one thing Diotus kept to himself. It was beyond frustrating. All Rook could think was that if he had such power as a Dark Star Knight, how different this world would be; how different he could make it. No noble or Exalted, no Saint or King would ever get away with their crimes in his presence.
Diotus sighed. “Rook, please let it be. Some answers should not be sought. I will tell you this only: To be a Dark Star Knight one must be marked, and upon you I cannot make that mark.”
Rook shook his head. “You’ve already told me that. I’d just like to know why.”
Before Diotus could say anything, Bones began barking upstairs. Rook apologized and shouted, “Quiet, you!” and the dog ceased its barking.
“Are you going to stay and finish those bolt-throwers today?” asked Diotus. “I finally finished making the power crystals for them.”
“Wish I could,” said Rook. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Diotus nodded. “Then what of your training? We’re supposed to train tomorrow.”
Rook sighed. For the last few years Diotus had been training him in the swordsmanship used by the Dark Star Knights. Diotus was a surprisingly skilled teacher in the martial arts of Duroton, but now it was beginning to become one more frustration as to why he wouldn’t mark him as a true Dark Star Knight.
Diotus walked over to the armor and took down the sword with the missing power crystal. He tossed it to Rook. “Stay and train some now. Your forms are all perfect but I’d like to see some more speed.”
Rook flourished the sword lazily. “I can’t. I have to take Bones back to—”
From Diotus’s billowy sleeves a dagger slid down into each of his hands. With uncanny speed the old man flung them forward. Rook raised the sword, spinning on his feet, and both daggers chimed against the blade as they were cast aside. One stuck into the far wall and the other skipped off a table before clanging upon the floor.
“What the heck was that about!” exclaimed Rook, looking at the old man.
Diotus’s lips curled into a smile and he laughed hoarsely. “Lord Ardur was about your age when I tried that trick on him. I stuck him in one arm, but I was faster back then.”
Rook laughed and set the sword down on the table. “And what if you had managed to stick me just now?”
“Then you’d have to stay and work on your medical skills.” said Diotus, still chuckling. Upstairs Bones began barking again.
Rook shook his head. “I wish I could stay, really. But I have to take Bones back home and check in on Gabidar’s family. His wife is still mad that I sent him off to Escalapius. I figure if I stop by often and offer her help I’ll get back in her good graces.”
Diotus nodded his head and his composure became more stern as he regarded Rook through those fabric eyes that concealed his face. “Do you truly believe he will find your sister? He has been to the ends of the earth for you.”
“She’s out there somewhere.” said Rook. He cast his eyes up, wondering what the dog was still barking about, and began absentmindedly fondling the Golothic in his pocket. His finger caressed over the warm, sandy stone of it. “She’s out there. I know it.”
Rook noticed the old man was peering at his hand. Rook looked down and realized he had taken the Golothic from his pocket. He quickly slipped it back into his pants and picked up his leather sack full of goods. He looked at Diotus, suddenly feeling a bit cheated in life. “I’d stop, you know,” he said.
Diotus peered at him through his strange hood.
“I’d stop making Everlight.” said Rook, shaking the bag. “I’d Stop making weapons to sell to the nobles and their men.” said Rook. “I hate them all. I hate the Saints. I hate the Kings. I hate the Exalted. I hate the nobles. I hate making weapons for them; weapons they use against their own people. Mark me as a Dark Star Knight, Diotus. Give me the power to change this world.”
Diotus regarded him for a moment. “You are changing the world. More than you would if you were out there with a sword. You’re ready, if it came to it. You could face down a Saint, or at least give him a good run. But purpose is stronger than steel. Stronger than even your Everlight. The battle of purpose cannot be won with a blade alone. Here you are already fighting that battle and winning.”
Diotus stepped closer to Rook. “But hate is never the way. The people here who adore you, all the city guard who call you a friend, that was not accomplished with hate.”
“I know,” said Rook, his anger melting away. He sighed and rubbed at the slave brand scarred upon his neck. “I know. I just wish I could be free. If I were a Dark Star Knight, I’d have the power to be free, and help others be free.” He looked at Diotus. “Take me and my family to Duroton. You could get us there. You’ve told me so much about that kingdom, how the people there are free.”
“You told me once of how you grew up believing that Narbereth lay across vast tracks of perilous desert, guarded by monstrous beings and towering walls of impassable mountains; that no person in Jerusa dared flee to Narbereth because the journey was impossible.” said Diotus. “Then, when the slaver, Garrot, brought you across the boarder, you were surprised that there had been nothing barring the way. You were surprised that not so much as a wall had kept you in Jerusa your whole life.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Rook, a little miffed about the memories it stirred.
“The chains that bind us are often just illusions.” said Diotus. “Walls nothing more than ideas. Change your perspective and chains break like glass!” said Diotus, snapping his fingers. “Give a wall no heed. Pay attention to only what you can actually see.”
Rook frowned. “I can actually see my slave brand,” he mumbled.
“Lord Ardur over there liked to put up walls.” said Diotus, pointing to the armor. “The funny thing about walls is that they cast shadows. Put up enough walls and you are surrounded by them; circled in darkness. And you end up living your life in them.”
Rook nodded softly. He looked at that suit of armor, wondering what wall of his own imagination prevented him from becoming a Dark Star Knight.
“You have a debt to pay.” said Diotus.
Rook turned and looked at the old man. “What?”
Diotus regarded him steadily. “I said you have a debt to pay. Pay it off.”
Rook started. “W-What?” His hand clenched over the pocket where the Golothic was hidden.
“Debts, like walls, make slaves of men.” said Diotus. “Debts are chains. Pay off your debt and you’ll be free.”
“But… how do you know…”
“I had a debt once.” said Diotus, pointing at the suit of armor. “I paid it off in full. Then I came here to be free.” He looked back at Rook. “Pay that debt. Then we can talk.” Rook was about to say something when Diotus excused himself. “Let me go see what that dog of yours is making a ruckus about.” He walked up the stairs.
Rook stood there a moment alone, staring at the armor. Then his attention turned to the Jinn outfit and those green goggles it wore. They were similar to those worn by Sin Eaters and Rook often wondered what type of vision they gave. The goggles were one other secret Diotus would never let him explore. He bit his lip and looked up the stairs. Then he hurried over to the mannequin. He looked up at those goggles. The emerald lenses sparkled in the gaslight. He touched them. Around the inside edges he could see sharp, silver teeth and some ends of gold wire. As a Jinn the goggles had been surgically implanted in Diotus’s eyes, leaving the mangled, disfigured sockets the man now hid from the world. But Diotus had once told him that the goggles still held power, even without being permanently implanted, and Rook wondered what he might see if he were to put them on. Would he see why Diotus would not make him a Dark Star Knight? Rook wondered. He was about to grab them off the man
nequin when he heard Diotus coming down the stairs.
“The bells.” said Diotus as he stepped down into the basement. “The bells are sounding.”
Rook’s eyes went wide. “I have to go!” Rook grabbed his bag and was about to shoot up the stairs when Diotus grabbed his arm.
“Sometimes, before a debt can be paid, others should be collected. A debt owed you, gives you power.”
Rook nodded. Diotus released him and Rook shot up the stairs. No sense going to check on Gabidar’s family now. He took Bones off his leash and held his head in his hands. “Home!” said Rook. “Go!” He opened the door and the dog raced away.
Rook looked up and down the streets. They were already emptying of people and many of the buildings were shuttering up. Even Ralf had gone. Rook heard the trumpets playing from the distant city gate and took off down the road as fast as he could.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Kierza ran down the street. Off to the north, near the city’s main gate, she could hear marching and trumpets. She’d have to go that way to get home. The Venzi’s cottage was set atop a hill that overlooked most of the city proper, near a number of other lavish cottages owned by nobles and wealthy merchants. Neither Callad nor Sierla were nobility, but Rook’s skill with the forge had won them favor among the ranks of nobles and they were well-respected. Most nobles and wealthy men were in a long line to get one of Rook’s remarkable Everlight weapons.
Kierza slipped down a side street and made a few twists and turns. The sound of trumpets was getting louder as she neared the north end of the city. She came to an alley between a pair of high, stone buildings and noticed a number of people gathered in the shadows there. They were hunched close to the wall, peering out toward the city gate. Curious onlookers, no doubt. Kierza couldn’t deny her own curiosity. She had heard a lot about the Sisters but had never seen them herself. They were the daughters of King Dahnzeg and Queen Lustille; their princesses. The golden statues of the two sisters stood prominently at the city square and she had seen them many times. Still, it was said that even their likenesses in gold could not outshine their true beauty. They were said to be the most gorgeous women in all the world. And, they had their noses. They never wore veils. In fact, it was said that the ritual of cutting the noses from all girls in Narbereth began because the Sisters would not abide any who could match their beauty. If the rumor was true, Kierza guessed that it would make the Sisters at least a hundred years old, since that was about when the ritual began. Of course, neither the King nor his daughters would look that old. Like all Kings and their Exalted kin, they seemed to have unnaturally long lives.
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