"Why are you telling me all of this? Why the sudden interest in 'Karten's potato crisis of 1014'?" Keevan asked, leafing through the book. He paid for that mistake with a blast of dust to his face, forcing him into a hacking cough as he put the book back down.
Bahjal chuckled, but didn't reply right away. She picked up her stack of notes, carefully wrapping the pages in a clean leather package and tying the bundle shut with a role of twine from the desk. Setting the parcel aside, she turned in her seat, facing Keevan. He couldn't help but notice how much older she looked in this dusty room, with the spears of sunshine illuminating the swirls of dust around her.
"When our parents died, the Malik approached myself and Kors individually," Bahjal confessed, leaning against the back of her chair. She folded her arms across her chest, as if cold, despite the warmth of the stuffy records room. "The barbarians had overrun Karten. Everyone we grew up with was either dead or enslaved. With no home to return to, and no family to speak of, the Malik offered us a position among the Rhets."
"I'm guessing he wasn't the only one making offers," Keevan asked.
"No," Bahjal admitted, "Zerik set runners to offer deals to us as well. He did it through sending stones, so he couldn't be tracked and the messengers wouldn't have any knowledge of the conversation they'd delivered."
"Why did Kors chose Zerik?" Keevan asked, pulling up a chair alongside the table. "A life spying for the Malik seems a step up from the life of a rebel, constantly hunted."
"Kors always blamed Arnadi and the Malik for our troubles," Bahjal explained, organizing the books before her into separate stacks. "We traded peacefully with the barbarians for a time, before the Malik's soldiers were sent to 'guarantee' our safety. Let's just say they created the very problem they were sent to solve."
"So, he joined Zerik and you joined the Malik," Keevan summarized. "Again, I'm sorry you had to face him last month. If I had a sibling, I couldn't imagine fighting him or her, for any reason."
"We do what we must, to serve and protect," Bahjal sighed.
"You still haven't answered my question, though," Keevan noticed, "why the sudden book work?"
"Keevan, my sweet Keevan, you think the Malik didn't offer me something in exchange for my loyalty?" Bahjal said, taking his hand. "With Kors living the life of a rebel, ownership of Karten falls to me. Recently, the Malik thanked me in person and offered me the promised reward. He said my years of loyal service were up, and he released me to set things right."
"Set what right?" Keevan asked, confused, "Karten was overrun. Wasn't it? Years ago? What could the Malik possibly offer you now?"
"Karten was recently reclaimed," Bahjal answered, gulping nervously as she squeezed his hand. "Arnadi's troops are building new fortifications, deeper in the mountains. Karten is now secure, the mine and the surrounding lands ready for planting come spring."
Keevan paused a moment, organizing his thoughts. He looked from her parcel to the many books and records. "You're leaving, aren't you? To found a new Karten."
"Eventually," Bahjal admitted, offering a sad smile. "Four generations of my family lived, worked and died at Karten. I have a chance to reclaim what belongs to them, to us all. Perhaps, if Kors had a place to call home, he would renounce his loyalty to Zerik. I don't know."
"What's the parcel for, exactly?" Keevan asked, wisely keeping his opinion of Kors to himself.
"I'm copying the Scholars Guild's record of Karten's natural resources, to decide how much capital and how many families I'll need to build a new Karten." Bahjal explained. "They've also agreed to polish up my academic skills. It's been years since I studied math, mining or farming and one can't found a city without knowledge of all three and then some."
"Nariem's contacts can help with the mining part," Keevan offered freely. "His contacts run the eastern mines, but I assume the processes and logistics would be similar. At the least, you can write to him for advice."
Bahjal laughed, hopping to her feet and wrapping him up in her arms. "Oh Keeves," She said, sniffling as she held back tears. "I love you. You jump straight from 'you're leaving' to 'how can I help?' What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"You're my best friend," Keevan replied, stroking her long brown hair, still wrapped in the braided loops preferred by the Suadans. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you. I'll miss you is all. How much longer will you be here in Issamere?"
"At least six months," Bahjal guessed, "I'll have to study, gather funds and find trustworthy people willing to settle a new town. I'll be too far from civilization to wait for a Persuader to ride by and solve every dispute. We'll be on our own."
"So we still have all fall and winter, then," Keevan said in relief. Her hair smelled like lavender and ginseng, was that a Suadan trait as well? The words felt bitter sweet. He knew how quickly those months would pass, with his training, studies and now Bahjal's departure on his mind.
"Well, my schedule will be nearly as busy as yours," Bahjal explained, "I've a city to build and I haven't set foot in a scholar's guild or a tutor's home in nearly a decade. I can't trust anyone else with this, not with my family's estate on the line. They're all counting on me. I can't let them down."
"I'll help out however I can," Keevan promised, taking an armful of books and returning them to their shelves along the wall. "I can always visit. There's a lot my vision can do to help miners and blacksmiths. Perhaps I could stay there a week or so and help get the city off on the right foot."
"Keeves, you're training to be a Persuader," Bahjal reminded him, putting away another stack of dusty tomes. "When you pass, you'll serve as the Malik's right hand. You'll go where he sends you and fight as he requires. He's not going to let his own personal Sight Seeker far out from under his thumb, I promise you that."
Keevan blinked in surprise and opened him mouth to speak, but Bahjal plunged on. "Oh, he'll burry you in gold and fine dining and the best entertainment Issamere can afford, but you'll still be his. Most of your time will be spent keeping the peace here in Issamere, especially with Zerik loose out there. Karten is a long way from here."
"You don't have to be so bleak about it," Keevan replied, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'll be as protected as any Tri-Being, if not more so. I'll have training in combat, politics, interrogation and plenty of chances to put my vision to good use."
"Keeves, don't get me wrong, I'm happy you managed to find a place where you can live your life," Bahjal insisted, walking over and giving him another tight hug. "I just don't want to keep lying to ourselves about any of this. I don't want to get your hopes up over a lie. We have six months and then, what will be, will be. But I have to settle Karten. My parents would expect that much from me, if they still lived. It's the least I can do, to honor their memory."
"Well, perhaps I'm more of an optimist than you think," Keevan said bitterly, pulling away. "I think if we really want this to work, it will. Don't just give our relationship a time to die and leave it at that."
"Keeves, we can't even kiss, not really," Bahjal said sweetly, but she didn't pursue him further. Her arms hung limply at her sides and her face held only a smile full of pity and eyes doused of sorrow.
"One obstacle at a time," Keevan grunted. "First I have to do enough good in the next six months to get an extended break from the Persuaders. Surely the Malik will like the idea of sending a Persuader to help settle disputes in Karten. Once I make things clear to him."
"Do enough good? To manipulate the Malik?" Bahjal laughed so loudly a few of the scribes shot her dirty looks, as if she were interrupting a funeral, not their note taking. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'll start with saving Issamere from purpose fever," Keevan said fiercely, turning his back on her as he left the room. Over his shoulder he shouted, "Then there's a rebel and a Varadour, either one will get me what I want. Just a question of which one I find first."
The early morning sun blasted Keevan's eyes as he blustered from the city hall. Perhaps his frustrations with Bahjal struck deeper
than he realized, or the constant demands of his daily duties pushed him to risky behavior, but he drew on his Sight Seeker vision in the full view of the bustling morning crowds. He stormed down the road, noting the tangle of electricity following him through the air as Tri-Being's recognized him and drew the element along with their fear.
A handful, most wearing seamen's tattered trousers and stained tunics, drew heat around them as they watched him pass, but they didn't move to oppose him. Keevan hissed at his bad luck. The one day when he thoroughly needed something to smash his training sword against and suddenly the Harbor's Guild seemed to have wizened up to the Malik's plans for him. Word of Keevan's role in overseeing the acolytes must have spread quickly indeed, to have already reached the Haustran Districts.
With a steadying breath, Keevan pulled out the map of his new route as a Persuader and headed for the first lookout post. He knew the place well, a culvert the width of a man sat at the base of an elaborate garden, one of the easiest ways into the catacombs. Three blocks later, Keevan stood at the garden's entrance, pausing in surprise.
The garden sat on a slope, facing the eastern mountains, ensuring immunity from flash floods or sudden downpours. Pears, apples, honey cumbers, and even a few more exotic varieties displayed their wares for all to savor and enjoy. The Suadans maintained the garden, offering the produce grown there as a gift from Suada to the Rhetans of Issamere in times of need.
These were indeed times of need. Two dark skinned Haustran guards stood watch outside the garden, with a line of Rhetans starting in front of them and stretching around the corner. Half the trees were already picked clean, even of the apple trees, whose fruit would be sour and no larger than a man's thumb at this time of year.
A handful of Rhetans perused the garden, an acolyte accompanying each, presumably to keep them from eating any on the spot. When a wizened, wrinkled Rhetan couple left with a small linen bag full to bursting, two more Rhetans were admitted passage and handed identical bags, no more than enough for a day's rations.
Keevan stood back for a moment, watching the line through his elemental vision, a trail of cloud-like figures inter-connected to the surrounding elements. Even Rhetans had an elemental field, though theirs only extended a few feet and couldn't manipulate the surrounding elements much. Keevan carefully watched the content of their fields, not the magnitude. These were more than his people now, they were his responsibility. The Malik wanted them kept safe, from both the rebels' and each other's elemental manipulations.
The line's occupants were a tangled mix of emotions, keeping the elements around the street constantly shifting. A good sign. With one Rhetan feeling anger and the next one feeling despair, their elements tended to neutralize themselves, keeping both Tri-Beings relatively calm. Keevan tapped his chin, pondering over the scene.
Zerik on the other hand, would likely try to start a riot. He'd want all the Rhetans to feel the same emotion, feeding off each other's desperation until they frenzied. Anger would probably be Zerik's tool of choice, despair was a paralytic and purpose fever would result in a tangle of people obscenely devoted to their daily tasks. Harmless and treatable.
An angry mob though, that was a different story. A shudder crept along Keevan's spine. If the city fell into chaos, the Raejin Priests might intervene. He could only imagine how the servants of the Death God would handle a riot.
"Persuader Stratagar, I presume?" One kindly faced guard called, waving Keevan over. Sweat gleamed off his dark skin in the morning heat. He was a stocky man with fists the size of hams. The other guard, judging by their shared features, was his brother. "We were told you'd be by this morning. We're ready for inspection."
A tingle of unease leafed through Keevan's mind as he noticed the other guard's angular features, arched eyebrow and poorly concealed eye roll, looking from Keevan's badge of office to his young face. The second guard whispered in his fellow's ear, drawing a smirk as the first bit back a chuckle.
"You are keeping order, I see," Keevan said with a forced grin as he approached. The Rhetans in line watched him, some in anger, others with indifference. Keevan shifted uncomfortably under the collar of his uniform. When people saw his eyes glow, they looked back on him in fear-driven anger or hope. How they watched him now was something else entirely.
Their fear was more genuine now, for assaulting a Persuader carried severe consequences. For many, their eyes conveyed blame, primarily meant for the Malik perhaps, but landing on the shoulders of his Persuaders as well.
Keevan pursed his lips and decided against using his elemental vision, openly at least. If they saw his eyes glow blue and realized his full identity, that could make the situation even worse. Once Keevan stepped close enough to the guards for the line of hungry Rhetans to not overhear his words, he interlocked his fingers and nodded in salute.
"We do our duty, student," The first guard answered evenly, "We are united in the service of our Malik and Issamere."
"We are united," Keevan echoed.
"So, what can we do for you, student?" The second guard asked with a smirk. "Would you like directions to the academy perhaps? Or did you lose your wet nurse?"
"Shiivel!" The first guard snapped, "This is a Persuader-in-training. Show some respect."
"He's still mostly a boy as far as I can tell," Shivel continued, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. He stood a good head taller than Keevan and held another six inches on him in width. "These are dire times in deed, Nevin, when boys that have yet to grow a decent beard are required to protect the city."
"And this boy is in a hurry," Keevan sputtered, feeling the heat in his face rise. Debate was never his strong suit, give him an hour to prepare a response and he'd do alright, like any academic. Arguing without preparation felt a lot like trying to spar with Merkim, all his previous training vanished. The situation left him to hopelessly fumble over his sword, or in this case, his tongue. "Officer Nevin, will you show me the culvert, please?
Shiivel rolled his eyes and sighed, pushing the gates open. A few of the closest Rhetans licked their lips hungrily, glancing from one guard to the other like convicts hoping to make a break. If Shiivel noticed their anticipation, he gave them no heed. Instead, he turned and faced Keevan, hands on his belt as he huffed angrily. "'Please,' the boy says. If he tries that tactic when Zerik's men come a knocking, his only hope will be that they laugh themselves into submission."
"That's enough," Nevin grunted, "Leave the boy be."
"Why?" Shiivel chuckled, "What's he going to do? Run back to the academy?" He pursed his lips, uttering the shrillest voice he could muster. 'Teacher, teacher, a guard called me names! Put him in the stocks for me, won't you?'"
Keevan felt the heat rise in his face and his hands shook in anger. The emotions never quite reached his tongue though. He didn't know how to handle such a situation. He'd have to listen to the other students at the academy and hope someone shared a similar experience. His grip tightened on the hilt of his practice sword, as he glanced at the soldier's very real weapons, feeling outmatched indeed.
"I said, that's enough, Shiivel," Nevin finished, leading the way through the open gate. "Come along, Stratagar."
Keevan was only too happy to comply. They walked in silence for a minute, meandering through the garden's winding trails. The trees closest to the gate were already picked clean, as one would expect. When Keevan walked deeper into the garden though, he saw the real extent of the drought. The last remaining fruits in each tree hung in the upper most branches. The Rhetans shared large poles with blades and baskets on the top end, allowing them to cut the precious cargo free without letting the food splatter on the ground. Granted, as green as the apples and pears were, Keevan doubted they'd bruise at all.
"You'll have to excuse Shiivel," Nevin said politely, leading them to the western edge of the garden where the ground sloped steeply downward. A couple thin streams of fluid lead the way to the culvert, like thin veins feeding into a distant, dying heart. "He's worked hard
to get where he is now. Seeing people so young rising so high, unsettles him."
"I'd feel the same way," Keevan offered diplomatically, watching his footing as the path turned slick with moisture and mud.
"I trust you won't report his disrespect to your superiors?" Nevin asked hesitantly. "He doesn't have a history of getting on well with others. I'd rather not lose this post as well."
"I'm guessing you've traveled far, in the last few years," Keevan said trying to approach the topic from a softer angle as he eyeing the guard's dark skin.
"Farther than most, and at greater cost," Nevin admitted, rubbing his temples. "He just needs a good tavern brawl, his mood will improve dramatically after that."
"Sorry," Keevan laughed, "I'm fresh out of those."
Chapter 8
"Well, here's the catacomb entrance," Nevin offered, pointing ahead of them. "As you can see, the Malik can rest easy. We've taken care of it."
The thin stream dipped down into a culvert the width of a single man. Newly applied iron bars were welded into a framework over the tunnel's mouth, and a tangle of broken logs clogged the entrance. More importantly, a thick shouldered guard sat with his back to the grate, his feet propped up against a stool to keep them out of the flowing water. He leafed through the pages of his book, offering them a glance and a nod of recognition.
The guard wore so much facial hair, only his indifferent eyes peered out through the matted tangles. But his dark fingers, flipping from page to page, marked him as another of Shiivel's and Nevin's comrades. "So, this is the Persuader we now report to?" the guard asked gruffly. "He doesn't look like much."
"Not a good time for that, Ahmro," Nevin snapped, but his warning sank in too late.
His ego still tender from Shiivel's words, Keevan's anger flared. Opening up the elemental plane, his eyes radiated with blue energy. "Neither do you. Your field only extends ten feet out from you, and you're barely strong enough to be considered a Haustran.
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