Splintered Loyalties

by S. B. Sebrick

  "Of course!" The showman replied, beaming at them. "Tell you what, I'd hate to detract from your duties, but if you manage to come tonight, Persuaders get in for half price. Have a wonderful day. I must see to my other duties. Good luck!"

  "Good luck," Corvan echoed, chewing on his lower lip, perplexed.

  With that, Zalin departed. He headed back to his wagon, a wooden house on wheels, painted in colors so bright they hurt Keevan's eyes. A wiry scribe accompanied the showman, holding a stack of papers and a quill. Keevan and Corvan stood there, among the constant sweat, toil and practiced labors of the acrobats, at a loss.

  "Well, I'm not seeing anything particularly dangerous," Keevan admitted.

  "There has to be another way to make the Bastrom dangerous," Corvan insisted, glaring at the creature as if he'd already caught it in the act of stealing his gold. The beast only yawned contently, rolling onto its back. The window shutters rattled from the force of his massive bulk rolling to a stop. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

  "Unless the beast is a very expensive distraction," Keevan offered. "Supposedly, Zerik's financier has very deep pockets. What if this is all about keeping us distracted from the real threat?"

  "That leaves us with a whole city to search, and no idea what we're actually trying to find," Corvan sighed, shaking his head. "Look Keevan, I'm willing to help, but I won't wander around the city like a lunatic. Not when half the city is trying to put me back in a cage."

  "You're right," Keevan agreed, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. "I shouldn't have asked you to expose yourself like this. "I'm sorry. You've only tried to look out for me. If I can help with anything, let me know."

  "Really?" Corvan said, acid on his tongue. "You make such a promise now? You know what I want, what we both deserve. We don't belong here boy, this isn't our world. Will you please take Touric's offer and leave this place with me?"

  "I can't," Keevan insisted, stopping himself before saying more, he lead Corvan to a quiet alley away from the square. Once they were out of earshot of the passerby, he faced Corvan. "I have family here. Friends, a few, at least. I promised them and the Malik that I'd do my best to help Issamere through this."

  "You don't owe them anything," Corvan countered, fists clenched in restrained anger. "This isn't your fault."

  "Really?" Keevan said incredulously, "I broke the Great Crystal when I fought Kors. The flooded farms, the famine, the starving Rhetans, that's all my doing. I need to fix this."

  "You have enemies who know this 'need' of yours," Corvan warned, raising a cautionary finger before his face. "They will put it to their own purposes, and not for the betterment of Issamere."

  "Then I'd better find a way to shove their plans back in their faces," Keevan said, slipping into the elemental plane. He could see the moisture building up on Corvan's brow. Heat washed over the Varadour's cloak as he stood in the sunlight. He looked as if the elements themselves had marked him as an Outcast, unworthy of their aid. Keevan could even see the stubborn anger building in Corvan's eyes, a physical trait he could never detect on a Tri-Being while using the elemental place.

  "Yes, and fast," Corvan agreed, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head. "Because I won't be around to watch your back, not for a while at least. Good luck, Master Persuader. I'm sure Issamere will be fine in your capable hands." With that, Corvan stormed away.

  Keevan crumpled to the ground, relinquishing his elemental vision as he crouched with his back against the alley wall. He tried to sort through his situation. The rough bricks caught on his leather armor, rasping as he got comfortable. His stomach still ached, despite Corvan's aid. Keevan clutched his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees and let the tears flow.

  He owed the Varadour his life, twice now. All the man wanted was to go home and Keevan couldn't even offer Corvan that, much less the pardon he clearly deserved. Keevan owed this city his protection, but could do little more than oversee the acolytes at work. He longed to fix things with Bahjal, but the truth of Touric's words still stung. Even if she still wanted to be with him, there was the simple fact that they physically couldn't.

  He glanced down the alley, where acrobats and showmen flickered in and out of view. The marketplace was turning into a grand showroom, with performers and exotic animals to distract the people. He shook his head. The ruse was so clear now. Even if the Bastrom got free, he would have to find and contend with the thick gates protecting the Etrendi District, much less get into the palace itself. In that time, half of the Malik's forces and most of the Temples' priests would mobilize against the creature. So, if he wasn't going to use the Bastrom, what was Zerik's next move?

  A few fruitless minutes passed, after which Keevan dried his eyes and stood. His next step was obvious, he had to report in to Persuader Madol. At least, most of what had happened. Would they even believe that Touric was back in town? Did he dare mention the exile's presence at all? Masha visibly paled at the mention of the brother who stole her capacity to birth children. Could Keevan bear to tear those old wounds open on her heart, when he wasn't even sure if Touric was friend or foe in all this?

  Straightening out his uniform, Keevan left the marketplace and continued eastward, toward the Persuader Academy. The more guards and Persuaders walked the street, the less starving Rhetans lined the city's alleys, nooks and crannies. So, as he got closer to the academy, nearly all signs of Issamere's hardship faded from open view. For a few city blocks, Keevan let himself reminisce about the days of his training, only one week ago. Back then, he was peacefully ignorant of all the harm his power had caused, and his greatest problem was Merkim's sword arm.

  The guards at the academy entrance let him pass without a word, hands never far from their cudgels. Keevan paused, glancing over his shoulder at them. Since when did the Persuader Academy require guards at all the entrances? He looked around the courtyard, once thick with recruits and merchants, now empty except for a few students practicing their stances.

  Keevan took a detour, hugging a flight of stairs leading around Master Hadrian's office and avoiding the training hall entirely. That was a conflict he didn't have time, nor the stomach, to endure. Literally. Finally, he arrived at Persuader Madol's office, where he knocked on the door with three quick raps of his knuckles.

  "Enter," Persuader Madol groaned, "This had better be good, I'm up to my ears in-" His words cut short and his mouth hung agape when he saw Keevan.

  "I'm here to report in, sir," Keevan said, standing at attention with a sharp salute, interlocking his fingers.

  "You reckless, arrogant, wonderful boy," Madol laughed, leaping the desk and catching Keevan in a massive hug. Keevan tried to return the embrace, but the Persuader's massive arms kept Keevan's pinned at his side, leaving the wiry Sight Seeker to flail his legs in the air like a fish trying to fly. "I thought you dead! Nariem and Masha were worried sick."

  "I managed," Keevan admitted, once Madol let him go long enough to take a breath. "Corvan's powers did the trick, but I needed time to recover. Pieces of my insides came out, along with the Danica, if you get my drift. Ugh."

  Madol shuddered sympathetically, "I owe you an apology. Nariem and I never considered what would happen internally to an Outlander's body if subjected to Danica powder. Bahjal proved exposure to the powder is unpleasant for a Tri-Being, but not life threatening. In a training environment, at least."

  "It's alright," Keevan assured him, pulling a black bandana from his coat and tying the soft cloth over his nose and mouth. "See? Problem solved. Keeps me from breathing the powder in."

  "You look more the bandit than the Persuader," Madol chuckled, taking a step back as he examined Keevan from head to toe. "But I suppose you'll have to do."

  "For what?" Keevan asked, taken aback.

  "Well, first your report," Madol ordered, returning to his chair behind his desk. "Then we'll talk about your next assignment. Urien will be glad you are back, by the way. I assigned him to cover your patrol while
you were away. I'm glad you arrived when you did. We could really use those eyes of yours."

  "Alright," Keevan replied brightly. He quickly recounted the events of his healing, though he skipped Touric entirely and claimed to have lain in the wagon for two days straight while he healed. If word of Touric reached the Council, Masha would surely find out. Keevan couldn't bear the thought of opening those old wounds in his mother's heart, at least until he knew Touric's role in all of this. Madol pulled out a square of parchment, following Keevan's story with quill in hand..

  "You don't know the men Corvan was working with?" Madol pried. "You didn't hear any names even?"

  "Never seen them before," Keevan replied. "I didn't use my elemental vision while they were around. Honestly, I was in too much pain to even care. I don't think any of them were particularly important. They were just paid to keep prying eyes away."

  "Hmmmm," Madol grunted, tapping his chin in thought, "That means Corvan's found a means of making a significant income. That's unsettling. I liked the idea of him living like a rat in the sewers, but if he's taking an interest in the society at large, that could spell more trouble."

  "He didn't seem particularly vengeful, when we spoke last," Keevan added hopefully.

  "Well, you can't read him like a Tri-Being, can you?" Persuader Madol persisted. His words were more of a comment than a question, drawing a nervous gulp from Keevan. Madol's intense gaze whittled away at Keevan's confidence. How could Keevan really be sure Corvan's words were honest and his feelings sincere? After all, Keevan couldn't peak into the elemental plane and verify the Varadour's feelings. It felt strange to truly have to trust someone at their word. With Tri-Beings, he couldn't read the full story, but at the least he could see their elements as they spoke.

  "No, I can't," Keevan admitted, "But he's saved my life twice now, so I won't think ill of him. Not unless there's real proof. The speculation of a bitter Harbor's Guild doesn't count."

  "That seems fair," Madol agreed with a sigh of relent. "But promise me, if he turns his powers against Issamere or Malik Morgra, you will help us bring him in. Promise me."

  Keevan squirmed under the Persuader's insistent gaze. His mind raced, trying to find an answer both his integrity and his boss would approve of. "If Corvan starts killing Tri-Beings, I'll help you bring him in."

  "Very well," Madol said, relaxing considerably. He set the quill aside and picked up the parchment, blowing on the wet ink a few times. Once the letters dried, he put the record in his desk drawer. He retrieved his cloak from the hangar against the far wall. "Let's be off then, the Persuaders won't wait much longer."

  "The Persuaders?" Keevan asked.

  "Yes," Madol said, "Master Hadrian is preparing the prisoner as we speak."

  "The prisoner?"

  "Indeed," Persuader Madol explained, adjusting his sword belt before heading to the door. "We caught someone with one of those ancient Dancia blades you mentioned from the catacombs. He hasn't said anything yet, but we haven't 'asked' yet, at least not in the way Master Hadrian insists we should. Come on. Let's go."

  A sinking feeling settled in Keevan's stomach as he followed Madol out. He'd experienced Master Hadrian's ire as a student, but he had a feeling this was going to put his opinion of Master Hadrian in a whole new light. One he didn't want to see at all.

  Chapter 19

  Persuader Madol led them down into the bowels of the Persuader Academy, to dank, mold coated corners Keevan had never seen before. Once they went below ground, Madol raised a hand and lit his way with flaming fingers. "Go ahead and use your eyes," he advised, "There's no one to hide them from down here."

  "Very well," Keevan said, opening up the elemental plane. The walls here glistened with moisture, seeping down from the courtyard above, to the point where the whole hall had a divine glow. Madol's elemental field reached out for a moderate hold on the surrounding moisture, a casual calm, on the edge of boredom. Nothing like Touric's obsessive control of every droplet lying within reach.

  A hit of electricity coursed along Madol's frame, some hidden fear nibbling away at his mind. Or he just felt nervous under Keevan's gaze, a typical response. The flames on Madol's right hand were the most interesting part however, for despite the concentration of heat in one hand, there was no additional warmth resonating from the rest of his body. Most Beletokans kept a kernel of anger nurtured in their chest at all times, just in case. Madol didn't use such tactics.

  Whispers echoed down the hall, and Keevan saw a half dozen elemental fields peek into view at the end of the hallway. Two guards faced them as they approached, hands on their weapons as they peered into the shadows. Keevan pursed his lips nervously as he recognized Shiivel and Nevin, the guards Morgra assigned him to patrol. The Malik was showing off the members of his inner circle.

  "Relax," Persuader Madol insisted, "It's me. The Sight Seeker finally turned up. I brought him to observe."

  "Humph," Shiivel said, glaring at Keevan with disdain. "Not the most imposing of students, is he?"

  "If this were about sheer size," Madol grunted, opening the rusty iron door, "Master Hadrian would have the situation well in hand."

  "Can't argue with that," Nevin said, stepping aside so Keevan could pass.

  The second Madol opened the door, Keevan could smell the musty room, old leather straps and something salty, blood. His stomach curled up into a painful ball that had nothing to do with his recent injuries. This was not a side of the Persuaders that Keevan ever wanted to see. He heard rumors of course, but ignore something the Malik himself kept secretive was an easy task.

  So much for ignorance.

  Master Hadrian towered over a thin, malnourished Rhetan, tied to an oak chair by leather straps. Ahmro stood in the corner, holding one of Zerik's Danica blades. The rare metal amplified his elemental field, filling the room with moisture as he calmly focused on the prisoner before them. Flickering green energy resonated from the blade's pommel, hovering within the guard's wrist in a familiar shape Keevan couldn't quite place.

  The prisoner hissed in pain, drawing Keevan's attention. The Rhetan's elemental field glistened with electricity, to the point that all his hair stood on end. The man's chair sat in a wide metal bucket, filled with water. Every jolt of electricity leapt back into his torso, sending random hairs curling into flame.

  Hadrian's elemental field mirrored Madol's with businesslike calm, a touch of fear and highly controlled anger. The whole scene set Keevan's teeth on edge. Hadrian grabbed the Rhetan by the hair.

  "Do you know who this is?" Hadrian growled, forcing the prisoner's head to stare at Keevan.

  Keevan felt grateful he couldn't see the Rhetan's facial expression while watching through the elemental plane. Keevan couldn't see the bloody gashes in the man's face, the sweat running down his face or the terror in his eyes. The Rhetan's emotional field shifted though, when he saw Keevan. The Rhetan's fear... faded.

  "This is the Sight Seeker," The Rhetan grunted through clenched teeth, his words strained and muffled. There was no defiance in his voice though, only relief. "He can see into a Tri-Being's soul. He'll tell you I'm not lying."

  "About what?" Keevan asked, before Hadrian could drop another blow against the Rhetan's face. The water around the Rhetan's feet shifted and bubbled, his field drawing moisture in as the prisoner turned to Keevan. Why would the Sight Seeker's presence make this Rhetan feel more calm?

  "These imbeciles seem to think I have something to do with the rebellion," The Rhetan spat, writhing in his seat as he tried to pull away from Hadrian's iron grip. "As much as I'd like to help the Fallen Malik, he's never asked me to join."

  "The Fallen Malik?" Keevan asked.

  "It's our name for Zerik," The Rhetan said. "He's promised to end Morgra's reign, and he'll reward each man with his body's weight in grain if they join."

  "And how does one go about joining?" Madol said, stepping closer to the prisoner. Keevan noticed the Persuader's hand still glowed with fervent heat. The Rhetan squi
rmed again, his fear mounting as sparks leapt up his legs.

  "We Rhetans may be weaker than you Etrendi," The prisoner spat, "But we know each other well. Any newcomers are immediately distrusted. You can't plant a spy in an organization that's not recruiting."

  "Then how do you join up?" Keevan asked, stepping forward. His stomach still writhed in pain, but he couldn't stand to watch more harm fall on this man without intervening. Keevan put a hand on Madol's shoulder. "If he's willing to talk, then there's no need for additional... trouble."

  "If he's lying, then there's plenty of reason for trouble," Hadrian growled.

  "Lies don't get past me. Which is how I know neither one of you truly enjoy hurting this man," Keevan said, shooting them both a knowing glance. "Give us a moment in private, or at least wait outside with the doors open. I can't get a decent read on this man with you both constantly interrupting."

  Both Persuaders' elemental field's wavered uncertainly, sparks of their own building along their own skin. The Rhetan stared at Keevan in surprise, his elemental field waning as his mind strayed into dead emotions. Then he smiled and relaxed in his seat.

  "Very well," Hadrian relented, glancing from the prisoner to Keevan uncertainly. "He's accused of colluding with the enemy because we caught him with-"

  "It's easier if I get all the details from him," Keevan insisted, folding his arms. "Wait outside. I will check in with you two after I'm done."

  "Very well," Madol relented, "Don't get too close, in case he's an Etrendi. With enough fire or lightning, he could kill you before we could intervene."

  Keevan sighed in frustration and pointed at his own eyes. "He's a Rhetan, trust me. I can tell."

  With that, both Persuaders left the room. The door to the cell was still ajar, but they kept out of sight, for which, Keevan was grateful. This was not the way he envisioned his illustrious teachers. Seeing them treat another person so brutally felt wrong, somehow.