This is one fairly hefty update, because there's a lot that goes on overnight at the monastery. Prepare for some hefty roleplaying coming up, especially the evening conversations between Melisande, Sebastion and Ebri...
The two scholar-wizards nodded with sagely interest at the womens' explanation's for theirunusual hues of skin. At Melisande's question as to where the men were heading, Matthias smiled strainedly. "Depending on which of myband of travelling companions you ask, you'll get a different response - but the facts that we'er all agreed on is that it's a tower of pre-War construction, isolated out here in these hills, and from the few reports we've had of it before by passing travellers and suchlike, it's similar in style to certain other pre-War structures that exist elsewhere. My personal belief is that it is probably just an Umbral surface-barracks or observation post, but there are a fwe... wilder theories flying about as well. It's probably about a days travel from here, we estimate. At least with what you have said we have one fewer band of brigands to worry about - though I must say I doubt there are many other such criminals hidden away this deeply in this landscape. And hopefully an Umbral structure would be quite enough to scare them away from where we are going."
* * *
Cazamir had watched the aged tutor with great interest, noting the subtle differences between his techniques and those taught in the Uzraelite monastery. The monks before him seemed primarily concerned with defense, being able to withstand blows without suffering harm.
“Now, attempt to bring me down; I shall not strike back.” Cazamir wrestled with his inner pride, watching the young monks try and fail. Was it their strength that failed them, or was it the skills they had learned? He did not want to interfere in their training, but he
knew that he could bring the old man down if put to the test.
The wisdom spoken by the tutor sparked an old memory for him. Cazamir’s tutor for several years, a wiry monk named Mallik, had a similar style of mixing philosophy with martial training.
“You must be relentless in your assault – striking to distract while probing for weakness. You must be fire, lashing out with incredible fury. When you set upon an opponent, they will concern themselves with defense more than offense, and you will have the advantage.”
Cazamir watched the group practice, feeling an odd longing for times past. He had good reasons for leaving the monastery, but he missed the sense of belonging.
***
Seeing two of the greybeards approach the oddly-mixed party, Cazamir decided it was a good time to assume the role of bodyguard. Keeping silent, he moved up to flank the two scholars. The questions the men asked to the two exotic women were quite rude, but they did not seem to bristle too much. They were interesting to behold, but in Cazamir’s society, such questions were handled with subtlety – a trait that the scholars lacked in their advanced age.
When the moment presented itself, Cazamir gave a slight bow to the Black Knight, acknowledging his station. He may have been seperated from his homeland and society, but there was no need to act uncivilized. And his curiosity about the knight was getting the best of him. Why was he with this motley group, and what news did he have from Huron? Perhaps his questions could be asked later – with subtlety.
* * *
While listening to Mathias, Mel noted with distaste the appearance of yet another gawker, sidling up to get a better look at the blue girls. She turned a glare on him only to find he wasn't looking at her and Wyshira particularly at all; he was watching everyone, especially Sir Angelo. It didn't take much calculating to add up the muscular build and silent, watchful glance to figure out he was one of the guards Mathias had spoken of. Mel thought wistfully it would be nice to have a bodyguard of her own. (Of course, she would have been more than a little pleased had she noticed how quickly Sebastion Cornell had moved up the moment the wizards accosted her--but she hadn't seen.)
"A tower? Really? What a coincidence! We've been sent to investigate the remains of a tower out here in the Sarokeans, too. Apparently some
Carthagian wizard--" she said both these words with obvious distaste "--had his lab there..." Melisande stopped herself just barely--her mouth was about to go on about their Naserian Truth-Seeker employer and what he wanted, exactly, from that tower.
"Er, I haven't heard of this 'Umbral' culture before... What is it? Why do you think a tower built by them would scare bandits off, even long after it was abandoned?"
Matthias raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Melisande's explanation for why the band was out in the Sarokeans, but before he could ask her any more questions he found himself answering her own. "We use the word 'Umbral' to describe this pre-War culture that has left some scattered traces that even these days we occasionally stumble across. There are plenty of theories about who the Umbrals are, of course, and one of the stronger that has been put forwards is that they are perhaps some sort of offshoot from the Third Race of Man, the Men of Shadow. Unconfirmed of course, but from what little we can piece together from our digs and explorations, they seem to have been once both powerful and numerous. Not any more of course. Nonetheless, bandits would still proably be wary of going near an Umbral structure. They're quite... alien in appearance when compared to the kinds of architecture we're used to. You know, the common architectural basis of designs and styles runs through all the human cultures here in the eastlands - the Ascarians, Middle Kingdoms and Huron all have many cultural links. The Cryosians are a bit different but then they colonised from over the Azure Sea not long after the Dawn War. But an Umbral structure looks quite different to a human one, or even the kind of form you might expect from elven styles and designs. People are usually highly superstitious about them, especially a long-deserted tower far in the middle of the mountains. Then there's the fact that we've encountered some sites with still active steamwork defence systems. Not to mention some of the more exotic objects found within Umbral ruins, which can be disturbing, dangerous, or both. It's fortunate that we've never encountered such a ruin infested with any Umbral undead, though equally it would be a great academic find since we might get a better idea of just who they were."
"Your pardon," Kale walked to where a strange sage talked curiously with Melisande. His demeanor was mannered enough, though no one could tell from his look what Kale was really thinking about anything, or anyone. It wasn't like he was being evasive. He was even behaving a pleasantly, but nothing penetrated past the surface. "Sebastion will be about your lesson soon," he said to the sorceress as a friendly reminder. "You may want to get ready," he suggested while looking her over, alluding to any number of things related to dress, equipment, warm-up, or other preparation that a novice might imagine necessary before an Official Schooling in the Martial Arts. Of course, the sooner the woman was far removed from the sages, the sooner she would cease giving away each and every detail of the party's mission. The group of sages? Resource? Maybe. Competition? Probably. Kale quickly considered a short list of tasks to insure the group gone well before the bickering committee of sages. So much to do. "Sir, you'll excuse me, I have arrangements of my own to attend to," he concluded before walking back to where Wyshira sat, where Wolf's body lie.
* * *
For a moment, Sebastion was caught between staring at the wagon in the centre of the compound, and warily eyeing the silent bodyguard that had trailed behind the wizards to quiz Mel and Wyshira.
He was balanced, obviously competent, and he quickcly made a survey of the group as he approached, performing his duty as a bodyguard well.
Sebastion gave him a single nod, a gesture of respect for his position, and an indication - he hoped - that neither of them would have to purvey their professions and turned to the priest.
"Sorry, your..uh... your holiness. We are a little out of sorts. We would like somewhere to rest, if we may, and to make arrangements for our fallen comrade." he gestured, unnecessarily, to Wolf's wrapped body.
"Could you also let me know if there is any local official that might wish to know about banditry in the area?"
Distracted by the scholars' conversation with Melisande, Wyshira was a step too slow in responding to the priest's inquiry. At Sebastian's explanation of their reason for being there, she nodded and added, "Yes, our companion, Wolf Kieresane, succumbed to the poison used by the bandits that attacked us." She explained about the Red Talons, and Angelo Dar'Averask's timely arrival. Then she requested that she be allowed to perform the funeral ceremonies, and bury Wolf's body at the monastery. "He was a follower of Ishrak, but the rituals are similar to those of your faith."
The Grumandic priest nodded at the words of Wyshira and Sebastion. "We happily extend to you our hospitality, travellers - these cloisters here are where we give visitors lodgings, feel free to find yourselves some space to settle down in. Food will be brought round in an hour or two by the monks for you."
"For your companion, I grieve for the fall of another to bandits in these wild mountains. We will bury him, if you wish, on the tier below the compound, where we bury our own dead. I am afraid there is no-one for you to talk to about the bandits. This is, like most of the Drakkath, no-ones territory. Occasionally Naserian expeditions raid into the mountains to deal with those harrying their borders, and I have heard that in the depths to the north, where the peaks are very high and craggy and icy and the drazihkar roost, the Nephians have their hideaways and they deal with bandits there themselves. And there are bounty hunters and warriors such as Angelo who do their best. But there is no official nor judge nor jury out here."
He walked quietly over to the form of Wolf, laid down on the ground, and knelt by the corpse, the old priest's face lined and tired. "It is sad that travellers have to go armed in these mountains, and worse then lives are lost. Though human brigands, it has to be said, are not the only problem, especially not of late. Who was this man?"
"He was our guide, my mentor," Kale explained simply as he weaved his way into conversation. The Grummandic Priest was a respectful man, and he offered even to bury Wolf among their own dead. He should at least know the man whose memory he would steward. Kale regarded Wolf's familiar visage, taking in his shrouded body and bundled gear.
"I understand Grummand writes his history on the land- that the words of the earth speak of his very character. I thank you for your offer to return my friend to the earth, I will tell you who he was." The mercenary's face softened a bit, though with a sense of irony- the words he told held the life of a warrior, but the story etched on a cold face, Kale was a stone tablet to record the life of Wolf Kieresane.
"He spoke little of himself, but I'll tell you what I know." Looking to Wolf's huge sword and forest knife, he began a visual recount of the man's life and times. "He was a mercenary, we'd been through battles together. He was a Cryosian man who by luck and experience learned to survive when others didn't. While he approved of Ishrak's gifts," he looked to Wyshira, "he revered Fenris' hunter spirit.
"These slashes in his leather are where a sea monster knocked him to the ground. We had been hired by a Cryosian village to rid them of the man-eater. The fight was... vicious. The obsidian charm is from a goblin patrol we peeled off of a traveler in need," again, reminiscing eyes floated past Wyshira, "The trident from the Sahuagin pirates he repelled from a Corinthian ship where we were berthed... the mace from the band of cult-slavers we defeated at painful price to the man." Kale paused, looking at the flattened rivets near the leather's epaulets... there was a story in every detail of the man's practical gear. And that was not to mention the experiences that left no mark. Or the tattoo on his forearm that went unmentioned. Every bit was a piece of Wolf's life, but no amount of telling could bring the man back. With so little told, Kale gave up the telling. It was a waste of time to think the priest could understand, after a short narrative.
"We will prepare him and bury him with his blade."
And the rest we'll distribute among ourselves. And if the distribution of Wolf's belongings signaled any alarms to the young mercenary, the sentiments simply slid straight off his consciousness with little regard. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Leaving abruptly, Kale stepped off in the room to give himself some distance. So much to plan and figure out. Wolf was being taken care, and everyone seemed in good stead. He would have to remind everyone they would have an early morning the next day...
----
Watching Kale flit hither and thither, moving from one task to the next, keeping himself busy with the minutiae of life, Sebastion began to worry a little, but it was a conversation for a private time later on.
That the lithe soldier was telling Melisande to prepare for a lesson whilst he was stood not five feet from her showed that he wasn't paying the usual attention - not a good sign for the typically almost paranoid Kale.
As he slipped off to his next self-imposed piece of mental exile, Sebastion nodded to Melisande, explaining that he was indeed heading off to prepare soon, and made his apologies to the priest after Kale had finished his descriptions. It lodged in his mind that he'd spent a great deal of time covering what the old mercenary had done, but didn't impinge on why...
"Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. If there's something we can do to account for our stay, please let us know. I would like to listen to more of your account of the troubles in this region at some point, perhaps later in the evening?"
* * *
Mel had shed her amorphous pocketed robe and arrived in what remained of her spartan Carthagian grey dress, with a hefty stick in one hand and the sword Kale had given her in the other. As far as she was concerned it was time to move on to something sharp. After a bath and a meal she had regained some strength, but still felt as if she'd been emptied out, like a blue pumpkin scraped out with a big spoon. Her insides were raw and tender.
Sebastion was already there waiting, she noticed with pleasure; it seemed to mean he didn't mind giving her a lesson today, because if this was really a chore for him he might not have turned up early. Still, she was frantically making up excuses in her head as she approached and laid down her sword on the floor.
Sebastion turned slowly as she arrived, swallowing hard at the sight of her body pushing out against the tight clothing she trained in. Stepping aside from the centre of the room where he'd been warming himself up, he laid his sword aside and gestured towards the square he'd marked out with cloth.
"Are you ready?" he asked, quietly.
"Thank you for doing this. After what happened I'll feel better with something more solid than just magic to fight with." She felt like giving him some further explanation to divert his attention from the main reason she'd wanted this, and went on.
"You know, meeting Klavius, the messenger of Naskha, was an eye-opener for me. He was blue, but he was really doing something with it!" Oh, that sounded stupid. Mel gave an embarrassed smile. Then she pushed the threadbare sleeves of her dress up to her elbows and stood in the square, waiting for instructions.
"He was do.." Sebastion began, but shook his head slightly and gave up. The last time he'd asked for an explanation - about dormant magic - he'd not understood it in the slightest.
"So, last time we were working on ripostes..." he began, recalling how Wolf had sat calmly at the edge of the little hollow they'd trained in, watching. He hadn't said anything - he never did when he watched the lessons - but his presence forced Sebastion to concentrate. It was a little like having his father watch over his shoulder, and he made sure he thought about what he was doing as much as what he taught Mel. The example, after all, was half the lesson.
"Riposte is an
Air style manoeuvre, though. What would you use if I were to advance with a
Fire style strike? Say, the
Falling Phoenix?"
Raising the bundled staves above his head, he stepped forward slowly, raising the training sword with both arms, and striking downward at angle towards her shoulder with it.
Funny that after several days of successful training Mel's first instinct was still to cower and run when someone raised a blade over her head. She lost valuable milliseconds flinching but came forward in the nick of time with a flowing thrust, carried through, that brought her whirling past the Falling Phoenix and, had she been a little more skilled, would have given her an opening on his off-hand side. Of course, he was moving in slow motion; in real combat that Phoenix would have been the end of her.
"Water," she gasped in answer, drawing up out of range and assuming the ready stance he had shown her, quivering slightly with adrenaline. "The Icy River. But I missed the strike."
At that moment she heard herself speaking as if listening from outside her body. Who is that blue girl in the ragged dress, who knows things like melee manoevers? She almost laughed. How many times had she barely bitten back snide remarks about Sebastion's ambitions as a warrior? Suddenly she saw herself on a parallel path. It hadn't occurred to her until now. Maybe that image she had of him standing astride a mountain of dead bodies, Mimir in one hand and sword in the other, wasn't really all that far off from where she herself was headed with this new quest notion.
"We're going to our deaths just like Wolf did," she said suddenly.
"I mean, obviously you know that, but now so do I. What I meant about Klavius was that meeting him gave me a much more focused purpose. You've already had one for a long time." Inwardly she winced, knowing he was thinking that of course she was too scatterbrained to have had a focused purpose. Time would be the proof, though, that scatterbrained or not her resolve was deeply rooted in something much more solid and immovable than Melisande's temperment.
Earth, she thought.
The Hidden Rock. She moved in as if to make a standard sort of attack but it was a feint: as soon as he reacted she went into a solid, motionless defense stance designed to draw an attack and then topple it with its own momentum.
Watching Mel sink her weight onto her back foot, Sebastion eased through the parry he'd begun at the feint, moving to an air style and flowing with her defence. Keeping close, applying constant pressure, he forced her further and further back.
"Walking the Path of Blades is accepting death." he muttered, flowing with the movement of his blade. "To wear the blade and face the danger is to step to the edge of the Abyss, and walk the fine line between life and death."
Mel's arm had gone numb up to the shoulder with absorbing the force of Sebastion's blows, as also her mind was growing numb with the increasing reality of what she'd been saying. That image of Wolf lying in the impossible stillness of death flashed in her mind with frightening clarity, and not just with regard to her own mortality.
It hurt even though Sebastion was not out to kill her and his staves were not blades. She tried not to let the pain show but the Abyss was too much for her. She wanted to call for a break, but knowing there were no time outs in battle, she launched with renewed determination into a few more Water moves, her preferred forms. "I'm not sure--" she breathed, "--it's very productive--to accept death." She smiled grimly and tried her best to press back, to turn his assault into defense.
"Death comes to us all." he reminded her, switching from Air to Earth with a stiff lunge that slipped between blade and arm to nudge her ribs. "Accepting death means living that realisation, and not fearing the inevitable."
The words sounded hollow in light of the previous day's events, and he flipped his practice blade up atop his shoulder. "And you tried to slip into a Water move on the back foot. Water requires ebb and flow, and therefore balance - you need to be centre. You should have moved to Fire instead."
Melisande's eyes went wide and she stepped back shocked as if she'd actually been stabbed. Of course, she'd been cut to ribbons and fried to a crisp before, but somehow the combination of this talk and the finality of Sebastion's last gesture felt more mortally wounding than any real accidents she'd survived. It took her a moment to recover. "Fire... I know... I mean, now I do."
"You know, I thought a lesson would make me feel better after what happened to Wolf but now I'm not so sure." She had indeed gone a shade paler. "I have a lot to do before I let 'the inevitable' catch up. Don't you?"
"I've a lot I'd like to, but hurrying to get it done in case I die will make it... hurried." He squatted down, resting the tip of his practice blade on the floor, staring at it on the flagstones for a moment before he continued.
"'Be not the hunter, nor the hunted. Do not seek, do not run, do not hide and do not flee. Simply be, and all will be yours.'" he offered, quietly, in a tone that spoke of a quotation.
"That's on the inside of the cover of my father's journal. It's as much as he ever let me read. I move a little way along the path I want to tread today, but only a little way. Life may try to divert me, it may succeed, but if I try to fight against life I will get nowhere.
"So, I continue, slowly, surely, a little every day. Eventually I will die, or I will succeed. Those are the only two possibilities - everything else is simply scenery on the way."
Mel laid down her staff and quietly did a Mend spell on the waist of her dress, which had ceded once again to the Water manoevers. She listened with all the rapt attentiveness of a student, thinking that what Sebastion said made a lot more sense to her than anything Ebri Zol said (infinitely wiser as Mel had always considered her), but also that what he said was more depressing to her personally.
"Is it really just scenery? I don't know. Sometimes I think little things are important. Little joys are what I want to save by fighting against things that try to destroy beauty. Maybe that's a stupid idea for a quest, but ever since we met Klavius I've felt like there's something I have to do." She was inspecting her dress for more rips as she spoke.
"What other purpose could there be, besides the scenery?" If this sounded stupid again, so be it. Mel knew she wasn't expressing herself well, but there was something sad about what Sebastion was saying and she couldn't think of any less awkward way of telling him that.
"Now, if I knew that, I'd have finished the journey." he rose, smiled gently, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't know all the answers. It's just that, by and large, most of what seems to happen around people isn't as important as they seem to think.
"Maybe... maybe the purpose is to look at the scenery and admire it? Maybe it's to fight to make sure the scenery is there for tomorrow? Maybe that's your purpose, and mine is different... I'm still trying to work that bit out."
Mel nodded soberly, realizing she'd made herself understood even though she only half knew what she'd been saying herself. "Well," she said, mustering a smile even though that raw feeling inside was back and feeling now as if someone had filled it with cold lead, "I hope the scenery in your life makes a good case for itself one of these days and you'll find it's not a bad goal.
"Mine hasn't been that great, but I'm glad for it anyway, and I hope that I can make it a little better for other people." On this she bit her lip and began a little aimlessly to collect her staff and the unused sword, wondering if he would take her meaning and not sure if it was time to flee.
"What's been wrong with the scenery?" he asked, feeling a slight disappointment at seeing her pack up so early. Despite his words, he didn't really feel like sitting alone to contemplate Wolf's passing.
This did sound like an open invitation not to run away... "Oh--Carthagia. You lived on the Huronese border, so you might not know what the inner country is like. It's not a good place to grow up blue." Mel fidgeted with the staff and sword, not wanting to sound like she was feeling sorry for herself, even though she was a little. Instead she laughed softly.
"The other children tried to drown me once, but my mother gave them such a thrashing! They were redder than I ever was blue, I can tell you that."
He smiled, slightly, at the thought, then blushed just as red as he realised he been thinking about how blue she was. Despite the offhand way she sometimes treated it, it was obviously a touchy subject.
"I was lucky, really. We lived in a small village, well away from anywhere important. My father runs a stable. By the time it started to grow with the new roadway I was already nearly grown, and it seemed a blessing to have all these new ideas, new stories coming in. So, I left to see more of them... I guess the scenery is important, but... there's something more out there.
"Something important. Something about making a difference - a real difference. Not just... shoeing horses well, or keeping the best stable in the Seven Hills... changing things, making them better... " He trailed off, realising he was rambling, and turned back to packing his things away.
"Well, it sounds like we're not all that different after all," Mel shrugged, watching with her own secret disappointment as he began to pack up. "Just a different way of getting to the same thing." There was a pause she felt she had to fill. "I'm sure Wolf had the same idea in mind." This was probably exactly the wrong thing to say, she realized too late. Wolf certainly would not have said his work was finished, which was an ill omen on all their talk, and who knew how good his own scenery had been? He seemed lonely to Mel, even though sometimes she sensed he wished people would leave him alone. Wolf was not exactly the example of success, or the optimistic subject to bring up. She shrugged apologetically and looked for the exit.
"Maybe he did?" he replied, looking up from the bag at the blank wall for a moment, searching for something that wasn't there. "He left us behind. Maybe you can't be finished, maybe you can just go for long enough to pass the task on to someone else. Us?" he turned, a wry twist to his mouth, and a slight shrug. Another question, another answer to find somewhere along the path.
This actually elicited another laugh from Mel (as much relieved from her own awkwardness as darkly amused). "Great, huh? Well, we'll have to make the best of our scenery then, because I'll be surprised if we--I mean I, anyway--survive as long as he did."
That turned Sebastion around, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Why?" he asked, bluntly, running a hand through his hair to get the damp ends from his eyes. "Why should we not survive? We haven't all Wolf's experience, yet, but we survived yesterday. We survived the Gilame
e temple, and that ball-thing in the canyon. We travelled a fair distance before we ever met him... we are reasonably talented, capable people."
Mel couldn't prevent a silent, accusatory eyebrow from rising.
Even those of us with chicken brains? "I'm glad you think that," she replied a trifle coolly. "Time will tell, I guess." Still, she allowed herself to rejoice a little that he might really think what he said, even about her. Rallying, she added, "I'm hopeful. You may be right. If we stick together we have a good chance."
"Sticking together... I thought you'd all have places to go after the tower. I've... I guess I hadn't really thought about where I was going to go after that. I'd like to learn a little more about these Black Knights, but I don't know if I'd go there."
She blurted without thinking, "The armor wouldn't suit you." Perhaps it really was time to flee.
"Really?" he chuckled, fashion not being high on his list of concerns, to date. "I wouldn't look good in black? Or do you just not like it?"
This was the kind of time when Pierre would be shouting in her mind to run away. Her cheeks began to go indigo. She spoke rapidly. "No--black's all right. You'd look--it's--too bulky. You're a finesse fighter; it wouldn't do."
There, am I saved? At least for a moment? She actually took a step toward the door.
"Perhaps you're right..." he offered, wondering how awkward it would be to move in the mass. "Something else to find out about, I suppose..."
"Er, Sebastion, thank you for doing this. I know it wasn't good timing, but it did help. At least, I mean--not that it might have--just--don't get the wrong impression." Once again, this was the most wrong thing she could possibly have said, and this time she really did flee. "Well, good night!"
Left with a handful of responses and no-one to respond to, Sebastion leant back against the cool stone of the wall, tapping the back of his head gently against a ridge for a moment, wondering why he was still so warm so long after the exercise.
Feeling confused, edgy and uncertain, for no obvious reason, he took up his father's sword and began slowly running through the drills he'd been shown as a child, seeking the calm he usually found in there.
For nearly an hour, after stripping away his cloak and shirt as he worked himself hard through the series, he drifted back and forth through the sequences. First with sword and axe, then with twin axes, and finally with his father's blade, until finally he settled himself, realising that not even the comfortable burn across his thighs and shoulders could dislodge the uncomfortable absence at the back of his head - Wolf was still gone.
* * *
"Iril can be a problem, its harbor is deep and protected, but the port itself is full of hidden obstacles," Kale offered to the Ironjacks as he reclined opposite the bronze-eyed man. They had been talking back and forth for some time, about steamworks, lands across the sea, and their impending trip to the blue harbor. Sipping his ale, he continued with interest. "The tarrifsmen will see you as rich gypsies, and the houses will give you nothing but trouble if they think you're competition. How long have your men been in the city?" he asked, hoping that the foreigners did not have much time to muck it all up. Unless the strange people had extraordinary political savvy, Kale feared for their welfare in Iril. "Look, far faster than you'd think possible, every 'mover in the city will either block you as a threat, or rob you for what you have. I speak harshly, but you really have to be ready if you want any hope to survive in The Port..."
Kale went on with unusual interest with the IronJacks, putting to bear all the knowledge he could recall to help the displaced people to land successfully in Iril. Getting there was the very first step. "Each house will see you through their own glass. You have to learn the major houses, and know who is connected to whom before you do any business. Say a mechanture is interested in exploring your stock. 'Bradley Trade House,' for example. Before any dealing gets underway you need to know the Bradley is a Pendarme operation- a great deal of their trade is in arms and armor. You would expect large contracts for armament. If the only thing you receive is a piecemeal purchase, they're testing you: defensive, regardless of any promises and excitement they may show at the table. If their interest is in other areas, it might be for a special purpose. As well as you can, divine the why's so you can price properly. Roll over once and you may get future contracts, but it'll only be a feeding frenzy down the road once the houses sense weakness and find leverage."
He really didn't mean to be a doomsayer, but unless the men came from a port very much like Iril on the other side of the sea, the ironjacks were going to have bigger problems than infected joints. The mercenary continued, working to work an angle for the men that could keep their glorious technology from being quickly exploited, leaving the foreigners to fend for themselves. And with the king deposed, things might be even more volatile in the busy port city. There was no time to offer a real tutorial in 'Iril survival,' so instead of confuse the men, Kale decided at last to focus simply on the things that could keep them safe in the short-term, and gain them the contacts they needed for long-term success. If the tales of blood-men were true, it may be a while before they saw their homeland again.
Kale felt the ironjack's future to be quite grim, barring significant luck in Iril. "It would be a tragedy if your people can't carve a foothold for yourselves on this side of the Azure... but you're really going to need to look for allies outside Iril, as well. I know a fair and influential man with a great interest in old 'works. He's also someone who will see you as more than the chance for enhanced dividends.
"Your craft is a treasure, and to be frank, I think any 'folk should be given a fair shake. It's no good to survive some blood-monsters on the other side of the sea just to be bled to death over here. If you can spare a man, a representative, I can take him to my contact in Naseria as soon as my business is done. After you have explored any possibilities, I can be sure to have him guided safely back to your people in Iril."
Kale paused at increment to gauge the reactions of the intriguing IronJacks, and at this point he gave more than enough time to allow the men to discuss what he was proposing.
"The easiest way to accomplish this would be if someone would be willing to accompany me while I complete my business here." It was obvious to the men that Kale was a mercenary, and tough though these men were, many were family men. They weren't looking for the kind of trouble found at the end of a blade. "It could be dangerous, though we do not expect any direct threats. Our contract is for exploration, and our main expected challenge would be any steamworks or ironworks we encounter along the way. You have traveled for some time, so I don't need to say that no road is completely safe. But if one of you could come with us, it would be a help, and I believe we could help you in return..." The conversations continued as Kale tried in earnest to acquire just the kind of expertise they would need for their assignment. And the thought of getting the IronJacks in contact with a potential ally... it was like balm to some deep and unknown wound.
----
The day went on, and night found Ebri on the walls of the monastery, looking north. She reviewed the day in her mind, silently.
An especially high point had been the discussion of the Umbral ancients with the archaeologists. Listening in to her ward's questions, she had been more than intrigued - avidly interested would be a better term - and fortunately, this was one curiosity she could indulge without compromising her role as Immar's priestess. She had asked for more detail on the Men of Shadow, and why they were so named, as well as their theories on what manner of beings the Umbral people were, if they were not human or any other race of known creature.
But Ebri spent the bulk of the afternoon acquainting herself briefly with the monastery of Grumand, and then found means to be near Melisande as she occupied herself through the day. The stares of the various other travellers as they had entered had not left her mind completely at ease, and so she remained casually near when possible, and near and unknown when it was not.
This, she found, was a very useful practice; it absorbed her attention admirably, and so she was able to stave off the strange, sudden, nearly debilitating wave of sadness she'd felt upon entering this place.
Ridiculous-- she told herself sternly, as the falling light glinted on the snow capped mountains at the horizon.
Moods are for the undisciplined of mind. From here it was only a week's travel... She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The air was thin this high, and cold: it was making her eyes and nose water.
For a moment, she considered taking Melisande in the night, and going to the monastery. The woman could easily be led, with her foolish curiosities about the Nephians and the Great Prophet. If the soldier protested, he could come too, of course: he might make a good postulant.
The ward would be safe there-- It was distressing, how tempting this thought was.
You must be resolved.
She recalled now something an elder monk had said to her, a few days before she'd left. She hadn't credited it, much, mostly because, in her opinion, Brother Moy was far too interested in the comfort of his belly to be truly a student of the way. Moy had taken her arm in passing, having heard of her assignment, and expressed sympathy. "Not at all," she'd protested, shocked, citing the honor of the task and her willingness to submit herself to the Prophet's ends. "In such as task, it is very easy to lose oneself-- even the self that serves the Purpose--" he had said, and sighed.
Which is the point-- she had thought, but did not say out of respect for his age, if nothing else. She had gone on about her preparations, and put Brother Moy out of her mind.
That was self-righteous. she accused herself now.
And unwise to listen to those with experience when you had none. She had not recalled until later that Moy had been assigned for years to be a fishseller in the markets of the Carthagian capital.
Brethren-- the words seemed capable of flying across the miles, though she did not speak.
I so hate the world--
* * *
Mel rushed out into the relative cool of the courtyard, seeking solace in the muddy, steadfast mind of Pierre, whom she found under a trough not far from the monastery gates. She collected him gently.
'The wrong impression'! Why did I say that? One of these days he's going to get the right
impression, and then no more lessons.
She took a handful of water from the trough and dumped it over her familiar affectionately, even though this soaked the arm of her dress. She was still a little trembly. The lesson hadn't turned out nearly as comforting as she'd hoped; quite the opposite, in fact.
You didn't have any trouble with those machine-people, did you? What an odd lot. Not natural at all. And wasn't Kale just a picture with them! Even Mel hadn't failed to notice the cold yet febrile automatism with which he'd been functioning since Wolf's death.
He might have been trying to buy a clockwork heart from them! she joked to Pierre, and then suddenly had to choke back a great big sob.
I want one, too!
It was in looking around to make sure no one had overheard her squeaking attempts to stifle tears that she noticed Ebri Zol up on the wall. Now there was someone almost as comfortable as Pierre--friendly and easy to talk to. Mel pocketed her toad and gathered her staff and sword, then made her way up the stone steps. She was beginning to shiver as the cold mountain evening air slipped through her threadbare dress to the still perspiration-damp skin beneath. It would soon be time for a warm bath, a warm meal and a warm bed, but for now the chill suited her mood.
Atop the wall she found a stunning view of the Sarokeans, blushing rose on their west flanks but revealing a jagged, shadowy, purple dark side where they faced away from the setting sun. When she was able to tear her eyes away from the panorama she immediately noticed the tracks of tears on Ebri Zol's face.
"Oh, Ebri, I know
just how you feel," she sighed with deep sympathy.
That would be a trick, Ebri decided, as she herself was having significant difficulty knowing how she felt.
Have you developed psychic tendencies? she asked sarcastically in her mind.
But you are irritable, and it will not serve. Shape yourself--
"It is rather a difficult evening--" she answered blandly. In the momentary lull, she observed her ward, noting that she was obviously distressed, or had been recently.
An opportunity, then. Melisande seemed to find her presence comforting and soothing, or had.
Mel sniffled. Her cracking voice was full of earnest distress. "It sure is. I mean, we can't feel so much grief for Wolf as we can for ourselves, since we didn't know him all that well, but I keep wondering who's going to be next and it's really painful."
"Mortality is a thing we must all learn to live with--" she observed softly, more to the distant horizon than to Mel. "This is a natural reaction, surely. But the worry about it makes the fear worse, I find."
There are others she cares about more than Wolf. Ebri thought, perceiving a possible cause of the fear.
Melisande lowered her eyes to the stone of the wall, disappointed in--though not surprised at--the impersonal response Ebri gave her. Ebri was easy to talk to, it was true, often
because her answers were so sweeping and vague, and she always listened patiently; but what Mel needed right now was something personal, something
human, which Ebri Zol too often seemed to resist. "But can anyone not worry? And if you're not worried, why are you--I mean, you seem upset, Ebri," Mel probed heavy-handedly.
Others are more likely to form a bond with those they see as being like them, sharing the same responses and worldview... "I
am upset." Ebri replied, letting her eyes water somewhat more to accommodate her ward. "I grieve for the ills of the world, and the death of Wolf is but one more example of this. The endemic, senseless violence we live in... " she shook her head. "As for worry, faith is some comfort. I must believe in the goodness of the gods, and that they empower us to cure the world as we do so many wounds of the flesh--"
Mel turned to stare at Ebri Zol.
She was standing here weeping over the woes of the world? But what Ebri said about faith captured her imagination. "They empower us, yes, but we have to do the work, and that is cause for worry, don't you think? And faith can't possibly make your heart into stone--or clockwork--no matter how hard you believe in your quest." She paused a moment, a look of genuine confusion on her face (which was tinted almost violet in the pink sunset). "Can it?"
"If it could, we might as well be metal and steam, as those creatures today, and their vehicle, and not people as we are. No--" she answered, with an approximation of conviction. "But I think you did not come here for a lecture on religion... I am sorry you are distressed. I am somewhat fearful, myself, thinking on our road ahead, though it shames me to admit it.
"It does help to be prepared... did you find your lesson with Sebastion helpful?"
Mel flushed and suddenly found the view very interesting again. "I do feel--er, well, actually, no." She gave a nervous laugh. "I mean, it's good to have a little more combat experience under my belt obviously, but he's very--well, you know how he is. Brooding."
"We were on the subject of quests too," she went on, trying to cover her flustered fidgeting by hugging her elbows against the chill.
Ebri raised an eyebrow. She did not need a review of the encounter, having listened well and thoroughly but a short time ago, but she
was interested in Melisande's perceptions of the lesson, and how she would talk about the soldier. The pair were clearly attracted to one another, and she had been observing
that for some time. "Yes?"
A casual word, but so useful to keep a subject talking...
"Oh yes. You know I've always found him a little ridiculous with his warlord ambitions. I know the feeling is mutual, of course. But now since we met Klavius I've changed. I think I know what he's looking for. I'm on a quest now too." At this she smiled, suspecting what others might think of her ideas and unable to express the profundity of the sentiment.
Indeed? At the revelation, a jolt of awareness shook Ebri out of her preoccupation with the horizon.
Your job is here-- and obviously you have not been paying attention-- "Really?" she came closer to the blue woman, and sat down facing her. "I would be interested in hearing either of those things -- what Sebastion seeks, and about your quest. Come, do tell. Hope for the future sweeps worry away, my mother's people say."
Hope? The word gave Mel a pleasant jolt. She was not expecting to be a source of hope to anyone quite yet, though that was on her agenda for the future. She sat down as well, her eyes alight. "It's like this. When we met Klavius, the tiefling, I realized something.
"Being blue has been a burden, but it is only the outward sign of something essential, which is more like a gift than a burden. Now, I can choose what to do with the gift, and seeing what Klavius was able to do
against his very nature, I decided to use my gift responsibly.
"That makes it all a burden again, but one I've accepted, so it's not so bad." Clearly, she'd been working this reasoning out and was reciting it at a quick, enthusiastic clip.
"I am planetouched--not by hell, like Klavius, but by the celestial. I have a purpose here. I want to do good. I want to rescue slaves and fight evil. I want to serve Naskha. I don't want to destroy Carthagia for what it is but I would like to do my part to change it."
"That--" Ebri said slowly, at last digesting the longish speech, "--would be a very worthy endeavor..." Her smile now was not entirely feigned. She began to see at least some evidence that Mel was
worth protecting. In addition to severely needing such.
"Oh, I'm glad you think so! I don't know if that's all--there's so much going on with the cults of the old gods and all, I'm sure Carthagia is only one small part of what needs to be done..." Mel was staring out at the mountains with intensity now, not realizing how ludicrously over-reaching she sounded.
"You will need others to help you bear this burden if you are to succeed." she observed, solemnly, trying to match Mel's heroic mood.
This was a sobering thought. Mel came out of her trance and looked fearfully over at Ebri. "I do hope it's not going to be too lonely," she said in a meek voice. "For a long time now I've known I was on a lonely path--being blue and all--but now that I have friends, it's harder..."
"Surely we are some comfort!" Ebri chuckled, attempting to inject some lightness. "We are not all brooding like Sebastion...? And if you worry that you must part from us to serve your quest, do not fear for my sake. I would follow you and help you, for my part." But she knew it was not that which was truly troubling the girl. Loneliness was easy to get used to; it was as they had been saying at first. Caring for those around one made it more difficult to commit to the risky and dangerous path...
But it also makes it so much easier to keep them in arm's reach...
Melisande almost wept with gratitude. She seized Ebri's hands suddenly. "Would you? I can hardly believe anyone would. Oh, that makes me feel so much better. Thank you, Ebri! I think you just gave me the big dose of courage I needed."
I believe, Ebri thought wryly,
this is what low-level negotiating scum call 'pay-dirt'...
"But what about Immar in all this? What about your own quest, if you have one?"
"It is no more than the truth. The world needs the courageous, and others to help them. You need not fear for my quest... I have been explaining to Sebastion for some while, and to Kale. I have none. I follow Immar, and his road is a wandering one. To have a goal and quest in mind would distract me from my experience of the world about me." She noticed how nimbly this oft-repeated line flew from her tongue, now, completely naturally.
"Well, for as long as you're willing to devote yourself to mine, I'll be happy."
"This is following Immar most happily: the lack of our own preordained plan allows us to respond flexibly to the endeavors of others. It will be my pleasure, and an honor..." She paused momentously. "Have you a name for your quest? Or some emblem that will represent your aims?"
Melisande was in an ecstasy of validation. That someone she respected as much as Ebri Zol could not only approve but ally herself to Mel's quest was more than she had hoped for. Still, this question dampened her zeal somewhat. "Oh, I don't know.... It's just a sort of idea...."
"Do not back down, but move forward..." she encouraged. "If you were sparring with a foe, this would be the moment to press forward, not retreat... "
"Oh, you're right. I don't know...." Mel's eyes searched the mountains frantically for a sign--a symbol--anything! "Something blue?" she suggested with a little laugh, utterly at a loss. "I'll have to think about it, pray to Naskha maybe.... Do you have any ideas?"
That was a failed attack, she thought in embarrassment.
A great many... Ebri's mind snapped, but she said only, "The inspiration will come to you, I am sure of it. You should pay attention to your dreams in the coming days. And why not blue? You yourself said earlier that your hue is a burden and a gift."
Mel nodded. She was thinking excitedly of "Red Talons", "Black Knights" and "Blood Ravens". Yes, she'd have to meditate in the coming days. "Thanks for your advice, Ebri. I knew I'd feel better if I came up here and talked to you. Maybe we can fix the world a little bit, and then you won't be so sad."
"Just so..." she made herself grin.
The sun's last sliver was disappearing fast below the mountains, and Ebri turned to appreciate it, nodding at the horizon. "You were asking about the Nephians earlier..." she smiled. "This is said to be their country."
Mel looked sharply at Ebri Zol, surprised by the change in conversation and wondering if it had anything to do with the quest idea. "Then if what you say is right, we won't find them unless they want us to. I do wonder what connection they have to the shadow-people. Maybe this 'Umbral' tower is a base of theirs!"
"One never knows..." she said, lowering her voice conspiratorily. "It is curious, though. Many folktales associate the Nephians with shadow in more ways than one. Which is not incomprehensible: if they exist, they must blend into them..."
"It is a subject that has always fascinated me, for a very personal reason. Sebastion is teaching you the Four Elements martial style, is he not?"
"I know there's a connection between the Nephians and the Great Prophet, and it was a shadow-man who gave me the scrying amulet in the Great Prophet's symbol. But what those connections are I don't understand. I would so like to know what that is all about. Yes, he is teaching me the elemental maneuvers. Why?"
"No reason, particularly. But I fight in a different manner, if you have not realized. It is called - perhaps coincidentally - the Way of Shadow. I do not mind telling you this, since we are bound together to a common purpose. I learned it from an old priest when I was a postulant. He was fierce, and stern, and a very good teacher, but he never spoke one word about his past. Sometimes I wonder if--" she smiled, mischievous, "--he was a Nephian. But he is dead, now, and I suppose I will never know."
"I wondered how you seemed to know so much about them! I mean--not to imply--but I would like to know more about the Way of Shadow. Can it be adapted to sword-fighting? Could you teach me?"
"It can, certainly, and I will do what I can to help you. That is my task now, remember?"
My very consuming task.
"Let's start tomorrow, then!" Mel smiled. How buoyed she felt, except.... "I hope Sebastion won't mind."
"I am sure that Sebastion will support whatever helps you to grow and be better able to defend yourself... Perhaps he too worries about the safety of his companions." Ebri made the suggestion thoughtfully. "We will start tomorrow, but for tonight, pay attention to your dreams, and think about
things between. For that is the nature of shadow, ultimately... I feel much comforted, I must say--"
"So do I, you can't imagine," Mel said brightly, trying not to take what Ebri said with too much unreasonable optimism. She rose and started down the steps, happy to be headed for a warm bath, a warm meal, and a warm bed, with all these brilliant new opportunities blazing in her heart. It was almost shameful to feel like this when morning would bring a burial. But it was all in homage to Wolf, too, she knew.
Much comforted... Ebri repeated to herself, and it was the truth. Her mission had been lagging, lackluster, and her spirit fading and subject to temptation, but now she was back firmly on her path. The Prophet was surely pointing out the folly of her proposed retreat from the world, and she thanked him for the lesson.
But it seemed that the trials that the Prophet had in mind for her were not yte finished this day, for even now, Sebastion approached, doubtless on some last evening errand before he himself went to bed.
"You're still awake?"
The scenery, Ebri sighed, trying to drag her unwilling mind back into the role.
What was it the Immarian cult said about the natural world...? Her mind was behaving as a puppet with half its strings cut, dangling, and not responding to her commands.
In a pinch, be what the other expects, and encounters go easier. They cease to see you and see only their own assumptions. "Yes, well, naturally, I too must be affected by the death of a companion..." Ebri shrugged, and wiped her eyes.
Sebastion blushed slightly, hoping it wouldn't show too obviously in the darkness. "Actually... that was what I was surprised at." he admitted. "I didn't think you... would."
"Though I cannot say I knew Wolf well, still, events such as these have a way of recalling other sorrows to the mind--" She showed no response to his opinion of her, but added, "--and it is a pity my gifts could not save him."
"Strange how you don't think of missing them until they're gone, isn't it?" For a moment he wondered just what might have drifted about through Wolf's history, what untapped veins of wisdom and experienced had been snuffed out of the world so simply.
Hiking up her pants, Ebri seated herself on the wall, crosslegged, still facing north. "Strange, perhaps, but I should say it was a gift of nature. We are made not to think on it, for if we did we would surely go mad. My order teaches that one should not dwell in the future or past, but do ones best to experience the present moment. "
Order-- she caught herself at the slip of the word. "That is, our faith bids us wander, with little goal or direction, for this very reason.
"Seems sort of... aimless?" he offered, with a shrug. "Still, if it suits you..." His tone very obviously implied that he didn't think it did.
He would not make a good postulant, she decided. "It is far from
aimless--" she said, though she felt much the same as he -- it was a completely useless, even lazy lifestyle she was imitating for her assignment. "It is a way of life engineered to focus on full experience of each day. Most people go about their lives constantly reviewing the past or planning for the future .Are they in the past or the future? No, certainly, but neither are they in the present. They are nowhere, caught between."
As in shadow-- she smiled to herself, recalling her lesson to Melisande.
"But surely, to get the best out of today, you have to have at least learned the lessons of yesterday? More than that, we have to plan for the future - this monastery wasn't built in a day."
"You gave quite a lesson to Melisande," she commented, as an aside, not really changing the subject.
"I.. you... Excuse me? You... you watched?" He wasn't sure, exactly, what he thought of that, and fell silent.
"I have been standing on this wall for quite some time," she noted. "It was not my intention to watch, but neither did I wish to interrupt. And, I confess, I can rarely pass up the opportunity to learn, whatever the subject. I beg you will forgive the intrusion. It was a well-taught lesson." she observed, carefully avoiding any hint of her other observations.
"Oh. Did you learn much from it?" he asked, a little defensively. To act the teacher for a complete novice was one thing, or under the watchful eye of a more experienced head like Wolf, but to be examined by an equal was... he wasn't sure.
"A great deal--"
about both of you -- Ebri nodded. "The Four Elements style is not my area of expertise, nor, as you know, are bladed weapons. A review of the principles is always good, if not for oneself then for studying the enemy. I am glad you are taking care to teach her... Sometimes, I think she needs a bodyguard..."
"You sound like a mother." he chuckled. "Hopefully she'll be able to take care of herself reasonably soon... I wish I knew what she was looking for in all this, though."
She looked sidelong at the soldier next to her.
And if she were looking for you? "Only she could answer that properly. But I would say, perhaps she seeks a better understanding of her identity. Perhaps that is what we all seek, but Melisande has a rather obvious puzzle to solve--"
And a wondrous new purpose in life-- she thought with a smile. "Answer the question for yourself, soldier--" she challenged, half lightly. "What are you looking for in all of this?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't still be out here looking for it." He thought back, again, to his father, settled and comfortable in his small stable. "Hopefully, I'll find some answers out here... maybe I need to find the right questions first." "What of you? Why are you out here?"
"Ah," she chuckled, "as to that, it is an easy answer, as you might guess. I am not here to seek anything, but only to find. Remember, I have no goal. I am an observer, and I serve my god and those I come in the way of. As I came in the way of you." This was the right answer, of course.
Because I am obedient to the will of my superiors and I am commanded to watch a foolish woman who does not know her own worth nor the precariousness of her position-- And I must suffer the company of you and they and not mind the encroaching filth of the world-- was more to the point. But now, after the unlooked-for success of her last conversation with her ward, there was a second right answer:
I am supporting the quest of a blue quasi-celestial being to defeat at least some small portion of the world's evil... On the whole, she supposed the second one was a better right answer than the first, had she no other better purpose, which she did.
"'Be not the hunter, nor the hunted. Do not seek, do not run, do not hide and do not flee. Simply be, and all will be yours.'" he said, quietly. "It keeps coming back to that, today."
"Your father was wise to have learned this, I guess." She recalled that Sebastion spoke often of the man: he had done so during today's lesson as well.
"You were closer than I thought."
"I find this earring to be an excellent souvenir of my travels," she grinned.
"What does it do?"
"I have discovered it enhances my hearing appreciably..."
"Ah..." he sounded vaguely disappointed, for a moment. "Do you know much of magic?"
"Only that magic which is the divine gift of Immar- I find I have no need for any other. Why do you ask?"
"I think something's happening to my father's sword, but... well, I don't know much about it. I tried asking Melisande, but the explanation... it didn't seem to answer any actual questions."
"Something happening--? Can you be more precise?
What is happening?"
"I'm not sure, that's why I want to talk to someone about it. I had a... vision? During the battle, yesterday, a glimpse of something the sword 'saw' - perhaps? Now it feels lighter, easier, smoother... something different. Better, though, definitely better."
Ebri looked her companion over more carefully. Grief and shock reactions could be strange and idiosyncratic. "Can you describe the vision? Are you sure it is your sword and not yourself that has changed?"
"If it were the Black Blade, or my bow, I might say yes, but not this. I've trained with this sword every day for nearly a decade now, I know it like my own hand... knew it. I saw a battle... red armoured figures battling against Sir Angelo's order. My father was there... I didn't see a great deal."
"And what happened? Was your father a part of the order?" she prodded.
"I don't think so. I only heard his name, I didn't see him. He wasn't with the order, anyway, he was in Royal Service."
So he said... and I am a priestess of Immar... Her initial judgement, rarely wrong, said though, that this was a product of fatigue and battle fury working on Sebastion's mind, piecing together bits of present and past into a narrative to confuse him now-- and the sword an odd element in it, but obviously crucial to the life of a soldier... but she questioned on. "What, beyond any rational sense, would you say it means?"
"Means? It means something's happening to the sword, and I'd like to know what?" His brow furrowed as he tried to find out what she was angling for.
"It may of course be the sword, naturally--" she soothed. "There are any number of folktales that treat intelligent, magical, changed, or conscious weapons and their effects on their bearers... But I would say the solution lies elsewhere. You spoke earlier of your father, and how he would not allow you to read his journal.. It is only natural for a child to wish to understand its parents. Perhaps it is your mind seeking to discover the things you feel your father has kept from you. Accurate or no. It is well known that our minds deceive us and confuse fantasy with fact." In saying these things, she noted how much lighter she suddenly felt, almost exhilarated. Such mental questioning, the rigourous discipline of the mind, it had been by far her favorite part of her studies, and now, limited though this was, it recalled the joy of those hours to her.
"Do you spend time thinking things like this up in advance?" he asked, after a moment. "Having spent so much time travelling, I should have thought you'd be more prepared to accept odd things - like magical ear-rings. Or did you first think that you were hearing strange voices?"
I
Hours upon hours... If the soldier only knew how much preparation a non-stop role required... "There are things that are enchanted, surely. And no, I was not surprised. Ecurius and Wolf looked into the properties of these items, if you will recall. I was not unaware of its nature, though I am surprised at how well it works... Odd things..." she mused, going on. " There are so very many odd things, Sebastion, that "oddness" is more a condition of normalcy than not. What surprises me by now is that which is not curious in some way, shape, or form."
"I'm just jittery, sorry..." he turned to stare out over the land towards distant Huron, wondering. "My father believed in giving you tools to learn, but not doing your learning for you - I should have thought he would have mentioned this, though."
"Have you thought of asking the order if they have a record of him?" she asked gently. "Not that I question his words to you, but it may set your mind at ease as to the falsity of your dream."
"It just seemed a little strange that you'd feel more comfortable declaring me mad than accepting the possibility of a magic sword, that's all." "Not really. I'll return home at some point and ask him."Suddenly 'at some point' felt like it should be a lot sooner than it had before the conversation.
"I do not think you mad--" Ebri said, a little sharply. "But if it is simply a magic sword, and it is normal, then why does it trouble you?"
"Because yesterday it wasn't magical. At the turn of the year when I left home it wasn't magical. Ten years ago when my father first let me move through the Hunting Tiger sequence in the hayloft it wasn't magical...today it is. What happens tomorrow? This is... this is what stands between me and death, daily. It is what I do... and it's changing."
"Forgive me--" she apologized, somewhat lately. "--it is a habit I have; All my life people have been coming to me with just these sorts of questions, and asking for answers. I am in the habit of asking questions that are too personal. Let us concentrate on the sword, then. I take it you know its exact measurements and weight, and so forth?"
"No, not really."
No, of course not."Hmm. That would be a help; if you did, you could now take such measurements again and see if it was the same or different. "
"It is different. You'd know if your arms were suddenly longer, wouldn't you?"
"Ah, yes, but recall the deceptions of the mind. The mind is suspect, while measurements- though suspect too- are less so than that which depends solely on perception. But no matter: it seems to me the answer is simple, if you in fact believe it has become magic."
"It is? The answer is simple? I don't even know the question yet... so what do you know, then?"
"If you wish to keep the sword, you must either come to understand its enchantment, and how you may use it, or dispel it. Or you must acquire a different sword for use. For I agree- a weapon which is not consistent and predictable is dangerous. But first, determine whether you are correct. Ask one of our mages to divine whether it is enchanted, or no."
"You can do that? Just... find out if it's magic?"
Ebri blinked.
He will never make postulant. She had not taken the soldier for an intellectual, but had her judgement been so far off?
Perhaps a blow to the head? She spoke more slowly. "I do not know how, but it stands to reason that they can do this, at least. It is their trade. How can they work magic if they cannot recognize it?"
"That's why I've been asking people.... Thank you, I'll take it Mel before she heads for sleep."
It is a reminder, at least, to be grateful for the gift of a basic education-- she thought wearily, and decided to 'head for bed' herself...
