This Rising Darkness

Chapter 22 - Decisions

2010-04-29T00:01:00.001-04:00

Matthew and Alexander walked back towards the house on the top of the hill. After two days of riding, Matthew had not been eager to return to the back of a horse. Alexander had all but put him on the saddle, repeating that it was important that Matthew learn to ride properly and control his mount.

The sun stood directly above them, but Matthew felt as if it was much later in the day. They rose early that morning, Alexander’s father, Theman, waking them to begin the morning chores. Theman believed that if Alexander was home, he could work. He also believed that Alexander’s two young friends could help.

Matthew had trouble not grinning at Jaron’s reaction to working on the farm, though he doubted that his initial reaction was not much better. They had begun by feeding the few animals on the farm. The chickens that wandered the area nearly overrun Matthew as he scattered a grain of some sort on the ground near the barn. Jaron found himself learning how to milk a cow, and then doing so. Alexander and Theman busied themselves caring for the horses, both the ones that had arrived with the group the night before and the pair of massive horses that had been out grazing when they had arrived.

After the animals had been tended to, every member of Alexander’s family, as well as the three guests, made their way out into the crops. The women busied themselves in the garden, picking vegetables and pulling weeds that had grown up around the plants. Even Kari helped in the work.

Meanwhile the men went out into the fields, armed with hoes. The spent what seemed like all morning, the sun still barely above the horizon, removing weeds. Eventually Matthew did not even have to think about what he was doing. Pull the weeds out with the hoe, pick them up, throw them in the canvas bag that hung from a strap over his shoulder, move to a new spot and do it all again.

It all made Matthew a little glad that he had not been able to find work on a farm when he was younger. He supposed at that age, he would have grown use to the work. But even the life of hardships he had lived was easy compared to working a farm.

They remained in the fields until Anara called from the top of the hill. They left their work and returned to the house. They entered the kitchen to be greeted by the aromas of breakfast. On the table before him was what Matthew would have considered a small feast of bread, fruits and vegetables, dried meats and other various foods.

Matthew ate until he felt like he could not eat anymore. He was astonished at the empty table before the group of people, surprised that so much food could be eaten. Everyone seemed to be pleased with the meal and Matthew was content to remain in his seat and fall asleep. Alexander had other plans. That was when he took Matthew out for his lesson.

Matthew was told to saddle Belle without any instructions. Alexander did the same with his horse, Cirrus. They two then found a flat, open area of land and began their lesson. Alexander began simply teach Matthew proper vocal instructions. When to whistle and when to click; what words would get what response from the horse; and other various things that would come in handy while riding.

They then covered the proper way to sit in the saddle. Matthew had thought that Alexander looked uncomfortable in his saddle when riding, back straight and arms hanging at his sides, bent at the elbow to rest on the horn of the saddle. When Matthew took up the same position he was surprised with how comfortable it was. It shifted his weight off of his thighs, which were still worn from the riding they had already done, and even with his arms loose, he still had complete control of the horse with the reins.

The lessons grew continually harder until the call for lunch came from the hill. It had surprised Matthew how quickly the rest of the morning had vanished, but he was glad to get off the horse. His thighs, though better than they had been the day before, still ached and the sun had been beating down on them for some time.

Lunch consisted of bread, cheese and a soup broth. After they had finished eating the light meal, Alexander asked Matthew and the others to join him in the living room. Theman seemed disappointed at loosing some of his work force, but Alexander assured him that they would join Nathan and him in the fields as soon as they finished their discussion.

Matthew enjoyed being in the living room. It was a bare room mostly, a single book shelf and rocking chair in one corner, a bench and chairs surrounding the fireplace, and a single, small table decorated with simple flowers sat under the single window of the room. The night before everyone had gathered in the room and Theman and Miktan took turns telling stories. Miktan’s stories were much more elaborate, but Theman’s had an air about them that drew you into listening.

Matthew, Jaron, Miktan and Alexander all sat in chairs around the fireplace, arranging them so they could see each other. They all knew the reason they had taken the time to meet alone. They needed to discuss their next course of action. Where they would go next.

“We need to leave here tomorrow I think,” Alexander began, “Any longer and we may draw attention to ourselves, and worse, to my family.”

“I agree. If we wait too long to leave someone will be bound to notice us, and I’m sure there is at least some search for you three going on in Garlin,” Miktan explained.

“So where do we go?” Jaron asked, “I am not even sure there is anywhere we can go. At least not anywhere that someone could help, or that they would even listen.”

“As much as I hate that we may have to go there,” Miktan started, “but the Weaver’s Guild would probably at least hear us out. They may even have knowledge regarding the Threads of Creation, and if that is really what you unleashed.”

Matthew cringed at the idea that they had released the supposed Threads of Creation. He was not sure how much of the theory he believed, but he was sure that someone powerful was contained and they at least began it’s release into the world.

“Are you suggesting that we travel to Aldrath and ask the Weaver’s help?” Alexander asked.

Miktan nodded, “It is the best course of action I can think of. They are most likely to know anything, or at least have a theory regarding the situation.”

“It sounds like a logical course of action to me,” Jaron chimed in.

Matthew felt obligated to break his silence, “If this Weaver’s Guild is what you said it is Alexander, I think Miktan might be right.”

Alexander stared at the floor for a moment before nodding, “I think your right too Miktan. There is too much that we don’t know right now and the Guild is the most likely place that we’ll learn anything.”

“So we leave tomorrow?” Matthew asked.

Alexander nodded, “Tomorrow morning would be best. I would say that we leave this afternoon, but by the time I convinced my mother and we were all prepared, it would be too late in the afternoon to truly get any good time made,” Alexander paused, “That and if we can help my brother and da get ahead on some of the chores, it would make things easier for them.”

Jaron groaned, “I guess that means we are heading back into the field?”

Miktan barked a laugh, “This is honest work boy. It’ll do you good to understand what it is that the farm folk have to endure.”

Matthew eyed the older man. He seemed to have a reason for everything. It seemed that his reason however was always just a slight twist on the last one he used.

——————-

“Are you sure you have to go?” Anara asked.

It was not the first time that she had asked that very question. The first time it was said, Matthew knew that it was meant for all of them, but most of all for Alexander. They had announced during the evening meal that they would be leaving in the morning. The announcement had hardly even stunned Theman and Nathan, though Kari and Anara took it hard enough for everyone.

What hurt Matthew the most was that they could not reveal to them the real reason they had to leave; they could not inform them of the danger they would be in by their staying. Matthew had never known what it was like to have a real family, but the short time he had spent with Alexander’s had taught him many things he never would have realized. Things that would stay with him for a long time.

“Yes mother, we have to go,” Alexander explained for what seemed to be the hundredth time, “We only really stopped here to rest and plan out the next leg of our journey.”

Anara looked disappointed, “I know. I only hoped that maybe you would stay a bit longer this time.”

Alexander finished tying his saddlebags to the saddle and walked to his mother, giving her a hug, “I will try my best to visit again as soon as I can and make it a worthwhile visit.”

“Try to make it around harvest time,” Theman commented from beside his wife.

Alexander laughed as he released from his hug and shook hands with his father, “I’ll try my best.”

Everyone exchanged their farewells and once again they were headed off into the unknown. It all worried Matthew, not knowing what was waiting for him. It was not that he always knew what he was going to experience, but this was all so new to him; all so foreign that he could not even begin to imagine what was coming. He only hoped that he was strong enough to survive it.

Chapter 21 - Family

2010-04-26T12:01:00.000-04:00

Alexander sat on the ground, staring at the fire as it danced. The ride out of Garlin had been long. He had not slept in over a day, but he could not bring himself to sleep just yet. His mind was still trying to work out the situation he was in. Alexander’s back and legs were sore from being in the saddle so long, but he was use to the feeling from so many years of long rides.

They had stopped only when necessary as they rode away from the only place Matthew had ever known. The short stops they did make were to let the horses rest and drink from one of the many streams that were found throughout this area of land. Alexander had taken those opportunities to stretch his legs and get a drink for himself. There had not been a single cloud in the sky their entire trip, so the sun beat down on them mercilessly.

Though the sun was low in the sky when they stopped to make camp, the shade of the small group of trees they had found was still welcome as they set up their small camp. Alexander had had to take care of Matthew’s horse, but walked him through the process of removing the saddle. He had also covered how to properly hobble a horse and other various ways of keeping it where you wanted.

Now the four men sat around the small fire. Each one remained silent, but the looks on their faces made it clear that they were deep in thought. None of them had said much since leaving the city. Miktan had tried sparking conversation with each person, but nothing ever really took off.

“We had better get some rest,” Alexander suggested, “We made good time today, but I expect we won’t reach my family’s farm until late afternoon tomorrow.”

“Rest sounds good,” Miktan said as he stifled a yawn, “But I dare not let us all sleep at once.”

Alexander nodded in understanding, “I’ll take first watch, Jaron, why do you take second and Matthew third. Miktan, would you be willing to take a turn?”

The older man chuckled, “I may seem old, but I am more than willing to take a turn. The more people we have rotating through watch means more sleep for everyone.”

Alexander gave a smile to Miktan as the other three lay down on their bedrolls. Alexander stood and moved out from the fire light. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and the twin moons were bright enough to let him see farther than he would usually be able to. He made his way to the outer rim of the thicket, looking towards Garlin. If anyone was pursuing them, they would no doubt come from the city.

Alexander gazed out over the grassland before him. Other small groups of trees dotted the landscape but Alexander had chosen this one because of it’s distance from the road. Anyone that might be tracking them would have to venture from the road to get to where they were and would easily be spotted before they arrived.

He continued to think as he watched. Surprising to him, his mind wandered not to the events of the day past, but instead to what was to come. He thought over how his family would react to his sudden appearance. Alexander had not contacted him since the last letter he sent just short of a month ago. At the time he had not yet received the orders sending him to Garlin, and so they did not know he was in the area.

Alexander thought over the last time he and his father had spoken. The words exchanged that day had not been pleasant. He wondered how his father would react when he saw him again. Theman Varros was always a hard man. When he told someone what to do, it was rare that they did not do it.

Alexander’s brother, Nathan, had always followed their father’s commands. Alexander had too, until he was of age and decided to leave. His father never actually said that he could not leave, but usually, what Theman did not say was just as clear as what he did. The man disapproved of Alexander’s leaving.

Alexander worked harder than his older brother. It was not a rivalry between the two so much, it was just that Alexander knew that the work needed to be done and the longer a job took the less one was able to finish. Nathan was a hard worker too, but he had a knack for getting caught up in something and ending up distracted from his chores.

Alexander smiled as he remembered his childhood and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a twig snap from behind him. He spun around to find Jaron walking towards him.

“My turn,” the young boy said with a smile, “get some sleep.”

Alexander nodded. He had not realized how long he had been standing there until he looked up at the moons. They stood almost directly above them now, Neomet bright blue and Lauros a red crescent. Alexander looked away from the sky and started back into the thicket.

He wasted no time settling on top of his bedroll. It was too warm to get underneath any of the layers so he laid on top and closed his eyes. He focused on the sounds of the night. Crickets chirped and could heard birds of the night flitting from tree to tree. He began to drift into sleep; drift into dreams.

Alexander stood out in the field south of the farm house. He was aware that he was dreaming, but he did not care. The scene was familiar to him. It had been one of the many possible lives he had experienced underneath Garlin. It was unsettling, being aware of knowing that what he saw and felt was not real, but at the same time it was comforting.

The sun beat down on him as he leaned against the spade he held. He looked down at the hole he had dug. It seemed the right size for the post. Picking up the fresh cut post, he dropped it into the hole. Steadying it with one hand he maneuvered the spade with his other, pushing dirt in around the post. He packed the dark soil down tight and tested the firmness of the post, nodding in satisfaction.

He made quick work of the final two posts, digging the holes and setting them in place. Tomorrow he and Nathan would bring out the boards to box in the small pasture. Alexander was pleased with his work. It had taken him less time than he expected.

He walked back to the farmhouse. The wooden building was not large, at least not compared to any of the residences in Garlin, but it did for the people that lived in it. Theman and Anara, Alexander’s father and mother; Nathan and his wife Caren, as well as their daughter and son; and finally Alexander and Myra, his beautiful wife.

Alexander smiled at the mental image of his wife, now carrying his child. Alexander’s mother was certain that Myra was carrying a son, but only time would tell. Alexander could not think of a time that he was happier than when Myra had told him the good news nearly four months ago.

The worn back door to the house creaked as Alexander pushed it open and entered into the kitchen. He thought again that he should replace the door before the winter came and the cold winds that came with it. The door had fallen to the back of his mind when he found out he was having a child.

The week after the announcement, Alexander, Nathan and their father had begun a new addition to the house for Alexander and Myra to move into instead of the small bedroom they shared now. The project was moving along at a decent pace, but as there always was on the farm, other things need to be dealt with too. Things such as the new pasture.

Gathered around the small table in the kitchen, Caren, Myra and Alexander’s mother sat preparing the evening meal. Alexander smiled at the women and spoke, “A lovely site.”

“Alexander, always ready with compliments. Don’t think that they’ll keep you out of trouble like they did when you were still a boy,” his mother commented. She stood and walked over to him, placing a light kiss on his cheek as they hugged.

Alexander moved over to Myra, standing behind her and kissing her forehead as she looked up at him, “And you are the loveliest of all.”

Myra smiled as she looked back down at the dough she was kneading, “Did you finish your work?”

Before Alexander could speak, his mother answered, “Of course he did. Have you ever known Alex not to finish a task set for him?”

Alexander just laughed, “Where’s father?”

“Last I saw he was in his chair reading a book,” Caren said as she sliced some carrots.

“Thank you,” Alexander said as he placed another kiss on Myra’s head and exited the kitchen.

He moved through the simple hallway towards the living room. All that decorated the hall was a single painting that had been handed down through the family for as far back as Alexander’s father could remember. It was simple painting, which fit the house, that depicted a field of wildflowers. Alexander had wondered as a child if the field actually existed, or if it was just an image from the painter’s imagination.

Entering the living room, Alexander looked around. A fireplace made up of smoothed river stones was set into the wall directly across from him. A wooden bench that had been fitted with a backing sat facing the fireplace, parallel to it. A few chairs created a half circle where the family would often gather at night to talk or listen to stories while enjoying the fire.

In the corner to Alexander’s right stood a tall, hand carved bookcase. Various books lined the shelves, mostly things that had been gathered here and there as the family travelled into the city. Alexander’s father considered books to be a great treasure that were just waiting to be shared with others.

Next to the bookshelf, sitting in a high-backed rocker was Theman Varross. He was not a large man, shorter than Alexander and thinner that Nathan, but one would be a fool to anger the man. His skin, worn and tanned, was tight around well toned muscles that made up his arms. His gray hair, still speckled with the darker color it use to have, was cut short so as to beat the heat of the summer sun.

The man looked up from his book as Alexander grabbed a chair from by the fireplace and moved to sit nearer his father, “You get those posts all put in?”

“I did father,” Alexander replied nodding.

Theman nodded. He placed a bookmark in the book, marking his page and placed it in his lap, “Good, not that I thought you wouldn’t finish. You and Nathan will need to make sure to get that pasture finished soon. Jonul should be here end of the week with those sheep,” the grizzled man barked a laugh, “Never thought I’d find myself raisin’ sheep.”

Alexander grinned. His father had always had a few animals around on the farm. A team of horses to work the fields. A cow or two for milk, as well as to breed and sell off any calves. A few chickens roamed the farm, which were great for eggs as well as the occasional meal. When it came to sheep or other herd animals, Theman had always said he would never take them. But when his long time friend Jonul said that he was moving in to Garlin and that he would sell Theman his flock at half its worth, Theman took the offer. He said he would have been a fool not to buy them.

“How’s your knee doing?” Alexander said, noted concern in his voice.

His father rubbed at his right knee, “Oh it’ll be fine. The healer said I could be up and around next week, long as I take it easy.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow at the last part, “I find it hard to believe that you can take it easy.”

“With you around boy, I could retire and live happy,” his father said, rolling into his gruff laughter that had always made Alexander smile as a boy.

“I don’t think you’ll ever retire da,” Alexander said, joining in his father’s laughter.

Alexander awoke from his dream as he heard someone returning from their watch. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he saw Miktan step into the small campsite. The fire was nothing more than coals as Miktan kicked dirt over it. Through the trees, Alexander could just tell that the sun was beginning to rise.

As Alexander stretched, Miktan moved to both Jaron and Matthew in turn, shaking them awake. Alexander was surprised as Matthew pulled one of his daggers out from underneath the thin pillow under his head at being shaken. He was more surprised at how quickly Miktan moved to grab the young man’s wrist.

“Easy boy,” Miktan said soothingly, “It’s just me. It’s morning and we need to be on our way.”

Matthew groaned as his head fell back onto the pillow. Alexander smiled. He knew that the boy had to be tired. Alexander still felt as if he could sleep for a few more hours, but he knew that they could not spend their time sleeping right now. Not yet at least.

Alexander made quick work of gathering up everything and returning it into the pack that held their supplies. He moved to the horses, saddling Cirrus and tying the pack to the saddle, and his bedroll behind it.

When Matthew lazily walked up to Belle carrying his bedroll and saddlebags, Alexander joined him. The boy was a quick learner, remembering what Alexander had shown him the night before and reversing it to saddle the mare with only a few instructions. Alexander was impressed. Even after only a day around a horse, he seemed much more comfortable.

“You have to adapt and learn quick when you live a life like mine,” Matthew said when Alexander complimented him.

Before long the group was headed back towards the road. There were a few others on the road, as there had been during the day before. None of them were threatening however. Most appeared to be farmers that had taken goods to Garlin for sale and the rest were either just travelers or merchants.

The day was cooler than the previous one. Clouds dotted the sky that allowed for periods of shade. The group seemed to have relaxed with the cooling temperature, though it probably had to do more with the distance from the city. Conversations sprung up about the landscape and the weather. Alexander was glad to see that everyone seemed to be worrying a little less about what had happened. At one point of the journey, Miktan had begun to tell tales. Epic stories of heroes and saving damsels.

A few hours past midday, as the sun off in the western sky leading their way, Alexander spotted the familiar farmhouse. He announced that they were near and kicked Cirrus into a trot. The building sat on a short hill, half a mile off of the road. A small barn sat at the bottom of the small hill and Alexander could make out a pair of horses grazing in a fenced in area near the barn.

Chickens scattered as Alexander drew Cirrus to a stop near the barn. He dismounted and tied the gelding up at the tack posts. What had been a fresh log set on two posts when Alexander left was now well worn and would probably need to be replaced next spring.

The others did the same as Alexander but he paid them no mind. He noticed from the house that someone was standing outside the door, watching them. Alexander recognized the man as Nathan, even from fifty paces a way. As Alexander walked up the hill, followed by the three others, another joined Nathan, leaning against the doorframe. It was his father.

Theman Varross’ face was set, marking that he was ready to dismiss anyone that was there to trouble him. Nathan’s eyes widened as he recognized Alexander coming up the hill and he disappeared back inside the house. Alexander’s father however remained where he was; watching.

“Father,” Alexander said as he stopped a pace from the old man standing in the door.

“Alex,” the man replied, his voice stern and relaxed in only the way Theman Varross could manage.

The two just stood there eyeing each other until Alexander’s mother pushed his father from the door. Anara Varross had always been plump and kind. She was no different now. Her dark blue eyes locked on Alexander, looked him up and down once, and then she was there embracing him. Alexander was shocked at his mother’s strength. She held him so tightly that he was finding it hard to breath.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she said, still clutching him, “I wondered if you would ever come back here.”

Alexander was returning the hug now, a smile on his face, “I wish I could be here under better circumstances,” he said.

Anara released her son and took a step back, “Why? What’s wrong?” Her stance was that of a mother bear ready to kill to defend her cub, but she soon shook her head, a smile returning to her face “Never you mind that right now, you and your friends come inside and get comfortable while I fix you all something to eat.”

“Anara,” Theman’s voice seemed to force silence from everything, “Who are you inviting people into my house?”

Alexander’s mother spun, staring at the old man. Anara had always been the only one Alexander had ever seen able to cow Theman and she was doing just that right now. The old man’s eyes tightened at her stare as if to argue, but they soon dropped to the ground.

“Now Theman, you may own this house, but I am the one that cleans it. I am the one that cares for it. And if you have any intention of eating anything anytime soon, you will invite your son and his friends in right this instant, do you understand me?” Alexander flinched at his mother’s words. Alexander had always respected his father, but his mother’s anger was something to be feared.

Alexander’s father took a deep breath before speaking, “All right then, come on in and introduce yourselves.”

His father then turned and disappeared into the house. His mother however, herded them all through the door with her kind words. Soon they were all sitting at the small dining table off of the kitchen. Alexander’s father sat in his carved chair at the head of the table, just as he always had. His mother busied herself with Caren at the table, cutting up vegetables and throwing them into a pot with some water and dried meats. Caren was slicing a loaf that had probably been baked that morning.

“So, can I know who now sits as my table?” Theman asked, his voice still holding a tone of anger.

“I am Miktan Lonstrat,” Miktan said placing a hand on his chest and managing to give a slight bow from his chair, “These two are Matthew and Jaron,” he motioned to the two younger men.

Jaron seemed a little disappointed at not hearing his last name, but they had discussed that it would probably be better if they kept that unknown for the time being. People would take note of a noble’s son, especially when word got out that he had suddenly disappeared in the night.

Alexander’s father nodded at the introductions, “I am Theman Varross, my wife is Anara. The man that spotted you all and has seemed to have gone into hiding is my son Nathan and the young lady helping my wife is his wife Caren.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Jaron said politely.

“I hope we are not intruding too much,” Miktan said with a smile.

It looked as if Theman was about to make a comment, but at a sharp look look from his wife, he gave a quick shake of his head, “It’s no trouble. We have plenty to share.”

“And we thank you for your generosity,” Miktan said.

“Now, while I don’t necessarily mind your being here, I would like to know what brings you here so suddenly,” Alexander’s father said, not even sparing a glance to his mother.

It was Alexander that answered, “I was recently ordered to move, along with some men, to Garlin. While in the city, I met with Jaron, Matthew and Miktan. Something came up in which they were leaving the city. I haven’t taken much time away lately, so I informed my superior about a leave of absence and decided to join them.”

Theman’s eyebrows rose a bit as he listened to Alexander’s explanation, but they soon relaxed and his father nodded, “It’ll be good for you to have some time away from the army. Maybe you’ll come to your senses and finally leave.”

Alexander was relieved that his father had taken the lie as truth. Alexander had never really been able to lie to his parents effectively. They quite often saw through his lies and confronted him about it.

“Leave the boy alone Theman,” Alexander’s mother said as she placed some bread and a dish of butter on the table, “Alex is well aware of your feelings on him being in the army. That doesn’t mean you can harass him about it now.”

“I was just saying Anara,” Theman began to defend himself.

“No, you drop that subject right now. You all eat some bread while the soup finishes. Go on, help yourselves,” Alexander’s mother returned to the kettle that was now over the small fireplace hanging on a hook.

Everyone seemed to wait until Alexander’s father nodded before reaching in for some of the bread. They sat in silence while they ate. The bread was just as Alexander remembered it.

“This is very good,” Matthew said before taking another bite.

“Well, the boy does speak,” Alexander’s mother commented from the soup kettle, “Caren, why don’t you fetch the boy something else to snack on. It looks as if he only eats every other day.”

Alexander thought he heard Matthew say something about that being close to truth and smiled. It was good to be home again, even if his father was avoiding looking at him. They continued to eat as Caren set a plate of vegetables on the table.

Alexander could not help but grin as his brother entered the room herding his daughter in before him. Kari was taller than Alexander had pictured her. It had been almost two years since he had last seen his niece. He stood from his chair and knelt down as she rushed him.

“Uncle Alex!” She exclaimed as she charged. The two hugged, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“Kari,” He held her out in front of him, “you’ve gotten big.”

Her grin seemed to cover her entire face, “I didn’t believe him when daddy told me you were here.”

“Well, it’s true,” Alexander said as he stood.

“It’s good to see you Alex,” Nathan said as he stuck out his hand.

The two shook hands, “You too Nathan.”

Nathan took a seat at the table and Alexander returned to his, Kari climbing up to sit on his lap. Conversation sprang up as bowls of soup were placed in front of everyone. It all reminded Alexander how much he had truly missed his family.

Chapter 20 - Escape from the City

2010-04-22T00:01:00.000-04:00

Alexander was glad for the time he was moving carefully through the halls of the barracks. The only men that had seen him enter the complex had been the two men guarding the gates in and out. Luckily they had been the same men that were stationed there when he left. They had given him looks of confusion at his time of return, but did not bother to question him about it. Once in the complex, there was no one but the occasional man on patrol, but once they saw his uniform, they did not bother him.

Once he had gotten to his office, with it's attached bunk, he gathered up anything he thought was important. He had made sure to take the letter he had received from the General, as well as any other communications he had received since the first. He had changed his clothes into something more civilian, not wanting to draw attention to himself, though he packed the uniform and any other items that would identify him as military in a small pack.

After he had gathered up everything he saw as important, he began his way back out of the complex. Most of his men, Alexander included, felt that the fact the stables was separated, outside of the complex, from the rest of the buildings was an annoyance. This evening however Alexander was thankful for it.

Heading back out into the night, Alexander made his way to the gates without seeing any of the guards. At the gates, the men let him pass back out mostly unbothered. They looked as if they were going to stop him, but as one of the men recognized him, they let him through. It was not so much their job to keep people in as it was to keep people out.

He made his way out, down the street, towards the stables that kept all the mounts that had been brought with the soldiers, and a few that the guards had access to. The building was very different from the guard complex inside the walls. Where the rest of the buildings assigned to the guards and the military were stone, the stables were made of wood.

Entering through the side door of the building, he was bombarded by the familiar smells of horses, dung, hay, stall bedding, and leather polish used on the harnesses and saddles. The familiarity was comforting, even in the madness that was that evening. He quickly made his way through stables, working towards the stall that held his horse.

He found the stall, having visited it multiple times since arriving in Garlin to care for his steed. Entering the stall, Cirrus wickered. Alexander placed a familiar hand on the gray gelding’s neck to calm him as he approached the animal's head. When Cirrus realized who was in the stall with him, he calmed, giving Alexander room to maneuver in the stall.

Alexander made quick work of the knot that tied Cirrus into the stall and lead him out. He tied the horse back up outside the stall and turned to go and retrieve his saddle and bridle. A sword point stopped him as he finished his turn. The blade was steady and the light of the lantern the man held, as well as the few lanterns in the stable that were lit gleamed of the well cared for metal. Alexander held his breath as the other man examined him.

The sword dropped away, "Lieutenant, what are you doing here at this hour?" Jogan asked, surprise full in his voice.

"Jogan, thank the weave it is you, I need your help," Alexander placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him to walk along side him to the tack stall, "I need to leave Garlin tonight. I have some companions that will be coming with me. They will all need horses. I need you to find two mounts for them. I need them to be fast, but even more importantly, they need to be well rested and well broken."

Jogan stopped mid-step and stared at Alexander, "Lieutenant, what is going on?"

Alexander sighed, "I can't explain right now. The letter I gave you will explain, just don't read it until I have left. Will you help me?"

"Of course I will Lieutenant," Jogan said, almost saluting, and moved off into the stables to retrieve the other animals.

Alexander moved into his tack stall and retrieved his saddle, saddlebags, and bridle. His mind raced as he went through the process of saddling his horse. He was so rehearsed at the process that he found himself standing there, completely finished, without realizing he had done a thing.

He heard hurried, quiet footsteps coming from behind him and spun, hand on his sword. He almost collapsed as Jaron stopped, eyes wide and panicked. The young man still wore the same outfit he had been in all night, but now carried a bundle, wrapped in what appeared to be a blanket.

"Alexander, it's me, Jaron," he said, the look of panic leaving his eyes as he realized the sword remained in its sheathe.

"You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that," Alexander said, turning back around to look over his work, "Especially not tonight."

Jaron walked up to Cirrus and stroked his neck, "I know, I think I've jumped at every little noise since leaving the sewers."

"Lieutenant," Jogan said, looking at the ground as he approached. His eyes locked on Jaron when he looked up, "is he one of your companions?"

Alexander shifted his eyes, first looking at Jaron, then Jogan, "Yes Jogan, he is one of the others I'm leaving with tonight."

"Then, who are the two that are bringing the tack for these animals up?" Jogan asked, glancing behind him.

Alexander's brow furrowed and his hand returned to the sword as the images of two men began to emerge from the shadows, "Who's there?"

Matthew stepped into the light, followed by an older man that Alexander soon realized was Miktan, "It's me, and Miktan. He wouldn't stay behind. There wasn't anything I could do."

Alexander raised an eyebrow at the two newcomers, "How much does he know?"

"All of it," Miktan said plainly, "and I'm not about to let these two rush off into the night without a proper chaperon."

Alexander's gaze passed over every one gathered. Jaron stood there, a questioning look on his face; Matthew just shook his head in resignation; Miktan stared at Alexander as if to challenge him to object; and Jogan looked completely lost.

"Very well," Alexander said, turning to sort his bundle into his saddlebags, "Jogan, we are going to need another horse."

"Lieutenant," the man responded, waiting for Alexander to turn and look at him, "I don't know what is going on, but I am not about to let you go rushing off into the night alone. I will accompany you."

Alexander tried to keep his eyes from rolling, but it was in vain, "Jogan, I need you to stay here with the men. They will need your strength to help them through what is to come. You can not come with us."

Jogan seemed to be caught. One part of him wanted to obey the orders given him, as he always did. Another part wanted to throw away his orders and protect his superior officer. Alexander shook his head, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. That seemed to be all Jogan needed and he turned, heading off into the stables after another animal.

"Well, at the rate we're going, I'll need someone else to saddle this other horse if we are to leave before dawn," Alexander scanned the three men standing before him.

"Don't look at me," Matthew said putting his hands out in front of him, "I'm just a street thief. I don't know anything about these animals. We'll be lucky if I can ride one."

"I've always had my animals saddled by someone else," Jaron said apologetically.

"Very well," Miktan said, moving towards one of the now tied horses, "I suppose I'll have to do it. I just hope my back doesn't give out."

Alexander gave a smile at the older man. Regardless of his age, Miktan seemed to move with surprisingly youthful grace and strength. Both men made quick work of the gear, and as they finished, Jogan brought a fourth mount, already saddled and ready to ride. Each man worked their belongings into the saddlebags and Alexander looked over the small group of men.

“Jogan, could you grab us one of the camp bundles and four bedrolls please?” Alexander almost felt guilty asking the man to do anything more, given he knew nothing, but the man moved into action without delay anyway.

“So,” Miktan spoke, “where is our destination?”

All eyes moved to Alexander. He supposed that he had taken control of the situation up until now, and it made sense that, given his military training, he would make the decisions for the time being.

“My parent’s live two days ride from here. We can go there for a short while and plan the best choice of destination when we have some breathing room,” Alexander explained.

Everyone nodded in understanding. Alexander hoped that they would be okay at his parent’s farm. It had been many years since Alexander had been to visit his parents and his father had not been too happy with his decision to join the military. He knew his mother would greet him with open arms, but his father’s word was as good as an order given by any of the five generals.

Jogan returned carrying a pack filled with various gear for making camp and four bedrolls. The man handed the pack to Alexander and gave a bedroll to each man without speaking a word. He returned his eyes to Alexander. He knew the look on Jogan’s face well. He was standing, nearly at attention, waiting for his next order.

“Jogan,” Alexander said, back straight and arms to his side, “you have always been a loyal soldier and I hope that I know that my actions this night have been strange. I have one final order for you. You still have the letter I gave you when I left this evening?”

The other man nodded, “Good,” Alexander continued, “In my office, in the bottom left drawer, under some reports is another letter for you. I want you to retrieve it and when completely alone, read both letters. They will explain some of what it going on. Is that understood?”

“Yes Lieutenant,” the other man said giving a proud salute.

Alexander returned the salute, “You are dismissed. I hope to see you again soon my friend.”

The other man spun on his heel and marched out into the darkness of the stables. Alexander felt as if he had betrayed Jogan. He knew that it was better if Jogan remained with the men, but he still felt horrible about it all.

“We had better leave now,” Miktan said, “that is if you are wanting to avoid detection.”

Alexander nodded and mounted Cirrus, the gray horse taking a few quick steps, ready to move after a few days in a stall. Miktan and Jaron mounted, both smoothly. Alexander supposed that he should not be caught off guard at the bard’s movements, but it was still surprising to see him almost flow into his saddle.

Matthew stood there, looking at the bay mare before him. His eyes never left the horse, but Alexander knew the look in his face. It was obvious that the young man had never been on a horse. Alexander sighed, dismounting from Cirrus who seemed disappointed at losing his rider.

“Matthew,” Alexander said, walking to join the frozen man, “it’s all right. I know this mare. Her name is Belle. Come over to her head and let her smell you out.”

Matthew did as he was instructed, though it took a hand at his back to get him started. The two moved to the horses head and Alexander placed a calming hand on her nose. The horse snorted and Matthew jerked. Alexander held him close with a hand still at his back.

“Show her your hand,” Alexander instructed and Matthew raised his hand cautiously to the mare’s nose, “and now just let her figure you out a bit.”

The mare sniffed at Matthew’s hand for a few moments before dropping her head a bit and pushing her nose into his hand. Matthew’s hand pulled back for a moment, but was soon stroking the mare’s nose along the stripe of white that travelled the length of her face. Once Matthew seemed relaxed, Alexander took him over to the saddle.

“All right, you need to put your right foot in here,” Alexander held out the stirrup and Matthew raised his leg up, placing his foot in it, “Good, now brace yourself with the horn and seat of the saddle and pull yourself up and settle into the seat.”

Alexander placed Matthew’s hands on the horn and back of the seat and took a step back. Matthew bounced a few times, testing the steadiness of the hard leather that made up the saddle. Finally he lurched up, swung his leg over and fell into the saddle.

“Good, now make sure that your other foot is in the stirrup and Belle is likely to do the rest for you. Once we are away from the city a ways, we’ll work on your riding,” Alexander explained as he once again mounted Cirrus.

Matthew remained silent, as if his voice may scare the horse he was now atop of, but nodded in understanding. Alexander pulled Cirrus around and started out the stables and into the streets. Jaron took up a position behind him and Matthew, or rather Belle, took place behind the buckskin gelding Jaron was astride. Miktan skillfully directed the chestnut stallion into the rear position.

Alexander was well aware of the stallion’s nature and was glad to see that Miktan was more than just a capable rider. Maestro could be strong willed and would fight against an inexperienced rider. As long as the horse was made aware that he was not in control, he was fine. Alexander was glad that Matthew had not been left with the stallion.

Their procession carefully, but quickly made their way through the streets and before long were at the eastern gate of the city. Going out the eastern gate would make the trip a little longer, as his family’s home was just around two days ride west of Garlin. However, if any of the gate guards were questioned as to their leaving, it would appear that they were heading east.

None of Alexander’s men knew where his home was, at least not specifics. Most knew he was from Garlin, or nearby, but he had told none of them where they could find his parent’s farm.

As they approached the gate, a guard stepped out of the small gatehouse to the left of the opening in the wall, “Halt.”

Alexander drew his horse to a stop and all of those behind him did the same, “What can I do for you?”

The guard carefully examined the four men in the poor light given off from the open door of the gatehouse and the single lantern that burned nearby. He was a good guard. He took in every detail from their plain appearances, to their swords, to the fine horses they rode and even the pack of camping equipment that hung from Alexander’s saddle.

“Where might you be going at such a late hour?” the guard asked, locking eyes with Alexander.

“Late?” Miktan spoke up, “My good man it is early. We have a long journey ahead of us. Some friends of ours are getting married over in the village of Burwood in two days. Hardly enough time to get there I know, but our invitations only just arrived yesterday afternoon.”

The lies slid off the man’s tongue so eloquently that Alexander could have almost believed him. The guard’s head turned to examine the older man who had slowly moved nearer the guard during his speech. The guard’s face began as one of absolute confusion and disbelief, but it slowly melted into one of understanding.

The guard nodded and waved his hand towards the open gate, “You’d better get going then. Safe travels.”

With that the guard turned away and went back into the gatehouse and closed the door behind him. Alexander gave a questioning look to Miktan who just smiled in response. Not wanting to waste anymore of their time or give the guard a chance to rethink things and come back to stop them, Alexander kicked Cirrus into a trot and started out from Garlin. The others followed, though he heard a choked off grunt which he assumed came from Matthew as Belle moved to match the speed of the rest of the group.

Alexander felt tension begin to release from his body. He had not been able to truly relax since the realization of what had occurred that evening struck him. Now that he was moving away from Garlin he felt for the first time as if he had a chance to fix what he had unknowingly started. Though he had no idea as to where they should start.

Chapter 19 - Realizations

2010-04-19T00:01:00.001-04:00

“What have I done?” Matthew heard someone say, but he could not tell who.

He opened his eyes. He felt as if he had not slept in days. He lay on a plain stone floor. He sat up, his head spinning as he did so. He held his head with his hands in an attempt to stop the spinning. He tried to examine the room, but his vision was cloudy. He could make out shapes, but could not identify them.

“No!” another voice shouted. Matthew’s head reeled at the noise and he felt like he might vomit.

“Matthew, Jaron, are you all right?” The first voice asked, it had to be Alexander.

His mind was still in a fog, but he was beginning to remember what had happened, “I’m okay,” he spoke, his voice weak, “I think.”

“I am not injured,” the second voice, Jaron, said, “any more than that and I am not sure.”

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. They cleared a little. It was enough that he could identify what the shapes were, even if they were still a little blurred. Alexander stood, doubled over, to his right. Jaron was off to Matthew’s left, and was on all fours. It looked as if the man had vomited.

“What happened?” Matthew asked, getting to his feet.

He wavered slightly, but maintained his balance. In front of him was a pedestal. On top of the pedestal sat an all too familiar stone chest. The lid stood open. Matthew hurried to look inside. As he squinted down into the chest, he found that it was empty.

“This is all that was inside the chest,” Alexander said holding up a half-sphere with little protrusions evenly spaced along the outer edge, “though I doubt the key out of here was the only thing contained. Whatever else was there is now gone.”

Matthew turned to see Jaron getting to his feet. The young man had vomited. He stood, knees weak, but he stood.

“What I saw,” the young man said, “did I really do those things? My father? My mother? They were dead and yet other times they weren’t. By the weave, what was that?”

“I can only venture a guess,” Alexander said, head looking towards the ceiling, though his eyes were closed, “We each are a single thread in the tapestry of creation. The direction our thread takes, the part we play in the weave, is as much our decision as it is the guiding of other threads.”

Matthew knew the story of the tapestry of creation well enough, but he decided to let the man go on, “I think what we saw were lives we could have lived. Lives we would have had if different threads had pulled us in different directions, or if some threads were not there.”

“You mean,” Jaron began, “that we saw possible lives?”

Alexander nodded, but it was Matthew that spoke, “How can that be possible?”

“The chest is not a chest, or that is my theory. I think it symbolizes something else. You both know about the threads of creation?” Jaron nodded but Matthew gave him a questioning look. He went on, “The threads of creation are what many believe what started the world. They were the initial threads in the tapestry of creation. As the weave grew, the threads blended together into plants, animals, earth, water and every other element of the world as we see it.”

Matthew nodded, signifying that he understood, at least slightly, what Alexander was saying and the man continued, “When the tapestry no longer needed the threads of creation, the Great Weaver hid them away within the tapestry. They are a great power that could unravel the tapestry.”

“But the threads of creation are still here today,” Jaron said, a confused look on his face, “Weavers use them to do many things.”

Now Matthew was really confused. Alexander seemed to read his confusion and explain, “He doesn’t mean weavers in relation to textiles. He means Weavers, those that can use the threads of power to do great and wonderful things.”

“Like magic?” Matthew asked.

“Many would frown at the use of that word, but yes,” Alexander said, he turned to Jaron, “The difference between what Weavers do and the Threads of Creation is great. A thread of power is similar to one of the Threads of Creation, but wholly different at the same time. The Threads of Creation are theorized to work together to create and destroy. However, a Weaver can only use one thread and to my knowledge, no Weavers have found a way to cast their weaves as a part of another’s.”

“So, what does that have to do with this?” Matthew asked, pointing to the chest.

Alexander nodded, “As I said, the Great Weaver hid the threads of power away in the tapestry. I believe that chest is a piece to where they were hidden.”

Jaron’s jaw hung open, staring at Alexander, but Matthew spoke, “So we just released a power capable to ultimate destruction and complete creation?”

“No,” Alexander said frankly, “At least I think not. This was too easy. The tapestry of creation is complex, and I’ve no doubt that the Threads of Creation are behind more than just one lock. I just wish I could figure out why it was we were tricked into releasing this one.”

Alexander’s voice trailed off in thought, but Matthew’s mind put a piece of the puzzle into place, “If we were the ones to release theses Threads of Creation, we would be the ones held responsible!” Alexander and Jaron both stared at him, “I’ve used it multiple times when stealing something. Misdirection. How many people knew why you were coming here tonight Jaron?”

The young man gave him a confused look before answering, “None. Well, I mean Celes knew, but other than her, there was no one.”

“And you Alexander?” Matthew turned to look at the other man.

“Captain Edbar,” he answered plainly.

“And for me it was Lord Bething, and I suppose Celes,” Matthew said, expecting another to piece everything together. When no one spoke, he went on, “If no one knew we were coming here, no one can support us when we try to defend ourselves. That leaves those that sent us to be able to operate freely with whatever they have planned and place any blame they have on us!”

The other’s eyes went wide as they realized what Matthew had already pieced together, “No one would suspect those that sent us,” Alexander said, realization clear in his voice, “And it would be their word against ours. For me, it would be the word of my commanding officer. For you Jaron, it would be Lady Celes, unless you have any proof of tying her to us.”

“The only proof I had is burned to ash,” Jaron said, his head hanging.

“And for me, it would be my word against Lord Bething. The word of a street thief against the word of a High Lord,” Matthew’s voice was weak.

The three stood there in silence for a few moments, each man internalizing the situation. Matthew’s mind raced through all the possibilities. He thought about what he could do to inform people of what had happened without linking himself to the situation. He thought about trying to ignore it. He thought about hiding out to let the situation settle. Each plan was crucially flawed in that the people involved knew too much about him for it to work. He thought of other plans, but each one led with him back in prison, or worse, dead.

“We have to stop what he have started,” Alexander said plainly.

Matthew looked up at him, an eyebrow arched, not understanding his words, but it was Jaron that spoke, “And how do we do that? Do you know anything about the Threads of Creation? Do you know how to seal back up what has been released? To lock away the most destructive power in the world?”

Alexander shook his head, “I don’t, but we have to do something.”

“Why?” Matthew asked, breaking his meditative silence, “why should we do anything? What can we do?”

“Why? Why do anything? It is our duty,” Alexander replied, his tone and words held that duty. The duty he felt responsible.

“Duty? I’m no soldier. I’m a thief. I have no duty to nothing but myself,” Matthew turned to walk away.

“What about Tavira,” Alexander said coldly and Matthew froze, “What about Vansen and the rest of your friends. Would you leave them to die because of something you did?”

“Alexander…” Jaron started.

Alexander cut Jaron off, “No! We are responsible for what happened here, whether we acknowledge that or not! What he had done here this night could destroy the world! No, not could, will destroy the world if we don’t try something! What are we to do, leave here and forget this ever happened? Sit back and watch as something we set loose is used to take everything we love, everything we know? I won’t do that!”

Matthew felt tears streaming down his face. In one of those visions, one of those possible lives, he had known his father. His father, in that memory, did what was right without regard for himself, and died doing so. Matthew could not know for certain that his father truly lived that way, but he wanted to think so. How could he be so weak? How could he be so selfish as to try and forget about all of this and surrender the people in his life over to their ultimate destruction?

“We’ll have to leave the city,” Matthew said, holding back any more tears. Holding back any sobs.

“What?” Jaron asked, turning to look at him.

Matthew looked up, eyes swollen, cheeks wet, “Alexander is right. Whether or not this is our fault, we are responsible for it. We have to try and stop what is happening,” Matthew made sure to meet each man’s eyes before continuing, “But we can’t do that here. Not in this city. We don’t know enough, and the people that do know what’s going on aren’t going to tell us. We need to leave Garlin. We need to try and find what information we can. We need to try and get ahead of them in this.”

“Dig a trench to stop the fire that is ravaging the forest,” Alexander said with a nod.

“That is a little bit too fitting I think,” Jaron said with a forced chuckle.

Matthew smiled, “We have to know more, and to learn that, we have to leave the city?”

“So where to?” Jaron asked, a light tone of sarcasm in his voice.

Matthew shook his head and Alexander spoke, “We can figure that out later. For now we just need to get out of the city before any questions start to get asked.”

“First we need to get out of here. Does that map show any other way out of the sewers?” Matthew asked, pointing at the rolled paper Alexander had tucked in his belt.

“I believe so, why?” Alexander asked, pulling the paper out to look it over.

Matthew shrugged, “If I were going to con a group of people into doing something for me, I would be waiting for them to come back out. I’d want to know everything that happened, and I would also want to keep a close eye on them with the information they probably now had.”

“You mean that someone is waiting for us up there?” Jaron asked, pointing up towards the ceiling of the stone room, though Matthew knew he meant back in the streets.

“It would make sense,” Alexander said, still examining the map, “However, I think I can get us out using a different path, and put us up somewhere they wouldn’t expect, even if they planned for such a likelihood.”

“Good, so, anyone else care to get out of here?” Matthew said with a laugh, his regular spirits returning a little. Everyone nodded and they started their way back up to the streets.

——————-

Wilric sat in the shadows outside the sewer grate along with four others. They sat waiting for three men to come out. They had been warned that they would likely be armed and to be prepared for them to be able to defend themselves. The instructions that had been given to Wilric, but that he had not passed on to the others, were that if they did not come out before mid-evening, they were to follow a map he had been given.

The map led them right though the grate and into the sewers. The few gold he and the others had been given was not enough to convince him to send any of the others in there, let alone go in himself. Wilric had heard that others groups such as theirs had been hired to watch other exits from the sewers, and no doubt they had been given the same instructions, so he would let them wade through that filth.

Wilric and his men had been sitting there, watching the grate for hours. There had been no sign of anyone entering, let along that anyone would come out. He began to question the sanity of his employer. But, gold was gold, whether the man giving it to you was sane or not.

Wilric strode down the street a short ways and kicked one of the men with his boot, “You’re up, it’s my turn to sleep for a bit now. Just wake me if anyone comes out.”

The man grunted and muttered something under his breath, but slowly stood and walked to the end of the street. Wilric had decided early on that four men with the skills his man had should be enough for three, even if they all knew how to handle themselves. So it made sense to him that while four watch, one could sleep. He sat on the packed dirt of the street and leaned back against the wall of the building, shutting his eyes and drifting into slumber.

———————-

Matthew was glad to be out of the sewers and back onto the streets. It was still evening, though it had felt like days down below the city. The route they had taken to avoid any detection had taken them nearly a quarter of the length of the city away, coming up in an alley, rather than on the wall.

Stretching, Matthew relished the clean air. Sure it was dusty, but it was without a doubt cleaner than anything below the city. The other two had come up before him and had already set off. Each one was on their way to gather up at least a little before they left the city. They could not afford to take much, but they would not last very long on the road without at least some supplies.

Matthew’s destination was Miktan’s. He started off in the direction of his place. Even with the street lamps doused and with only the night sky to illuminate his way, he had no trouble navigating the streets. The streets were his home. They were his life. Four years running through them, dodging guards, making getaways. Four years of his life were dedicated to the ground beneath his feet, and they repaid him by remaining the same.

It was not long before he was standing at the back door of Miktan’s house. He had thought about going through the front, but he knew that Miktan always left a way in for any of the crew through the back. Matthew ran his hand along the outside of the doorframe and came across the indentation he was looking for. He counted four bricks over and found the loose one. Pulling it out he retrieved the key. Just as he was about to use it, the door swung open. Jonson stood there, staring down at a shocked Matthew. It took all his strength not to run just then.

“Master Matthew, we have been expecting you for some time,” the red haired man said.

Matthew had always trusted the man, but in that light, with his voice, weary from being up so long, he thought he might be safer running. He swallowed the impulse and stepped through the doorway. Jonson motioned him towards the library and Matthew was willing herded that direction. Inside the room sat Miktan and Vansen. Both sat in one of the high-backed chairs, each one staring at him as he entered.

“What took you so long?” Vansen asked. Matthew was worried. It was rare that he did not have a smile, and there was no sign of one on his face now.

“Uh, well, I,” Matthew searched for what to say before finally deciding on the truth, “As I am sure you knew, I was in prison for a few days,” he chuckled, but neither man flinched, “and, well, this past evening, Lord Bething heard my case and had me released.”

Miktan cut in, “We know all of this. What we don’t know is why instead of coming straight here after your release, you are here now, late into the night.”

Matthew swallowed, it was louder than he had intended it to be, “Well, you see, there was a condition for my release. I had to do something for Lord Bething.”

The words just spilled from Matthew’s mouth. Everything from first meeting up with Alexander and Jaron to the Fire Hounds to the stone chest to the decisions they had made. He left out the part of the visions of possible lives. There was too much of those that he was still piecing together to reveal anything yet, though he did recount the final vision with the maps that were not really maps.

The two sat there, Vansen’s face was full blown shock, Miktan’s was more an expression of curiosity. He was the first to speak, “Threads of Creation you say?”

Matthew nodded, “Yes Miktan, I’m sure this sounds completely outrageous, but it is all true.”

The visions Matthew had seen under the city flashed back to him. In most of his visions he had been reunited with his father. In those visions, his father possessed the daggers now at Matthew’s back. The daggers that Miktan had told Matthew had belonged to Gabriel. The man in the visions who was Matthew’s father had been Braas. Matthew was not sure what to make of the visions, if they were honestly possible lives he might have had, or if they were just dreams that were pulled from his mind.

“I believe you Matthew,” the old man said rising to his feet and Matthew’s mind returned to the present, “The tale you have shared with us tonight is too unbelievably not to be true. I suppose we have better get you ready to travel.”

The man strode out of the room. Vansen remained sitting in his chair, the look of shock had been replaced by a new look of shock, if a little less. Matthew looked to Vansen before turning to follow Miktan out of the library. He found the man I the kitchen with two loaves of bread and some cheese and dried meats laid out on one of the counters. He had a piece of fabric that he was placing them on.

He tied the corners together and turned to Matthew, “That should be enough for the two of us at least for a short while.”

“The two of us?” Matthew asked, not understanding what the old storyteller meant.

“Do you really believe that I would let you, barely a man, go out into the world without my direction?” Miktan asked as if the answer were obvious.

“Miktan, no offense but…” Matthew began to argue but the old man cut him off.

“No offense but I don’t know anything about the world outside the walls of this city?” Miktan said mockingly, “Matthew my boy, I have seen more of this world that you could ever dream of. The young Lord Kensly knows barely more than you do probably. As for the Lieutenant, well, he’s a soldier Matthew. He sees things through the eyes of a soldier, not the eyes of a travelled bard.”

“Miktan, I can’t bring you in to this,” Matthew protested. Matthew’s mind again returned to the visions, comparing them to the information Miktan had given him.

“I’ll hear none of it. Come on now, we’d better grab the clothes you have here, and I’ll want something a little different to. Can’t ride a horse in these,” he said motioning to his clothes.

Miktan strode back out of the kitchen carrying the bundle of food. Jonson stood in the doorway staring at Matthew, “Jonson, he’s insane.”

“Indeed Master Matthew,” the manservant agreed with a nod of his head, “but I learned long ago that it is best to do as he says when he gets like this.”

Matthew threw up his arms in aggravation and strode after Miktan. When he got to the room near the top of the stairs he threw open the door took two steps in and froze. There, sitting up on the bed, her red hair framing in her face. Her blue eyes froze him mid-step. It was Tavira. In his haste he had almost forgotten about her.

“And I suppose that you are the cause for all this commotion that woke me up?” She said as if the answer was obvious, which it was.

“Tavira, I’m sorry,” Matthew began to apologize, “I didn’t know you were in here. I should leave, let you get back to sleep. I, I am so sorry.”

Matthew was half turned around when he truly realized who was in the bed. He knew well and good it was Tavira, but it was as if he had forgotten what had happened to her. It was not just Tavira in the bed, it was Tavira, who had been stabbed, in the bed.

He spun back around, his vision spinning slightly as he did so, “Are you all right?”

Tavira smiled then, “I was beginning to think that you had forgotten. I’m fine.”

Matthew was immediately at her side, kneeling down on the floor, “I am so sorry, it’s all my fault. I’d noticed the man in the streets but didn’t realize that he was following us until it was too late. Then I don’t know what came over me. It was all a blur, as if I was watching it happen with no control over what I was doing.”

Tavira halted him with a raise of her hand, “I am fine Matthew. I’m fine, you’re fine, Vansen’s fine. We are all fine. You don’t need to apologize,” she rolled her eyes, “Burn my thread, Vansen has apologized more than enough the past couple days. I’m just glad that you’re safe Matthew and maybe now things can get back to normal.”

Matthew’s heart sunk, “I wish it could, Tavira, but something’s happened.”

“What’re you doing boy, we don’t have time for this,” Miktan said, stepping into the room.

“What do you mean? Matthew, what’s going on?” Tavira asked. Panic filled her eyes as they darted from Matthew to Miktan and back to Matthew.

“Miktan is right, I really don’t have time to explain right now,” Matthew stood, unable to look Tavira in the eye any longer, and walked over to the wardrobe.

Miktan began to explain what he could to Tavira as Matthew gathered up the three fine suits that had been made for them. He placed them gingerly on a light blanket before going back to the wardrobe. Miktan had taken the liberty it seemed, to have another outfit made, though this was not of the same fine style the originals were. This was something closer to what he would wear, something more common.

He took the leather britches, looking them over, and set them with the fine clothes. There were two decent shirts, finer than what he was use to, but most things were. They were of a sturdy, light materials with cord at the neck that could be tied, as well as cord at the wrists. Matthew took everything that belonged to him from the wardrobe, leaving nothing that he could use. Wrapping them up in the blanket he turned to look at Miktan and Tavira.

“I’m ready to go,” he said to Miktan, both he and Tavira turning to look at him when he spoke.

Tavira was crying. She sobbed as she watched Matthew, eyes red and cheeks wet. Vansen was in the room now, sitting on the bed next to her, and arm around her shoulders for comfort. Matthew wanted to be there to, comforting her, telling her that he did not actually have to leave. But he knew the danger that would bring and the duty that Alexander had made clear was his. He could not stay now.

“I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can,” Matthew said, not able to bring himself to speak the final words of ‘goodbye’.

Miktan strode over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “We should be going now.”

Matthew held back tears, not wanting to make Tavira’s pain any worse, and left the room with Miktan. Heading out into the night once again.

Chapter 18 - Visions

2010-04-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

The scene around Matthew was hectic, but it always was as his family prepared for a feast. This one would be no different. A tall woman stood on the raised platform of the small banquet hall, directing servants. Meda, the mistress of servants, echoed her orders, pointing at specific servants who ran off to their duties. Matthew smiled as he approached his mother, leaping from the floor to the platform.

The woman was beautiful in her flowing green dress, Matthew’s father’s favorite color. Her dark brown hair almost seemed black in the shadows cast from not having all the torches and chandeliers lit. Her deep green eyes took everything in. There was not a servant that escaped her critical eye.

His mother turned to him, smiling, “It is good to see you son, how was your hunting trip?”

Matthew placed a light kiss on her cheek before speaking, “We didn’t see anything, but it was enjoyable all the same.”

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, she began to look back out into the room before looking back, “Your father wants to speak with you, though I’m not sure what for. He should be in the library.”

“Thank you mother, I will see you at dinner?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course,” she said, her smile causing him to smile back, “I would not miss it.”

Matthew turned from his mother, jogging away. He steadied the sword bouncing on his hip. He had never really been comfortable with the weapon, finding it unruly, but nobles wearing swords was the way things were done in Garlin. He took a door and continued jogging down the hall on the other side.

The manor his family lived in was not large by the standards of the other nobles in the city, and it was dwarfed by the keeps the high nobles lived in. Even though it was not large, Matthew liked it. It seemed right for his family. The estates of the other nobles seemed gaudy to him, with the exception of the Kensly estate. He found the Kensly estate to be similar to their own, not flaunting their wealth, but simply living in comfort.

Matthew made a mental note that he should invite Jaron on his next hunting trip. The younger boy was always going on about being stuck in his manor, too busy for anything else. A hunting trip would do him well, and would teach him more than his books ever did.

Stopping before the door of the library, Matthew arranged his clothes, insuring everything was as it was suppose to be. When he was satisfied he opened the door and stepped through. Examining the scene, he found his father and Miktan sitting across from one another, each sitting in one of the many high backed chairs found in the room. Between them sat a table with a board set up on it for a game of Runes.

Matthew had never been a fan of the game, not having a mind for strategy. He had managed to beat his father a few times, but it was no where near that amount of times he had lost. Matthew relied more on his wit and quick mind to get out of situations. His father had often commented that he would do as well as a thief as he would a noble.

“Matthew,” his father said, waving him over to join them, “I see you managed to survive your hunt. How was it?”

Matthew chuckled as he pulled a chair up to the table, “I afraid we didn’t see a thing. Next time though, I’m sure of it.”

“Of course,” Miktan said, examining the board.

The older man, older than his father by a good ten years at least, chewed on the stem of a hand carved pipe. Smoke curled from the bowl. From its scent, Matthew figured it to be a Uganan blend.

“Mother said you wanted to see me?” Matthew said, forming the statement into a question.

“Yes,” his father said, placing a carved tile of wood on the board before standing, “I was thinking about the trip you are so adamant to take.”

Matthew’s curiousity rose. He had mentioned the idea to his father on multiple occasions. Miktan often told Matthew tales of the travels he had taken with Matthew’s father before the men decided to settle in Garlin. The stories and intrigued Matthew. The intrigued him so much that he had requested that he be allowed to travel as well. He thought that he had phrased the requests quite well, stating that he wanted to see the world and that his travels would better prepare him for any obstacles he may face later in his life.

Matthew’s father picked up a small carved chest and brought it back to the table, setting it down before speaking again, “I have spoken with your mother and have agreed to allow you to take your trip,” Matthew’s excitement was held back at his father’s raised hand, “We have rules that we want to lay down, but we will go over them at dinner. However, I know that you have never really taken to the sword,” Matthew’s father pointed at the blade at his hip as if Matthew did not realize it was there.

“As such,” his father opened the chest, “I wanted to give you these,” from the chest he pulled two daggers.

The twin blades were each about the length of Matthew’s forearm. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before. The metal was black as night and the light from the lamps set around the room seemed to dance off them. Only one edge was sharpened, with a slight curved. Worn leather wrapped the hilts, a dark brown, though it almost looked black against the metal.

“These served me well in my travels during my youth,” he looked up at Miktan before continuing, “I want you to take them. They are excellent weapons, but, as with any weapon, its usefullness…”

“Depends on whether you need to use it or not,” Matthew said finishing the quote.

“You’ve taught the boy well,” Miktan said around his pipe, arching an eyebrow at his old friend.

“I just hope I’ve taught him well enough,” his father said as he handed the blades over to Matthew.

Matthew carefully took the daggers, turning them in the light to examine them more closely, “Thank you father, they are magnificent.”

“You’re welcome, I only hope you never have to use them,” his father said, a look in his eye that seemed to say more than his words.

“Well Braas, do you have any more gifts for the boy, or can we get back to our game?” Miktan asked, sounding irritated as he motioned at the runes board with his pipe.

“Very well, run along Matthew, I’m sure there is some young girl who’s heart needs breaking or something,” Braas said with a laugh.

Matthew chuckled as he stood, sliding the dagger into his belt. He noticed a small stone chest setting in the corner of the library. Paying it no mind he left the room.

Flash.

Matthew stared at the man who had just killed his father. He had just been brought into the family business. They had decided to rob House Danar, to take from the man that had stolen from the people of Garlin for years. Someone must have gone to Lord Danar and told him of their plan. It was the only explanation. There was no reason for Lord Danar himself to be waiting for them in his vault, along with six of his personal guards, each one with blades bared as Matthew and his father had come through the door. His father had managed to kill one and injure another before a sword pierced him through completely.

Lord Danar laughed, “What will you do now boy? You’re father, Braas the Shadow-Walker lies dead at my feet. Before long you will join him. A pity that your mother could not have joined us this night. I suppose I will have to send a messenger to her to inform her of your demise. Or perhaps I will just send an assassin, so that she can join you in the afterlife.”

Matthew threw the knife in his right had straight at the man. One of the guards threw himself in front of it, taking the blade hilt deep in the neck. He gasped as he fell to the ground, writhing as he suffocated. Matthew paid the man no attention as he threw two more knives, making a mental note of how many he had left. The two knives sailed through the air, catching one guard in the shoulder and another in the chest, just above his heart.

The guard with a knife in his shoulder dropped the sword he held, the arm now useless. The second guard pulled the knife from his chest, glancing at it before throwing it to the ground. Matthew smiled, knowing what was about to happen. One man jerked violently, falling to the ground. The other guard looked at the now fallen guard, confused, but he too jerked and fell.

Lord Danar looked at the two men in surprise before looking to stare at Matthew who drew two more daggers from his belt, “Poison,” Matthew explained, “I coat some of my knives with it. It’s rather painless, or so I’ve been told, but extremely effective.”

Lord Danar and his guards looked at him, not entirely sure what kind of situation they were in. Lord Danar threw up an arm to point at him, “Kill him! Now!” He shouted.

The two remaining guard charged at him, one’s arm limp at his side. Blood flowed from the deep wound Matthew’s father had managed to land, cutting the man’s upper arm almost to the bone. Matthew let another dagger fly, straight at the injured man, not even watching to see if it hit. It was the last of his poisoned daggers. He drew a new blade, his last, from his belt and readied for the charging guard.

The guard was rigid, rehearsed in his sword forms. That would be his downfall. One on one against a swordsman, Matthew had never lost. It was too ease to read a sword. The man swung, the blade coming straight down. Matthew easily sidestepped the blade and struck out. He stabbed into the man’s left thigh. Not waiting, Matthew spun around to the guard’s back. A quick cut along the man’s lower back caused him to fall. Matthew reached around the man’s neck and cut his throat, never stopping his motion. He finally came to a stop right next to his father’s lifeless body, glaring at Lord Danar.

The man stood, eyes wide, mouth gaping at the scene before him. He had watched as a young man, only barely not a boy, killed five of his elite guard, leaving him standing alone in the room with him. His mouth worked as if he meant to say something, but no sound came out.

Matthew knelt down, shutting the glazed eyes of his father. He picked up the black blades his father had always kept with him. A good luck charm he called them. Not tonight. His knuckles went white as he gripped the hilts. The worn leather creaked in his hands. He stood, glaring at Lord Danar.

The man put up his hands, his sword dropping to the floor, “Wait, wait! Please, don’t kill me, I can give you money, power, whatever you could want!”

Matthew charged, leaping into the air, blades ready to strike. The man tripped on something and fell to the ground. At the man’s feet sat a small stone chest. Matthew began to descend, ignoring the chest, ready to kill.

Flash

Matthew and his father stood before the gravestone. Matthew had read the inscription hundreds of times since his mother’s death, but no matter how many times he read it, tears always came. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to comfort him.

Every year on the day of his mother’s death, he and his father came together to mourn. It was the only day that Matthew saw his father. He still blamed that man for her death. His father just could not let go. He could not give up the life of stealing, and it had cost them her life. Braas the Shadow-Walker could not bring himself to give up the glory he had made for himself. Not until that day. It was a day too late in Matthew’s eyes.

The twin blades, the Shadow-Blades his father always called them, sat set into the stone monument. They shone in the bright sunlight. Matthew’s father ran a finger along one of the blades, a look of longing in his eyes. Matthew could not tell if he longed to have the blades again or if he longed to have his wife back, but he did not care. Either one would be too much for the man.

Matthew turned to leave and noticed something sitting off to the right of the monument. It was a small stone chest. Something about it seemed familiar to Matthew, but he could not tell what it was. Not wanting to spend another moment at his mother’s grave.

Flash

The warehouse was empty, the rest of the crew gone. All of them had been arrested, the last ones caught trying to rob Lord Danar’s vault. Matthew was the only one left. He walked around the large, empty space, taking note of all the little things left behind. A small blanket one of them had managed to take from the orphanage when they were kicked out. A poorly sewn doll. A single copper fang, a hole punched through it and placed on a cord, kept by one of them to remember how little they had started out with.

He walked into the old office, hoping to find more memories in there. Inside the room he found little. An old desk that had been left behind before they ever purchased the building, along with the simple wooden chair that sat behind it. Matthew moved behind the desk and pulled the chair back, sitting down. As he stretched his legs out underneath the desk, he kicked something.

Moving out of the chair and dropping to his knees, he climbed into the small area under the desk. He found something that felt like a stone cube, though in the absence of light he could not make anything out. He pulled the cube out from under the desk. In the light he could see that it was a stone chest.

He reached for the latch and slowly pulled it open. The lid was heavy, and did not have any hinges he could make out, but it swung open and a bright light engulfed him.

Matthew’s vision cleared and he was not sure what was before him. It looked almost like a map. He had seen maps before, merchants often sold them, thinking that someone might like to buy one to hang in their home. Their maps were different, just lines drawn on paper to show mountain ranges, rivers, lakes and cities; or sometimes it laid out the different countries of the world and roads from city to city.

This map was different. It seemed almost real, as if it were truly living. He could make out mountains that looked like mountains, great pieces of earth jutting into the sky, some gray, others brown, and some topped with white. He could make out the rivers, seeming to flow into lakes and oceans. He could see roads leading from city to city.

There was a flash of light from one of the cities and it began to burn. From its location, Matthew thought it was Garlin. The flames spread out, consuming everything they touched. The ring of flame continued to spread, in its wake, nothing was left behind. There was only darkness. No, not darkness; emptiness.

Suddenly eight streams of color shot out from Matthew; red, blue, brown, green, yellow, gray, black and white. He was not sure what the colors represented, but there was a sense of familiarity when he looked at them. The streams broke away from his body, all but one. The black stream seemed to linger, as if caught on something. Finally it too broke away and merged with the others.

As the streams came together, they seemed to make something. It was as if they were part of a weaving of sorts. They wrapped around one another, again and again. Colors began to blend together, the original lost in something new. Slowly a new image came into being. It was a new map.

This new map was not unlike the original. It shared mountains and rivers, lakes and oceans. Matthew could make out rolling plains and harsh deserts. However, the placement of things were different. The land masses did not look like the previous ones. Mountains were not where they were suppose to be, nor were the rivers, lakes and oceans.

It suddenly hit Matthew, something that was in the original by not in the new; Cities. There were no cities. What he looked at now was similar to what he had seen, but now it was as if all signs of civilization were gone. It was as if the races of the world had completely disappeared.

Then the image began to fade into the distance. It was as if Matthew was falling away from it. Falling towards what he did not know. He did not feel the sensation of falling. He felt nothing at all. Then there was darkness. True darkness.

Chapter 17 - What Lies Beneath

2010-04-12T00:01:00.000-04:00

The stench in the sewers was horrible. Matthew knew that it was bad from the few times he passed near a street runoff after a storm, but being in the tunnels themselves was far worse. He could just barely make out large rats that scurried away as the torch light neared them, their black bead-like eyes seeming to curse the foreigners before they disappeared further into the tunnels.

“This is grotesque,” Jaron commented as he watched something float down the waterway to their right.

Matthew laughed, but cut it short to limit the amount of foul air he took in, “Is it as great as the adventures you dreamed you would have?”

Jaron shot Matthew a look, but held his tongue. Matthew could hear Alexander chuckling from in front of the two. He had taken the lead, and Jaron and Matthew did not argue. For Matthew, it had little to do with whether the older man held the torch or not, but Alexander knew how to handle himself. Matthew could tell from his stride, and the way his right hand stayed on his sword, ready to draw at a moments notice.

The three stayed quite for most of the trip, none wanting to speak as they went deeper and the stench of the sewers got worse. Eventually they came to a set of stairs that went deeper, breaking off from the waterway. Alexander said nothing as he turned and started down the stairs. Matthew assumed that the man’s instructions had covered getting to where ever it was they were going, as his did not.

“Do you know where you are going?” Jaron asked, his voice echoing through the small stairwell and down the tunnel behind them.

Alexander did not turn to look at them as he spoke, “I am just following the instructions I was given. If they are correct, then at the bottom of these stairs we should find a door with a unique locking mechanism.”

Matthew and Jaron gave each other a curious look, but kept quiet. The stairs seemed to travel down forever. The stone of the walls began to change, looking older and less worked. The stairs changed too. They went from the steep, shallow stairs that were part of the sewers, to wide stairs that were almost platforms.

What made Matthew feel the most uncomfortable was that darkness before them. Usually Matthew felt comfortable in darkness, but this darkness was different. He was use to the shadows of the city. A city he was familiar with. This was different, unfamiliar, and he could not shake the feeling that something was not right.

Alexander stopped, his torch illuminating what seemed to be a door with no knob. Alexander crouched to examine the door, but finally stood, shaking his head.

“Let me look at it,” Matthew said, stepping forward, “Just keep the torch light on it.”

He inspected the door closely, running his hands along the the frame, if it could be called that, and along the area where the knob or handle would normally be. He felt nothing strange, and saw even less. When he turned to look back, something caught his eye near the bottom of the wall to the right of the door. Taking the torch from Alexander he thrust it towards what he had seen. Near the bottom, almost completely covered by waste left by the overflow from the waterways above, was a small hole.

Matthew pushed some of the mess away from the hole with his boot and crouched down to examine the hole more closely. It began at the floor and was only just large enough for a hand to be put into it. He carefully slid his hand and arm in, moving slowly in case it was trapped in some way. Feeling around, he felt a level. He moved it slightly to find how it worked before finally pushing it away.

There was a loud thunk that came from the direction of the door. Alexander pushed on it, but there did not seem to be any difference. Matthew took the torch and began examining the walls to each side of the platform. He soon found and identical hole, exactly opposite from the first he had found. He cleared away the area and found the level inside, pushing it away from him. There was another noise, identical to the first, but again nothing happened.

Matthew thought for a moment before looking to his companions, “Maybe both levers have to be used at the same time. One of you use the other lever, pushing it away from you at the same time I use this one.”

Jaron moved to the other wall, kneeling down with a disgusted frown at the mess on the floor, “Ready?” He asked, looking back at Matthew who nodded back to him, “Now.”

Matthew pushed his lever and a loud crash came from the door. A moment after the noise the door slid down into the floor. Stale air blew past them. From the air, it was obvious that the door had not been opened for ages. Alexander took back the torch and thrust it through the door. The light from the small torch barely touched the darkness of whatever was beyond. Matthew estimate that the cavern had to be massive.

Alexander stepped through the now open door. Matthew had hoped at first that the stale air would be a welcome difference from the sewage tainted air they had been breathing, but though the doorway was little better. The smell of sewage was weaker, but a different scent filled the area they now stood.

The torch moved through the space they stood, Alexander trying to see what the darkness hid. Finally the light reflected off something. Matthew at first thought it was water, but when the torch neared it, it ignited. A trail of flame traveled the across the wall, heading down. It lit a stairway that seemed to be carved from the stone of the wall.

Matthew watched as the flame traveled along the wall, racing across the liquid contained in the trough. The size of the cavern soon became clear to him. It was enormous. Matthew was certain that all the keeps of all the lord in Garlin would not fill the empty space. The flame finally curved around to where it was hidden by the platform the three men stood on.

“What is this place?” Jaron spoke, even the whisper seemed to echo throughout the room.

Alexander was the next to speak, just as quiet as Jaron had been, “I have no idea, but to think that this is hidden underneath Garlin. Who knew of this place?”

Matthew remained silent, awe holding his tongue. Alexander was the first to move, beginning down the stairs. The other two quickly followed, not wanting to be left behind. As Alexander put his weight down on the fourth step, there was a click from behind them. They all turned just in time to see that stone door slide back up into place, trapping them.

Jaron rushed back to the door, searching, but Matthew’s eyes saw what his glanced over. On this side of the door, where the handle and keyhole would normally be, was an indentation in the stone. Matthew walked over, placing a hand on Jaron’s shoulder to calm him and pointed at the indentation.

The indentation was a smooth, half-circle carved into the solid stone. Even spaced apart in the half-circle was a hole, not even large enough for Matthew to place his little finger in.

“Looks like we’ll need a key,” Matthew said, turning to look away and into the empty space of the cavern, “I just hope it is in here somewhere.”

Alexander started down the steps again, Matthew and Jaron close behind. The steps followed the wall of the cavern, a slow curve due to the size of the underground chamber. Alexander had extinguished the torch, no longer needed due to the oil fed flames that lit the expanse.

After nearly ten minutes of following the stairs, Matthew could finally make out where they ended. Using the distance they had already travelled as a judge, Matthew estimated that it would take them nearly half an hour to reach the bottom of the cavern. Jaron groaned and Matthew assumed that he had made the same judgement, but the group continued on.

Matthew took the time to examine what waited for the three at the bottom of the chamber. He could not really make out any details, but the general idea of the area seemed clear to him. About fifty paces from the ending of the stairs was a cube, Matthew assumed of stone. It looked small from that distance, but he used the stairs to approximate the size and guessed it to be roughly one hundred paces square. He could not estimate the height, but he guessed it would be at least that tall.

He continued to examine the area. As they grew nearer the bottom, and moved around so that what Matthew had marked as the front of the cube was in view, he noticed something else. In front of the cube stood two gargoyles. Matthew had seen such carved guardians on the walls of the keeps in Garlin. Most of them were ghoulish creatures, though some nobles preferred less horrific statues to mark their home.

These were something completely different. While the statues were usually basically human, though they may have claws or wings, occasionally they were sculpted with fangs or gaping maws. The statues outside the cube looked like sleek dogs. They had to be at least two times are large as any dog Matthew had ever seen in the city, but that was the only real difference.

The massive dogs looked to be carved from stone colored black as night. The sat on raised platforms to either side of the path that led from the stairs to the cube. They looked like noble beasts; like a loyal guard hound, well bred and kept. They sat back on their hind legs, heads held high, mouths closed.

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Jaron commented, “Such magnificent statues. I wonder would carved them, and how old they are, to be down here?”

The trough of oil and fire travelled along both sides of the path. A section of the trough somewhere must have split off and traveled inside the wall of the cavern, as the second trough to the right of the path seemed to flow straight out of the wall, though it was completely aflame.

The three moved forward, moving towards the massive raised statues. The hair on the back of Matthew’s neck stood straight. Something felt wrong. That is when he saw something on the other side of the flames from them, off to the left. It was an arm, or at least it had been an arm. All that remained was the bone.

“Alexander,” he said, pointing at the bones.

The others turned to look, “It looks like others have tried to come down here before,” the older man commented.

A snarl came from further down the path. The three spun to see one of the statues jump down from its platform. The other stretched where it was before hopping down to join its twin. The eyes of the massive creatures seemed to reflect the fires to either side of them. Jaron’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open, and Matthew was sure his face was a mirror to the other man’s. Alexander showed a glimpse of surprise, but it disappeared as his sword flew from its sheathe.

Seeing Alexander draw his sword seemed to spark something in Jaron who did the same. The statues never flinched as the ring of steel filled the empty area. Alexander stood strong, feet firmly planted, stance deliberate. Jaron looked to be doing his best to imitate that man, but his apprehension was clear as his eyes darted around and his sword shook in his hand.

Matthew slowly moved backwards, increasing the distance between him and the hounds as he drew the black daggers from their sheathes. He watched the animals, he believed them to be living creatures now, not just moving statues. The idea of moving statues seemed absurd, but so did the idea of the two massive creatures that now stood before him.

One of the large hounds barked, the cry echoing throughout the cavern. As the jaws of the creature opened it revealed flames. Matthew then realized what he had believed to be reflections in the beasts eyes were not, it was as if someone had taken a fire and wrapped the pelt of a dog around it.

The two groups stood watching each other, the dogs pacing back and forth, keeping any from getting past them to the stone wall with two large doors. Matthew had not noticed the doors before, but now saw that the massive stone cube was actually a building of sorts. His curiosity grew, wondering what it was inside the building.

Before he could figure out what secrets were held in the building, they would have to get by the creatures that blocked their path. The beasts watched, never flinching, not making any noise since the first bark. Matthew’s eyes darted to Alexander and Jaron, both stood still. Matthew realized he two had stopped moving backwards, probably when the hound had barked.

Suddenly Alexander darted towards one of the massive dogs. Neither creature wasted any time. The one Alexander threatened leapt back, jaws snapping. The other ran past the older man and darted towards Jaron. The other young man leapt to one side, the large jaws of the creature just missing his leg. Jaron hit the floor hard but managed to roll into a crouching position.

Matthew was shocked to see the noble rush back in at the beast. He swung his sword with practiced control, but the hound easily dodged the strike. The two stared each other down, the hound now unsure of his prey, and Jaron now committed to the fight.

Matthew was frozen in place, unable to move. His instincts told him to run, get away, leave the others to fend for themselves. Something else told him he was bound to these men now, and if they died, there was little chance he would outlive them for long.

Alexander was almost twenty paces away now, sword flashing at the beast. The beast’s fangs and claws struck out, hoping to catch Alexander, but the man was too fast, too agile. Matthew still stood frozen. His mind raced going over every possibility and every one seemed to end in their lying dead on the floor, food for these creatures.

It was the cry of one of the hounds that broke his thinking. Alexander had managed to strike flesh with one of his blows and his hound now limped on its right front leg. The wound seemed to embolden the older man, who wasted no time striking out again. The hound leapt back again and collapsed on his wounded leg, allowing Alexander to make contact again, another strike across the chest of the beast. Dark red, almost black blood oozed from the wounds.

Jaron’s eyes moved to see what was going on. As he looked away the second hound leapt at him. Matthew moved without thinking. He rushed at the creature, gripping the daggers tightly. Any thought of running away vanished as Matthew charged.

The hound’s head turned to see the oncoming threat. His front paws hit the ground, barely a single pace from Jaron for the massive beast. The hound pivoted, his next leap towards Matthew. Another leap and the jaws opened, ready to tear Matthew’s throat. Matthew threw himself to the ground, sliding underneath that black beast. He struck out with one of his daggers and felt the blade pierce flesh.

The beast howled as the blade ripped through muscle. Jaron stopped sliding as he heard the large dog land hard on the path behind him. As Matthew rose to his feet, Jaron blew past him at a full run. The hound turned just in time for Jaron to drive his sword into its flank.

The hound cried out again, snapping at Jaron. He jumped back, the sword still sticking out of the shoulder of the beast. Matthew took the opportunity to charge again. The beast was having trouble standing. Matthew’s cut had been along the beast’s abdomen and blood poured from the wound. Between the grievous injury and Jaron’s sword in its shoulder, the beast stumbled.

Matthew leapt into the air, landing on the beasts back. Before the animal could react, Matthew drove twin blades into the hound’s neck, just behind its ears. The beast howled again and flames flew from its mouth as if whatever held them inside the beast was gone. Matthew withdrew his blades and jumped off the creature, creating distance between himself and the beast. Jaron dashed in, grabbing his sword and pulling it from the hound’s shoulder before running to join Matthew.

The beast continued to howl, fire streaming from its mouth as it did so. Then, as if the flames could no longer be contained, the entire creature ignited. The flames were only a flash, but the beast was completely burned away. All that remained was a scorched area on the path to signify that something had burned there.

There was another howl and sudden flash of heat from behind Matthew. He spun to see Alexander lowering his arm from his eyes, a similar scorch mark on the ground a few paces from the older man. The cavern grew silent as the echoes of the howl died away. The only noise was the dull roar of the oil fed flames.

The three men came together, each one breathing heavily, though Alexander seemed to be breathing less hard that Jaron and Matthew. They looked each other for a moment before each one scanned the room around them for signs of any other danger to their lives.

“What were those things?” Jaron asked, looking to Alexander for an answer.

The other man rolled his shoulders as he took a cloth from his belt and wiped the blood from his sword, “I can’t be sure, but they seemed to match the description of a Fire Hound a little too well for my tastes.”

Matthew took the cloth, offered to him by Alexander and wiped his own blades clean before offering it to Jaron as the other man began to speak, “Fire Hounds? I thought there were none left. I was taught that they were hunted to extinction thousands of years ago, being too violent and unpredictable to be allowed to ravage that lands any longer.”

“That is what I learned too, but, dogs the size of a small horse that seem to contain fire within them and are engulfed by those flames when they die? Sounds like what we just experienced doesn’t it?” Alexander said plainly.

Jaron began to wipe his sword, “I suppose, but still, to imagine they could survive down here for so long.”

“I would imagine they managed to survive in some sort of hibernation, only waking when someone approached them. They seemed to be the guardians of whatever is down here.” Alexander theorized, taking the cloth from Jaron and throwing it into one of the nearby troughs of fire.

Matthew shook his head before speaking, “I could really care less what they were. They are dead now and we still have to get whatever it is we are down here to get.”

“Agreed,” Alexander said, turning to look at the large doors of the building beyond, “Let’s go.”

Neither Jaron nor Matthew protested as the man led them down the path. Matthew’s eyes continually looked over the room. He still held his daggers, not wanting to sheathe them should a new threat present itself. When they reached the doors, it was apparent that they two were made of stone, though they were carved to resemble iron bound, wooden doors.

Alexander began to push on one of the doors and it ground heavily against the floor, moving barely a fingers with before Alexander stopped, releasing a breath. He motioned for Jaron and Matthew to help him. The three of them began to push and the door moved. Slowly at first, but it was not long before they had it open far enough for them to move into the room beyond, one at a time. As Matthew stepped through the door he was engulfed by a bright light, blinding light.

Chapter 16 - Into the Night

2010-04-08T00:01:00.000-04:00

Alexander glanced at the letter from General Therad one last time. The information given to him by Captain Edbar said that tonight would be when Alexander and the men chosen by Lord Bething would venture under the city. He had been uncomfortable with the idea, but understood the importance of stopping any that would use the weapon, Alexander did not know what it was but had begun to think of whatever it was as a weapon, would use the weapon to harm those he was sworn to protect.

He stood from the chair behind the sturdy desk and made his way out of the office and into the hallway. Men were scattered along the hall, some heading to the rooms assigned to them further down, others making their way to the mess to get a late supper. Almost all saluted to Alexander as he made his way amongst them, and he returned the salute, but other than that paid them no mind.

He was looking for Jogan. He had written instructions of Jogan, should Alexander fail to accomplish the task set before him. He asked one of his riders if they had seen Alexander’s second, and he was told that Jogan was last seen in the mess. Entering the large dining room, Alexander scanned the faces of those there. Jogan found Alexander first, standing and walking towards him.

“Lieutenant, care to join me and some of the men for a meal?” The large man asked with a smile.

Alexander shook his head, “I wish I could friend, but I have a task to do,” Alexander took the letter sealed with the mark of the sixth cavalry unit and pressed it into the other man’s hand, “If for any reason I don’t come back by morning, I want you to open this and do exactly as it says.”

“Is there a problem Lieutenant?” Jogan asked, worry marking his face.

“I don’t know,” Alexander said, “I hope not. However, I don’t want to take any chances. Do you understand me?”

“If you are not back by morning,” Jogan nodded, reciting what Alexander had said.

“Good,” Alexander stiffened and saluted the man. Before even waiting to see if Jogan returned the gesture, Alexander was back out the door.

He made his way out into the night of the city. The guards at the gate to the compound paid him no mind as he made his way past them. Alexander breathed heavily. Something did not feel right, but he could not place what it was. He grabbed one of the night patrol torches and lit it in one of the braziers that stood to each side of the gate. Holding it out in front of him he made he way.

The streets were nearly empty, with most people in the homes enjoying dinner with their families. Those that were on the streets yet gave him polite nods as he walked along. He did not rush himself, not wanting to raise any suspicions, but he was deliberate. He stopped for nothing, wasting no time getting to his destination.

He appeared to be the first to arrive at the grate in the city wall he had been told was the meeting place. A torch mount was driven into the wall near the grate. Alexander placed his torch in it and leaned against the wall, waiting for whoever else was suppose to arrive.

————————-

Jaron sat at the desk in his bedchamber. He looked over the instructions Celes had sent to him. It was all vague. He was to meet some others near a grate in the wall of the city. It listed the intersection, but not who he was to meet. It aggravated him that he did not have all the information. Celes had warned that they could not risk revealing too much information, but he wished that he had something more.

He glanced down at himself. He did not wear his usual clothes. Instead of the finely made garments he was use to, these clothes were simple. They fit well enough, but they were loose in some areas, and tighter in others. He had found a servant that was about his size and asked if he could borrow some simple clothes. The servant didn’t question Jaron about why he needed anything simple, he simply did as he was asked. Jaron thought that the man must have assumed it an order, and was sure that he would not do anything to disobey one of the members of the house.

He looked out the window, the sun was disappearing behind the city walls. Standing, he moved to the door. He had to make it out of the manor without being noticed, or at least without anyone knowing his true intentions. Should word reach his father that he left the manor without first informing him, he had no doubt, regardless of what Lord Kensly had said at the banquet a few nights ago, that Jaron would be in a depth of trouble he would not soon escape.

He listened at the door and not hearing anyone, stepped out into the hall. The sword on his hip rattled a bit at his jerky motions, but Jaron held a hand around it to muffle any other noises it would make. He hurried down the hall, taking care to check around corners before hurrying along. It was strange that the halls were so empty, he was use to seeing servants bustling about, cleaning and organizing the items that decorated the corridors. They tended to do so later in the day, when the members of the family were resting and not likely to be walking between rooms.

He came to a corner and froze as he heard a woman humming. He pressed himself against the wall and looked. Five paces from him, in the hall he needed to take, stood a serving woman dusting a table decorated with fresh flowers in a silver vase. Jaron cursed under his breathe and he ducked back. He thought maybe he could find his way around the woman, but it would take time, and there was still a chance that he would be found elsewhere.

He took a chance and dashed around the corner, blowing past her. She looked up to see who was running through the hall, but could only make out his back. He hoped that she took him as a servant late for one of his duties. She said nothing, at least nothing audible to him, and he disappeared around another corner.

Finally he made it to one of the side doors that led out to the outer gardens. He had thought about whether it would be a good idea to go through the main gates, but too many of the guards knew his face, and would no doubt question where he was going, especially dressed as he was, and with a sword. Instead, he decided that it would be better to climb the western wall. At that time in the day, the wall would be covered in shadow, and it was unlikely that any guards would be patrolling the gardens, unless his mother or father were there.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Jaron tried to look every way at once. He did not see anyone. Only a few of the torches were even lit, which signaled to Jaron that the gardens were probably empty. He dashed across the lush grasses, paying no mind to the stone walkways. Reaching the stone wall, he searched for a handhold. Finding one he started his climb. The inside of the wall was rough stone, which Jaron’s mother thought added to the look of a natural environment in the garden. Jaron had spent more time than he should have as a young child trying to scale the wall, which he imagined to be a cliff.

He had not tried to climb the wall for a few years now, but since then he had grown much stronger, and thought that it should be no trouble. The wall was only three or four paces tall. He grasped a decent handhold and began his ascent. The first few handholds were easily found, but he began to notice that the higher he got, the more difficult it was to find places to put his hands and feet.

Jaron was grasping for another place to take hold of, to pull himself up, when he felt his right foot begin to slide. His eyes shot to the top of the wall, he estimated that it was a foot higher than his outstretched hand. He gathered as much strength as he could and pushed himself up before his foot could fall off. He just barely grabbed hold of the top of the wall.

He took hold with his other hand and shifted to better his grip. As he did so, he heard a door close. He did not know where from, but he was too close to give up now. He heaved himself to the top of the wall. The other side was built into a hill, but it was still two paces below him. He dropped to the hill, as silently as possible. He grunted as he hit the ground and wasted no time getting away from the manor.

He ran through the streets, trying to recall where it was he needed to be. He was not familiar with the city. Every outing from the manor he had always been in a carriage, or at least on horseback. He had never needed to pay much mind to the routes they took. Jaron had examined a map of the city the day before after recieving the message from Celes, trying to plot out the best route. He tried to remember it, but soon found himself standing in an intersection, looking each way, trying to decide where to go next.

Looking down one street, Jaron saw the wall of the city. He knew that the meeting place was somewhere on the wall, so he decided that a straight line would be his best option. At worst, he would have to trot the wall one direction until he either found his location or figured he was going the wrong way.

Deciding, he jogged down the nearly empty street. There were few people out during that hour of the night, at least few that were willing to be seen. Jaron’s conversation with Matthew had made him look at the city in a new light, aware of some of the hidden going-ons within the walls.

When he reached the wall, he looked one way, following the length of it. He saw a few streets that branched away, back into the city, and he almost looked away. Then his eyes fell on a light coming from the wall. He did not know what it was, but decided that it was his best chance. He jogged along the wall, taking it slow, until he could better make out the area illuminated by a single torch set into the wall. A lone man stood in the intersection, apparently waiting. Jaron decided to take his chances and jogged out into the lit intersection.

————————

Matthew had spent two days in the cell now, just waiting for any word as to what was going to happen to him. Alexander had said that he would talk to Lord Kensly and Celes had told him that she would convince her uncle, Lord Bething, to hear his case. He knew that both lords were busy men, however he had hoped that things would have been moving along a little faster.

It was not that he necessarily was uncomfortable in the cell. He had been given regular meals, though it was some sort of tasteless mixture of grains and water, it was still edible. His stone cell was cold, but he was in from the outside where it had begun to rain. He had a bed of sorts, a stone slab projecting from the back wall with a single blanket. Yet, however comfortable he could convince himself he was, he was still too well aware that he was imprisoned.

The large door to the room of cells opened and two guards strode in, clubs hanging from their hips. One of the men carried a set of manacles. They were heading to his cell. He stood, walked to the bars at the front of the cell and slid his arms through the bars. One guard unlocked the door and motioned him through. Matthew had been surprised at how reckless they were when it came to moving a prisoner, though he supposed that with a single door, which he new a guard still held, and their heavy clubs, it was unlikely that a single man would be able to fight his way out.

“High Lord Bething had decided to hear your case,” one of the guards said with a contemptuous grin, “If you’re lucky, he’ll just sentence you to spend the rest of your life in this cell.”

Matthew kept his mouth shut. He had decided after being brought into the prison area that he would give the guards no reason to harm him. For the most part it worked. There were a few that were rough with him in the beginning, but after realizing that Matthew wasn’t going to fight back, the seemed to not bother with him.

One large guard placed the manacles tight around his wrists and the two men led him out. They walked down a long hall, past the room that Matthew had been brought to any time someone wished to speak with him. They took a few turns and Matthew found himself standing before a door. One guard stayed behind, a firm grip on the collar of Matthew’s shirt, while the other entered the door. Matthew could only hear murmurs through the wood, but soon the door opened again and Matthew was led through.

The room was large, a raised platform with a heavy desk running the length of it on one wall. A section of the room, separated by a stone wall that stood only about a pace high, held rows of benches. A simple wooden chair sat on his side of the stone wall, facing the platform. On the platform, behind the desk, stood a middle aged man with brown hair, though gray streaked the temples. He wore a magnificent, dark gray suit and carried an ornate dueling cane fitted with a decent sized sapphire.

Matthew assumed the man to be Lord Bething, though he had never really seen the man from the distance he was at now. The guards led Matthew to stand before the wooden chair, the guards to each side of Matthew. One guard placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder while the other still firmly held his collar.

“This is the boy accused of murder?” the man behind the bench asked knowling, his eyes examining Matthew, weighing his worth.

“It is High Lord Bething,” the guard to Matthew’s left said firmly.

Bething began to sit, “Very well, let’s get this over with.”

The guards pushed Matthew down into the chair but kept their positions to his sides. Lord Bething looked over some papers he had in front of him. Matthew supposed they were statements taken by people that witnessed the events two days past.

“You are accused of murdering Allen Ronbar. How is it you plea?” Lord Bething asked, looking up from his papers.

“I don’t know his name, but I admit to killing a man in the streets,” Matthew said, his voice shaking.

Lord Bething nodded, “Explain to me what happened boy.”

Matthew flew into covering the events of that day. He beginning from when he remembered first seeing the man near the cart with the kabobs to when he stabbed Tavira all the way to the guards pulling him from the man. He left out no detail, not wanting to give Lord Bething any reason to think he was hiding anything.

“Your story matches up with most of what I have hear,” Lord Bething said holding up a stack of papers, “a statement from Lieutenant Alexander Varross also states that Allen Ronbar stabbed this young girl,” he glanced over one of the papers, “Tavira, and that you and the Lieutenant both chased after the man.”

Matthew remained silent until it was obvious that the High Lord was waiting for him to say something, “Yes High Lord Bething, that is what happened.”

Lord Bething held up the harness that held the daggers that Matthew had taken from Keep Danar. He pulled one of the blades out, turning it over in the light. He replaced the blade to its sheathe.

“How, might I asked, did you come to possess such magnificent weapons?” the High Lord asked. Matthew thought he heard a tone of suspicion in the man’s voice.

Matthew felt his stomach tighten, “They were given to me. A friend said that they were meant to be given to me, left to him by a man that died many years ago.”

Matthew hoped that he was not caught in his lie. He thought it sounded believable enough, assuming that Lord Bething did not know the blades true history.

“Is that so?” Lord Bething asked, his tone implying that it was not truly a question. He examined the harness and the blades still sheathed before setting them back down on the desk, “It is my believe that what you did was wrong, but that you realize that as truth. I can understand how one can give into anger after witnessing something such as you did. The want to protect those close to us can make us do things we usually would not. You have no prior convictions that I am aware of, and I believe this man, Allen Ronbar, to have been a threat to the city. There are reports of other such stabbings. As such, I judge that you should be released. I see that you are truly stricken by your actions that hold that you will not likely continue on such a path of violence. Release him.”

The guards jerked at the order, but one quickly proffered the key to the manacles. Matthew rubbed at his wrists where the manacles had been locked tightly and stood.

“Thank you Lord Bething, you’ve no idea how much this means to me,” Matthew said.

“Come, retrieve your things,” the High Lord said, holding up the daggers. Matthew approached the platform, stepping up so that he could take the harness. As his fingers wrapped around the well worn leather, Lord Bething’s hand grabbed his wrist, holding it tightly, “I trust you remember your part in all of this,” the older man said in a quiet voice that held anger and expectation both.

Matthew nodded, eyes wide, “I do High Lord.”

“Then get to it,” the man said releasing Matthew’s arm, “You know where you need to be.”

Matthew nodded and turned around. One of the guards motioned, saying that he would show him the way out. Matthew followed the large man, wishing he would walk faster. He did not want to give Lord Bething any reason to believe that he would not do as he had promised now that he was released. Once he was out of the main door to the large court building, he walked to the iron gate. He wanted to run, but knew how suspicious it would look.

The guards at the gate paid him little mind as they opened a small door set into the gate and waved him through. He continued to walk, though a little faster than normal, until he was out of site of the gate. Then he ran. He dug into his mind to remember the instructions Celes had given him that night. The thought he remembered where he was to be and turned down a street to get there.

He stopped as he neared the wall of the city, stopping completely before reaching the end of the street he was on. He stayed near the wall, creeping along it until he could see out into the open area where four other streets spilled out. Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin as a dog bayed into the night a few streets over. He forced himself towards something resembling calm and scanned the open area again. A man stood beside the grate set into the wall. The grate that he needed to enter. A torch sat in a mount on the wall near the grate, but the man stood just outside where Matthew could see him clearly. Matthew slumped to the ground and waited, hoping the man would not stay there long.

Matthew sat waiting for a few minutes when a young man in simple clothes jogged into the opening. Matthew was careful to stay hidden as the two men approached one another.

“Lieutenant, I did not expect to find you here,” the young man said with surprise in his voice.

“And you are… wait, Jaron? What are you doing, and dressed like that?” The other man said, surprise entering his voice too.

Jaron and Alexander? Matthew thought to himself. It was no coincidence that it was the two of them standing near a grate that he himself needed to enter. He had been told that there would be others, but Matthew expected them to be others like him, others that were use to such things as he was.

Standing, he calmly walked into the torch lit area. Both men spun to look at him, a hand of each going to the sword on their belts. Matthew kept walking towards them calmly, waiting for them to recognize him. Alexander realized it first, hand dropping away from his sword followed soon after by Jaron’s realization.

“Matthew?” Jaron asked.

“But how did you?” Alexander began at the same time Jaron spoke.

Matthew smiled, “I was released tonight. Lord Bething heard my case and released me. It was with the understanding that I would do something for him in return. I guess that you are the two I am to work with.”

“Wait,” Jaron said, confusion replacing surprise on his face, “Released? What happened that Lord Bething had to hear your case?”

“It’s a long story, one better saved for a more appropriate time,” Alexander explained, turning away and moving towards the grate.

The man pulled a key from a pocket in his uniform and used it to remove the heavy lock that held a large chain in place. Pulling the chain out from the grate, he pushed open the small part of the metal object that was on hinges. The noise of the rarely used hinges filled the air and caused Matthew to flinch before quickly scanning the multiple streets for any that might have heard and decided to come investigate.

When he was sure that no one was coming, he turned to look at his companions, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

They both nodded and Alexander pulled the torch from its mount, thrusting it out before him as he ducked into the sewers.

Chapter 15 - New Orders

2010-04-05T00:01:00.000-04:00

Alexander stood at the door outside Miktan’s residence. He struck the heavy knocker on the door. He thought it strange that a retired bard would have a knocker on his door that was in the shape of a hammer in anvil, but he paid it no mind. He took a step away from that door and waited to be greeted.

Alexander could not help but let his mind wander. Ever since the stabbing, his mind had been full of worry, both for Tavira and MAtthew. Alexander had done all he could. He had met with Lord Maris Kensly and asked that he think about listening to Matthew’s case.

Too much of it did not add up. He could not figure out why Tavira had been stabbed. While Alexander had not seen the man that stabbed Tavira as often as Matthew claimed to have, he did remember seeing him a few times. Alexader could often piece things together and find a solution, but this time, he just did not have enough information.

The wooden door opened and a tall, thin man stood in the doorway. He was a young man, Alexander thought, at least in comparison to his master. At least, Alexander took him to be Miktan’s manservant, though he did not know for certain. He stood half a hand taller again than Alexander. His dark red, almost brown hair, marked him as a Garlin man, or at least from the surrounding area. It was cut short, well groomed and oiled.

“Can I help you sir?” The thin man asked.

Alexander stepped closer to the door, “Yes, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross. I was told that Tavira, a young girl that was stabbed earlier this day, was being cared for here. I was hoping I could see her.”

The other man showed no expression as he spoke, “Of course sir, if you would accompany me, I shall lead you to lady Tavira.”

With that, the man motioned Alexander through the door, shutting it before taking up a point in front of Alexander. He led him up a stairway and down a short hall, into a room with a large bed. On it lay Tavira.

“Master Miktan, Master Vansen; Lieutenant Varross is here to visit lady Tavira,” the thin man said as they entered the room.

Miktan and Vansen both sat to one side of the bed, Vansen at her head and Miktan sitting in a chair next to him.

“Thank you Jonson, that will be all,” Miktan said, giving a nod of dismissal to the thin man.

Jonson nodded, “Simply let me know if there is anything you need,”

“Thank you Jonson,” Alexander said as the other man left the room.

“Lieutenant, it is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” Miktan greeted with a weak grin.

“Indeed,” Alexander said as he moved to the opposite side of the bed, pulling a chair up behind him, “I wanted to be sure that she was doing well.”

“Healer Myira did what she could and gave us some herbs and a poultice to care for her,” Miktan explained, “She seemed to believe that Tavira would be fine.”

“I’m glad, I told Matthew that she was doing well when I saw him,” Alexander said.

“Is Matthew all right?” Vansen asked. The young man’s eyes were full of worry.

“As good as he can be considering the circumstances,” Alexander said with a light chuckle, “I’ve just come from speaking with Lord Kensly. He said that he would look into Matthew’s case and do what he could.”

“Good, good,” Miktan’s eyes returned to the girl, “Maris is a good man, he will be just in his decision.”

Tavira stirred and all eyes were fixed on her. She looked weak. She had looked weak before the stabbing, while they were walking the streets, but this was different. On the streets her face was filled with color, and her attitude could almost making you ignore her gaunt appearance.

Her eyes fluttered open and took in the room around her, “Wh-what happened?” She asked weakly.

“You were attacked,” Miktan began explaining, “a man on the street stabbed you. Vansen brought you here and we called a healer. She tended to your wound. You should be fine, but you will need to stay here in bed for a few days at least.”

“I was… stabbed?” Tavira asked as she shifted in the large bed and winced at the pain.

“Yeah,” Vansen said, giving the girl a smile, “I always told you that if you weren’t more careful you’d end up full of holes.”

She smiled, the freckles around her eyes standing out against her pale skin, “Lieutenant, what are you doing here?” She asked, her eyes falling on Alexander on the other side of the bed.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Alexander said.

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a smile. Her eyes looked around the room, searching, “Where’s Matthew?” The eyes of each man dropped away as she looking into them. The silence seemed to drag on, “Tell me!”

It was Vansen that spoke first, “He and Alexander chased the man that stabbed you down. Matthew caught him,” Vansen squeezed his eyes shut, remembering what Alexander had told him, “Matthew killed the man Tavira, the guards took him.”

“What?” Tavira exclaimed, trying to sit up in the bed but Vansen held her down by her shoulders, “the fool! What was he thinking? Killing a man over a little knife wound? Knowing the kind of fool he his, he’s probably sitting in a cell right now thinking that he deserves what he gets, probably thinking that it would be right if some High Lord sentenced him to be executed. Why, when I see the boy next I’m going to bash his skull in.”

Her anger had forced some color back into her face, even if it was still a few shades lighter than it should have been. She eventually gave up trying to fight against Vansen’s hold. She lay on the bed, arms crossed and a grim look on her face.

Miktan let out a laugh, “I’ve no doubt you will do just as you say. Alexander said he spoke with Lord Kensly about what had happened at that Maris will look into the situation.”

Tavira gave a firm nod, relaxing at the words. Alexander smiled at the young girl. Alexander could not help but think had his parents had a daughter, she would have been that same as Tavira.

He stood, stretching his arms before he spoke, “I should be on my way. The Captain should know what happened, should anyone bring up the subject of today’s events with him.”

Miktan nodded, standing to escort the man to the hall. When they were both a few steps from the room, Miktan turned to speak to Alexander, “I want to thank you Lieutenant. I’m not sure what you know of these children,” Miktan motioned back to the room, “But their friends are in short supply, and the world is a dangerous place for them. I am glad to know that they have another ally in this city.”

Alexander smiled at the old man and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “It is a dangerous place for us all Miktan. A friend is always a good thing to have, and are more often in shorter supply than enemies.”

Miktan nodded, “It is a pity, but that is most often the case. Be well friend, and if you see Jonson on the way out, if you would tell him to bring up some food for the girl, Myira said she should eat as soon as she woke.”

Alexander nodded and headed back down the stairs. He found Jonson standing beside the door leading from the house and gave him Miktan’s message before leaving. Back out on the street, Alexander started for the barracks. His eyes took in everything on street. His eyes watched the hands and faces of those that came near to him. He did not want to be suspicious of everyone, but the stabbing earlier had shaken him more than he expected.

He was glad when he finally reached the barracks and could relax. If he could not trust his own men, there were none in all of Elaesif that he could no trust. He walked through the building, saluting to men as he passed. He had stopped by Captain Edbar’s office only to find that he was out.

Alexander instead went to the small office he had been given when they arrived. He had insisted that he did not need an office, but Captain Russent would not allow an officer of the army to work out of their sleeping quarters.

Jogan stood from one of the chairs on the other side of the desk as Alexander entered the room, “Lieutenant, this came for you while you were gone,” the man held out a sealed letter.”

“Thank you Jogan, you may leave,” Alexander said, examining the seal. It was that of General Therad. Alexander looked up at the other man just as he was leaving, “Jogan, if you could inform me when the Captain returns, I need to speak with him.”

“Of course Lieutenant,” the man saluted and closed the door as he left.

Alexander broke the seal to the letter and hurriedly opened it.

Lieutenant Alexander Varross,

I would first like to apologize for the confusion my earlier orders no doubt caused, however it was of the utmost importance that information was kept safe.

Your purpose in Garlin is to prevent what could be the most serious threat not just to our nation, but all of Elaesif, that we have ever seen. I have received word that there is something held deep below Garlin that could threaten us all. I am unclear as to what is held in the ancient chambers beneath the city, but from what I have been able to gather, it is an item of immense power.

You and Captain Edbar are to do all you can, using whatever methods you see fit, to prevent any harm from coming to the people of Garlin, as well as the people of the world.

I wish you the best in your endeavors. Remain strong and remember your duty to the people of Elaesif.

Third General of the Beldinian Armed Forces

Lofric Therad

Alexander read over the letter again, trying to make sense of what it said but to no avail. He could not make sense of what he was reading. What could be held underneath Garlin that could harm the world? If it truly existed, how had it remained hidden for so long? How had the General learned of such a weapon? The letter answered the question of why they had been sent to Garlin, but it raised so many new questions.

Alexander fell back into the high-backed wooden chair that sat behind the desk, dropping the letter to the top of the hand-carved, oak desk. He closed his eyes and tried to piece all the information he had together. No matter which way he looked at things, he just could not seem to make it all fit. There were still too many holes.

A knock came at the door and Jogan entered at Alexander’s summons. The man moved to the front of the desk, saluted, and stood at attention, “Lieutenant, Captain Edbar has returned and would like to speak with you.”

“Good,” Alexander said, standing and grabbing the letter, “I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

The two men left the room and walked the hallway to the Captain’s office. The room given to Captain Edbar was separated from Alexander’s office and the men’s quarters. Jefell Russent, Captain of the city guard, insisted that Edbar take his office and that he would move to one of the smaller offices. Edbar did not argue and took the office. He had stated that it would allow him distance from the men, that rumors would be less likely to be spread by any that might over hear something said in confidence.

As they neared the office, Alexander noticed Albur Torric, Edbar’s aid, waiting impatiently outside the closed door. Alexander dismissed Jogan before he got to the door. The man seemed torn between accompanying his lieutenant and following his order, but he saluted and left. Jogan was a good man, and a good soldier, but his loyalty sometimes was a little too strong for Alexander’s liking.

“Lieutenant,” Albur said when Alexander stopped in front of him, “the Captain is waiting for you.”

Alexander nodded and went through the door at the man’s motioning. The office was not much different than the one Alexander had been given. It was larger, and a bookshelf lined one wall, containing maps of the city and surrounding area, as well as books on the laws of Garlin. Alexander noticed a few titles that must have been just there for general reading; Kesmas and the thousand wolves, Telnogar Anson and his Queen, The Golden Drum, The Adventures of Regrad Regar.

“Lieutenant, have a seat,” Edbar said motioning to one of the cushioned chairs on the other side of the desk from him.

Alexander saluted before sitting, “Captain, I take it you have received a letter from the General?”

“Yes, though I must say that it doesn’t clear a whole lot up,” the Captain said as he gestured towards a folded piece of paper on the desk.

“No, it didn’t,” Alexander said as he pulled his letter from his pocket, setting it on the desk beside the other man’s, “Perhaps if we put our heads together, we can come up with something as to what this item is, or at least who is after it.”

“That, I think, won’t be entirely necessary,” Edbar said, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “I’ve just come from a meeting with Lord Bething. He too has heard of this supposed item beneath Garlin and wishes to keep it out of the hands of some that would use it to harm the people of this city.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, having trouble believing that Lord Juston Bething would be come to the military to discuss such a matter, “And what does he propose?”

Edbar smirked, “His suggestion is that we retrieve the item before any others would have a chance to do so.”

Alexander frowned, “Would that be wise sir? We aren’t sure what this item is, if it truly exists, or what it is capable of and it is no offense to the honor of Lord Bething, but I’m not sure I would trust a single man with such an item if it truly does exist.”

“The High Lord would agree with you. His suggestion was to retrieve the item and leave it in the care of the court of Garlin until the Weaver’s Guild could come up with a way to contain, or better yet destroy it,” Edbar explained.

Alexander was still unsure on the matter. Lord Bething was a good man in general, but when it came to the city of Garlin, he was as protective as a mountain cat over its cub. The idea of leaving an item of such power in the hands of the High Lords just seemed like trouble to him. Most of the lords did all they could to scrap together what power they could. To place an item capable of brining ruin to the world would be to place a temptation in front of them all, risking a civil war within the city.

As for the Weaver’s Guild, the association of men and women that studied and practice the art of weaving the eight threads of power were more likely to try and harness the power of such an item than they were to destroy it. He had always been wary of the guild. They held more power than any single group in all of Elaesif. If they all worked together, there was not an army standing that would be able to hold them back. Each military had their own corp of weavers, but none held a number that would be able to stand up to the might of the guild. Luckily, they were more content living in their city complex, training and studying the histories of Elaesif and only rarely stuck their noses into the politics of the nations.

“What are your thoughts Lieutenant?” Edbar asked, examining Alexander’s expression.

“I don’t know Captain. There are too many unknown variables. We don’t know what this item is or what it can do. I do know that I wouldn’t want to leave it in the hands of the High Lords, I fear that the temptation would be too great for them,” Alexander paused for a moment, his throat dry from the whole idea of an item that could harm the world, “as for the Guild, I believe you know my feelings on them.”

“What other alternatives do we have? Certainly you would not want to leave such an item in the hands of the military. To do such a thing would threaten any nation that has managed to stay apart from the kingdom of Beldin. That is not to say I support such actions, however, I do believe that men have a right to chose,” Edbar surprised Alexander with his words. Something seemed different about the man, though Alexander could not place what it was.

“I agree, but I’m still not sure what should be done. I suppose that is why you are in command and I am not Captain. What ever you decide I will support and follow your orders to the best of my ability, as will my men,” Alexander vowed.

Edbar smiled and nodded in response, “I have learned that Lord Bething is looking to retrieve the item, with or without our support. As such, I want to have a hand in its retrieval. If we were to allowing Bething to get the item, there is no telling what might happen. As such, I would like you to accompany whoever it is that Bething sends to get the item.”

“Me sir?” Alexander asked, curious as to the other man’s motives.

“We have not always seen eye to eye Lieutenant,” Edbar said admittedly, “however, of all the men here, I believe that you are the one I can trust the most. Even when you disagree with an order, you carry it out. I trust that it will be no different with this.”

Alexander nodded, “As you order Captain.”

“I do, I will give you the information you need as soon as I have it” Edbar said with a nod, “Now, is there anything else you would like to talk about?”

“There is,” Alexander began to explain the events of the day, briefing Edbar on every detail. He left nothing out. The Captain seemed to take everything in stride. Alexander assumed that at least a little word of what happened had reached that Captain’s ears, but he left nothing to chance. At the end of it Edbar said that he would keep Alexander apprised of the situation and would let Alexander know anything he could.

Chapter 14 - Prison

2010-04-01T00:01:00.002-04:00

Matthew sat on the cold stone floor of his cell. The thick iron bars that surrounded him allowed him to examine the larger room that his cell was a part of. The room was empty, except for cells identical to his own, most of them empty, though there were a few that held other men. Matthew made note of the fact that no women were in the room. He was not sure why. He knew he had seen women arrested in the past. He thought that they must keep them separate from the men.

He welcomed the stone beneath him. It cooled him, both body and mind. The rage from earlier that day frightened him. He had never lost control like that before. Even when thinking back on Tavira, eyes wide, hands and shirt covered in blood, the anger that welled up was not as overwhelming as he had felt before.

Maybe it’s because the man responsible is dead, Matthew thought, By the weave, I killed a man! What was I thinking?

He had asked himself that very question what seemed like a hundred times since it happened. He had tried to piece everything together. There were too many unanswered questions, too many mysteries to make sense of everything. Why stab Tavira? It could not have been a random happening. Matthew had seen the man multiple times while on the street. He had seemed to be following them. Tavira was no one important, at least not to anyone outside the crew. Who would want her dead?

The other question that plagued him is why so many of the guards were there so quickly? They were just guards, none of the soldiers that had been helping patrol. It seemed as if they were prepared to deal with a dead man. It was almost as if they knew it was all going to happen.

Matthew pushed the questions aside. They were not going to help him now. He had been told by the guard that put him in his cell that Matthew was going to be questioned by the Captain of the Guard. Matthew was not looking forward to the meeting. The guards had not been very gentle with Matthew. He assumed they would have been worse had Alexander not been with them the entire trip to the prison.

What is his part in all of this? Matthew’s mind started again, I just so happen to run into him on the streets on the day that Tavira is attacked and I kill a man? Burn my thread, I can’t help but feel that I’m just a piece in some huge game.

The door to the room of cells flew open and a large guard stepped in. Matthew stood, making sure his hands were in clear view, placing them through the bars. He was sure that the guard was there for him. The other men in their cells appeared to have been there a while, at least long enough to have been questioned for their crimes.

The guard strode to Matthew’s cell, “Put your hands on your head,” the man ordered in a scratchy voice. Matthew did as he was told. The man proffered a large key and opened the door to his cell. Matthew stepped out and waited as the man placed his hands in heavy manacles, keeping them tight together.

The man led Matthew out of the dank room and down a hall to another room. In the room were two chairs. The guard shoved Matthew toward one of the chairs and ordered him to sit down before shutting the door. There was a heavy click as a lock was set into place on the door.

Matthew sit in silence, waiting for what was to come. After what seemed like hours, Matthew heard voices outside the door. He could not make out what was being said through the thick wood of the door, but he could get an idea of the mood of each speaker by their tone. One of the men seemed to be explaining something, while the other seemed to be trying to maintain a level of understanding under the anger present.

The lock clicked and the door opened. Matthew stood and almost almost sighed as he saw Alexander step through the door, though he stiffened by the muscular man that stepped in behind him. The man wore a uniform of the High Guard of Garlin.

“Matthew, are you okay?” Alexander asked, concern present in his voice.

Matthew nodded, not wanting to speak for fear that the large man would berate him, or worse, strike him.

“So your name is Matthew?” The large man said. His deep voice filled the small room and caused Matthew to swallow.

“Yes sir,” he said, trying to show as much respect as he could.

“Sit down boy,” the man said. His tone was not one of suggestion so Matthew sat back down, “Do you deny killing a man in the streets today?” He asked, locking eyes with Matthew.

“No sir,” Matthew replied, surprised at the steadiness of his voice.

The man nodded, “The lieutenant here tells me that the man you killed stabbed someone in the streets. A friend of yours. A young girl.”

“Yes, Tavira. Is she okay?” Matthew almost stood again, but froze at a look from the guard.

“She is going to be okay,” Alexander explained, “Vansen got her to Miktan and a healer was brought to her.”

Tension melted from Matthew. He had not realized how tense he had been until that moment.

“Yes, the girl will be fine,” the guard said, glancing to Alexander, “However, you have admitted to killing a man. Regardless of the reasons, that is a crime.”

Matthew stared at the floor, nodding in understanding, “I know, and I take any punishment given to me.”

“Of course you will, willingly or not,” the guard said, almost laughing, “But, first I want to get some things straight. Do you know who that man that you attacked was?”

“No,” Matthew said, pausing to think before continuing, “I noticed him a few times in the street today, I think he may have been following us.”

“Why? For what reason would he follow you?” The guard asked, “Did you wrong him in some way? Did you attack him or his family before today?”

Matthew searched his mind. He thought for a moment about Lord Danar. He knew that the man must have been furious that someone had managed to get into his vault and take something from him. There was no way that the he would know who robbed him however. There was nothing that would have led him to the crew, to Tavira. Not unless someone in the crew ratted you out, Matthew crushed the thought, not wanting to believe that anyone in the crew would go that far.

“No, I didn’t recognize him at all. I almost didn’t notice him at all until after he stabbed Tavira,” Matthew explained.

“So, a man stabs your friend for no reason and you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with the reason?” The guard was looming over Matthew now.

“Captain Russent,” Alexander started, “I may have a suggestion. The boy and his friends were walking with me. There are those in Garlin that are less than pleased by the military’s presence here. It is possible the attack was related to me.”

“Then why not stab you?” The Captain asked, spinning on the other man.

Alexander raised a hand in an attempt to calm the man, “If he would have stabbed me, he would have had the entirety of the men stationed here after him. To attack a man of the army is as if you attacked every man in his unit,” Alexander explained, “However, in attacking the girl, there would be nothing tying it directly to my men.”

The guard thought for a moment before speaking, “Perhaps. None of this seems to make sense at all though. We still don’t even know who the man was, let alone why it is he attacked anyone.”

The room was silent while Captain Russent thought. Finally he spoke, “Boy, I understand why it is you did what you did, but I can’t excuse it. I’m going to have to keep you here until one of the High Lords can hear your case. It’s up to them what happens to you.

Matthew slumped. It was unlikely any of the High Lords would give him any chance. They would see a boy that lived on the streets that had killed a man for no more reason than stabbing another useless member of society. They may have well killed him then.

“Can I speak with him a moment Captain,” Alexander said, looking at the other man in the room, “alone? Just for a short while?”

The guard looked Matthew over before nodded and striking a fist to the heavy wooden door. The lock was released and the door open, letting the Captain out.

Once the door had been shut again, Alexander took up the other chair in the small room, “I’ll go and try to speak with Lord Kensly to hear your case. I’ve no doubt that he will listen to what happened and release you.”

Matthew continued to stare at the floor, “That’s if one of the other lords doesn’t take this chance to cleanse the city of one more of its rabble.”

“Don’t give up,” the older man said, “Tavira is waiting to see you. Even if no one else is, she is grateful for what you did.”

Matthew looked up and forced a smile. Alexander did the same before standing and knocking on the door. He left and that guard that had brought him from his cell returned him to it. Matthew sat against the wall. He was sure that he would never leave the cell again and never see Tavira or any of the others again.

———————

Jaron sat in his room. He had been given the entire day from his lessons to do as he wished, but Matthew’s words still haunted his mind. He had spent a good part of the day reading reports he had requested. The reports told of the spendings of the city of Garlin. He made note that of all the houses, high or not, House Kensly was among only three that gave money to the city for the purpose of supporting those in need. He was appalled as he continued to read where money did go to instead.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door, “Come in,” he said, setting a book he had intended to read before getting lost in his thought.

A servant dressed in the purple and yellow colors of House Kensly stepped in and gave a deep bow before speaking, “My Lord, Lady Celes Debeart is requesting an audience with you.”

Jaron’s brow furrowed as he thought of why Celes would want to speak with him, “Yes, escort her to a sitting room and then come retrieve me when she is settled. Be sure that chilled wine and some fruit is brought to her.”

The servant nodded before bowing again and moving back out the door. Jaron continued to think what purpose the woman would have for visiting him. Surely she did not think that he had any intention of being a suitor.

Perhaps she too is troubled by what she heard Matthew say last night, Jaron thought.

His mind wandered until there was another knock at the door. This time Jaron moved to the door and opened it. The same servant was standing outside.

“Lady Debeart is waiting,” he said respectively.

Jaron motioned for him to lead the way. The servant deftly navigated the passageways of the manor. Jaron suspected that the man knew the halls better than he himself did. It was not that there were that many halls to learn, at least not in relation to the great keeps of the other houses.

Jaron had always been glad of his father’s conservative attitude when it came to their home. He did not believe that he would have liked living in one of the stone keeps the other noble’s kept. There were those that believed the manor estate was a sign that House Kensly was weak. The other High Lords however knew better.

Finally the servant stopped before a door to one of the sitting rooms and opened it for Jaron. He stepped through the door as Celes stood to greet him. Her dress, a similar cut to the one she wore the night before, if not as extravagant, was a rich green color that stood out against the colors of the sitting room. Her hair was not as finely done as it had been during the banquet, but even in its simplicity, it radiated beauty.

“Lord Kensly,” Celes said, her soft voice flowing through the room, “I am so glad that you could see me on such short notice.”

Jaron motioned for her to sit and he made his way to one of the plush, high-backed chairs that sat around the low table in the center of the room, “Of course Lady Debeart, it is an honor to speak with you. To what honor do I owe this visit?”

She sat, sitting straight in the chair across from him, “I was giving some thought to what you were saying last night, about the want for some excitement,” Jaron tried to hide any emotion, but he could feel his eyebrows rise slightly, “I have heard tell that there is something beneath the city. Something that could be dangerous if found by the wrong people.”

Jaron’s brow began to furrow in confusion as Celes continued, “My Uncle would like to investigate the matter, and possibly retrieve whatever it is, but he is torn in trying to find people he could trust the job to.”

“And you believe that I could be trusted to such a task? Why not simply hire men to carry it out?” Jaron asked, his voice steady as he spoke.

“He would, knowing that there are few things that some men value over gold. He fears however, that should such men retrieve this item, and should it be as dangerous as he believes, he fears that they would use it for their own means,” Celes voice was soft, yet firm at the same time, like stone wrapped in silk.

“Then why not go to the men sent here from the army?” Jaron thought back to his father’s conversations with some of the people from the night before, “From what I understand they are still awaiting orders and I am sure that they would be more than capable of carrying out such a task.”

Celes gave a small laugh before speaking, “You no doubt know of my Uncle’s feelings towards the military. However, he has decided to speak with Captain Edbar on the matter, though he holds little faith that he would find worthy men, or that any would give him aid.”

Jaron nodded, understanding what it was Celes was referring to. Lord Bething was not known for kindness, especially when it came to anyone from the military. He doubted that any of the men would give him anything but the same in response.

“So you see,” Celes continued, “I have been tasked with finding those that would be trustworthy. Your family is known for it’s generosity towards this city. What better way to protect its people people than to remove an item that could potentially destroy them.”

A question struck Jaron that had been scratching at the back of his mind, yet almost hidden, “It is no offense towards your family, but what would your Uncle do with such a thing? And what sort of item could threaten all of Garlin?”

Jaron thought he saw anger flash across Celes’ face, but it was gone almost as soon as it was there, “My Uncle intends to turn the item over to the council of the High Lords, that they all may decide what to do with it. As for what the item is, I am not entirely sure. My Uncle found some old tomes and scrolls that spoke of an item of power, an item tied directly to the threads of power. He fears that such an item could be used as a weapon.”

Jaron’s head spun. He tried to reason out what Celes was telling him, but he was having trouble focusing. His mind was muddy. He thought that perhaps he was taking too much in at once, between what Celes was telling him and what he had been researching earlier that day. His mind began to clear and he began to agree with what Celes was saying.

“Yes,” he said, “if there is something that could harm the people of Garlin, I would be more than willing to help keep it from those that would use it for less than noble deeds.”

“Excellent,” Celes said almost before the words had left his mouth, “Now, I apologize for having to leave so soon, but I had best get back before my Uncle begins to worry about where I have run off to. I will be sure to inform him of your willingness to help and you should receive the information of where you should be when soon.”

Jaron nodded, standing as she hurried out of the room. His mind seemed clearer now, but he was still trying to puzzle together what exactly had just happened.

———————————-

Matthew sat in the chair to the small room once again. The guard had woken him and nearly drug him from his cell. He had not even bothered to put the manacles around his wrists. He sat, unbound, in a locked room, alone.

The door opened and two large guards stepped in. Behind them followed Celes Debeart, her deep green dress hugged her hips and bosom, but covered everything. Her beauty seemed to fill the room with light, though the single torch mounted to the wall was the only true source.

“You may leave us,” Celes said, command filling her voice.

The guards looked at her, eyes wide with surprise, “But my lady,” one of them spoke, “this man is a murderer!”

Celes fixed her eyes on the man’s face, “I believe that he will harm no one, especially me.”

The two looked at each other, torn between protecting the lovely woman and following her orders. Finally they bowed, saying they would be just outside the door, before leaving the room.

Celes sat in the other chair. The filth of the small, dank room did not seem to effect her. Her blue eyes met Matthew’s dark green. They seemed to sit there in silence, staring into one another’s eyes for all of eternity. Looking into those eyes, Matthew thought he could live the rest of his live in a cell and die happy.

“Matthew,” Celes finally said, looking away, “I heard of what happened and was worried. Are you well?”

Matthew was stunned at first that one such as Celes would show concern to someone like him, but he spoke, “Well enough I suppose. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“Nonsense, noble or not, you are important to me,” she said. Matthew’s heart leapt, “I had to be sure that you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Matthew said, still stunned by her words, “I’m not sure for how long, but for the time being at least.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes meeting eyes again.

Burn my thread, a man could get lost in those eyes and be happy doing it, he thought. He spoke, “It seems that I have to wait until a High Lord hears my case before I can learn of what my fate will be.”

“That’s splendid,” Celes said with what seemed like excitement in her smooth voice.

Matthew raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure I share your opinion.”

“My Uncle is a High Lord,” she said, “I’m sure I could convince him to hear your case.”

“Lord Bething?” Matthew asked, “I can’t say I would be too sure that he would be likely to do anything but sentence me to be killed.”

“Nonsense. My Uncle has a reputation of being a tough man, but in truth, he is fair and just. He just holds no tolerance for bad behavior,” Celes explained.

“Do you truly think he would hear me out?” Matthew asked.

“I do,” Celes stated, “However, I will need you to do something for me.”

Matthew did not hesitate, “Anything!” He agreed.

Chapter 13 - Trappings

2010-03-29T00:55:00.000-04:00

Matthew sat on a bare patch of ground in the warehouse. He was glad to be back in the world he knew, back in what he understood. Part of him however, missed the banquet from the night before. There was a presence of the banquet that felt good to him, something that he did not feel now. He was not sure what it was exactly, but he missed it. It was something akin to the feeling he had just before snatching something from a cart. A feeling of anticipation almost.

He looked down at himself. He was no longer wearing the fine clothes that Miktan had bought him. Instead he wore the thin leather britches and the light gray, linen shirt he always wore. Something of him missed the clothes to. Something about having clothes that were meant for him felt right. He wore new shoes now. When Miktan had seen how poorly his previous pair had fit, he insisted that they get a new pair for Matthew. They were simple, not the quality of the boots he had worn the night before, but they were his, and they were new. He also now wore a vest, the leather thinner than his britches. The vest was to cover the leather harness he wore. More specifically it was to hide the daggers the harness held.

Matthew found his mind wandering throughout the events of the previous night. He could not help but imagining himself as some great noble. He imagined walking into the banquet, everyone watching him. Not Matthew, the young man that had been lost in the world of nobles. Instead, he was Lord Matthew. He laughed to himself as he dispelled the image of people bowing to him with looks of awe and admiration.

“What are you doing Matty-boy?” Vansen asked as he dropped to the floor beside Matthew. Tavira took the spot to his other side.

“Ah, not too much, just thinking about the past couple days,” Matthew replied, rubbing his eye.

“Is that so? Yeah, I suppose it’s bee a little strange hasn’t it?” Vansen looked across to Tavira with a sly grin and she covered her mouth as she giggled.

Matthew eyed the two of them, “What?”

“It’s nothing, just seeing you in those clothes,” Vansen barked a laugh.

Matthew sighed heavily, “It was Miktan’s idea, you know that the man has a way of getting you to do what he wants.”

Vansen and Tavira just laughed at him. After they settled, Vansen stood, “Would my lord like to accompany us in getting some lunch?” Vansen asked sarcastically, giving a mocking bow.

“Oh shut up Vansen,” Matthew said as he stood, giving the other a solid punch to his shoulder before heading to the door.

The two continued to laugh as they followed him. Their remarks continued as they travelled the streets. Eventually Matthew gave in and started making jokes, realizing that they were not going to stop any time soon.

It was just before midday, and Merchant’s Street was as busy as ever. On their way, they had spent a little time discussing what they would get for their lunch. Matthew had suggested grabbing a couple pastries from Old Man Hantan, but Vansen dismissed the idea. The man had a long memory, and would no doubt recognize Matthew if he approached the stall. Hantan had burned Vansen’s face into his memory, and Tavira was not feeling up to challenging the old man that day. So instead they decided on a few kabobs from one of the meat vendors.

Matthew grinned at the mention of kabobs, remembering the first time he had gotten one. It was a memorable day. He had been out of the orphanage for almost a month at the time. A few days before, a kind man had given him some rolls and a few coins, taking pity on the small boy that looked starved. He had made the rolls last as long as he could, but he was hungry. When they were gone, he went to buy some more food.

He had found the stand with kabobs and went to buy some. Not knowing the greed of the man, he pulled all the coins he had from his pocket. The man had tried to cheat him, but Vansen stopped him. It was the first time Matthew had seen Vansen since the older boy had been put out from the orphanage. That was the day Vansen recruited him. It was that day that Matthew truly started living again.
The three companions travelled down the street, looking for a stall or cart that was selling kabobs, though they had no intention of purchasing any. When they found one, Tavira approached, producing her very best, most innocent smile. That was the typical way they handled things when stealing in a group. One of them would distract the merchant while the other got what they were after.

Tavira was a good partner in such a plan. She knew how to hold the attention of the merchants. Often times she would walk away having been given something to eat. It was never anything very good, but it was something all the same, something that the person running the cart thought would do the poor, thin girl some good.

Matthew watched as Tavira stood at the cart, eyeing the produce set out with longing. He kept himself from laughing when the rotund man behind the cart saw her and immediately began to speak with her in a concerning voice. Matthew saw a grin on Vansen’s face too. The two watched carefully for their moment. Vansen was the first to go, walking beside the cart and with a deft movement of his hand, that if Matthew were not watching for, he would have seen, snatched a handful of kabobs.

Matthew had always been jealous of Vansen’s skill. The older man always seemed faster, more agile, than anyone else in the crew. Matthew took a few steps and froze. Stepping up to the cart was a man in an army uniform that Matthew recognized. It was one of the two men from the party the night before. Matthew searched his mind for the name of the officer that had joined them at their table.

Alexander, Matthew thought, Lieutenant Alexander Varross. Matthew looked at the stall, Tavira still speaking with the fat man behind the cart. His eyes darted to Alexander, then to Vansen, and back to the cart. Vansen was staring at him, looking at him curiously.

Matthew decided that there was no way the man would recognize him without his fine clothes and his hair pulled back. He started to the stall. Alexander stood, waiting patiently, and scanned the crowd. His eyes passed over Matthew once, not giving him any attention. Matthew felt a bit of tension release from his shoulders. Alexander’s eyes passed over him again, and this time they stayed.

“Matthew?” The man said, loud enough for Matthew to hear it over the noise of the crowd.

Tavira jerked, quickly looking at the man beside her before looking back at the fat man. Her eyes darted to Matthew and he gave her a small shake of his head. She took the kabob the man was holding out for her graciously and moved to join Vansen who stood leaning against the wall of one of the stores on the street.

Matthew walked straight up to Alexander, “Lieutenant, I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

The red haired man looked Matthew up and down and raised an eyebrow, “And I didn’t expect to see you. You look, different,” he said, a tone of question in his voice.

“Yes, last night was not me, at least not the usual me. Miktan invited me, I’m not one that typically attends events such as the one last night,” Matthew said before finishing the thought to himself, at least not as an invited guest.

“I see, can I buy you some lunch?” The man asked, motioning to the cart.

Matthew put up a hand in protest, “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense, it would be my pleasure. Consider it repayment for your good company last night,” Alexander said before turning to the fat man, “we’ll take six of whatever you think is best.”

“Of course,” the man behind the stall said with an inclination of his head. He turned, grabbing two sheets of a thin, waxy paper and placed three kabobs on each sheet. He handed one of the sheets to Matthew and the other to Alexander.

The two turned away from that cart and Alexander immediately began to eat, “It has been far too long since I’ve been able to have a good kabob.”

“What’s that?” Matthew asked, not understanding.

Alexander looked at him, “I’m originally from Garlin, or from near here. I was raised on a farm just over a days travel from the city.”

“Really?” Matthew said, “I suppose I should have guessed by your appearance and speech. Maybe the uniform threw me off.”

“Matthew?” a voice said from in front of the two men. Matthew looked to see Vansen and Tavira standing there, each one eating one of their kabobs, “who your friend?”

Alexander eyed the two carefully. There had been a slight tone of distrust in Vansen’s voice when he had spoke. Matthew spoke to explain, “This is Alexander, I met him last night.”

“Oh,” Vansen said, relaxing, “It is good to meet you Alexander,” Vansen wiped some of the kabob juice from his hand on his pant leg and then offered it to Alexander, who shook it.

“That’s Vansen,” Matthew said, “and this is Tavira,” he motioned to the girl.

Alexander inclined his head, “A pleasure.”

Tavira just grinned at Alexander. Matthew raised an eyebrow at her and she sniffed before shooting him a look that usually meant he was in trouble. The group went to a nearby building, so as to be out of the way of the traffic on the street. They made casual conversation as they ate. Matthew was glad that Alexander did not seem to bother asking what it was the three did.

As they finished, Alexander spoke, “Matthew, do you think you could show me to Master Miktan’s place. I have some questions I meant to ask him last night, but he was rather busy with the band.”

“We can show you,” Tavira said, smiling at the man.

Matthew and Vansen both looked at her with eyebrows raised, “Yeah, we can show you,” Matthew said, finally looking back at Alexander.

“Thank you,” the officer said, motioning them to lead the way.

They started off. Tavira seemed to keep most of the conversation with the older man as they went, asking him about his home and his travels. Matthew was beginning to think that she was infatuated with the older man, though he couldn’t see why. Matthew guessed that Alexander had to be nearly twice Tavira’s age.

A man caught Matthew’s eye as they travelled. He was not sure why, but the man seemed familiar, as if Matthew had seen him earlier that day. He was a nondescript man, nothing really noticeable about him, but there was just something that felt off about the man. He wore a light green, linen shirt and leather britches. His thin, light brown hair was cut short. He did not seem poor or wealthy. Matthew could not figure out what it was, but something just seemed strange. Eventually the man disappeared around a corner and Matthew forgot about him.

The group of three thieves and a soldier turned onto a busy street. If it was clear, it would have taken them just a few minutes to reach the street that Miktan lived on, however, fighting through the crowd would slow them significantly.

A man bumped into Tavira as they went, rather violently and Matthew recognized the man. It was the man with the green shirt and the thin hair. It struck Matthew why he seemed so strange. Since leaving the warehouse, the man had cross their path nearly a dozen times.

“Some men,” Alexander said, looking after the man before he turned to Tavira, “Are you all right?”

Matthew gasped as she pulled her hands away from her stomach. Her shirt was stained with blood. Tavira’s knees buckled and immediately Alexander caught her. Matthew scanned the crowd. He was a little taller than most that were there and soon spotted the balding man. He looked back and met Matthew’s eyes. Worry filled them.

“I see him!” Matthew cried.

Alexander was handing Tavira to Vansen carefully, “I’ll take her to Miktan’s,” Vansen said, but the thought barely reached Matthew.

There was a ring of steel as Alexander’s sword came from his hip and the crowd moved away from the four, “Lead the way,” the man said calmly.

Matthew started. The crowd parted for the soldier with a drawn sword following a young man.

Matthew’s face was pure determination. Anger filled him. The balding man turned down a street and Matthew was there. He quickly scanned the street and found him, darting after.

Alexander had identified the man now and was no longer following. The man’s strong legs easily kept pace with Matthew. The bald man turned and Alexander turned after him. Matthew did not.

Matthew knew the streets. He knew the layout. Everything was clear to him. He knew that the street the man had started down only went to one place. Matthew made a sharp right at the next intersection and nearly ran over an old man. He jerked himself to one side, barely losing any speed. People screamed as they saw him coming and moved out of his way.

He was not sure when it had happened, but he had pulled one of the daggers from the harness on his back. The blade, a hand and a half long, reflected the sun. That was what people were screaming about. A madman running through the streets with a knife and a look of murder on his face.

The bald man exploded from the intersection in front of Matthew, frantically searching. A shout came from behind the bald man and he looked back, panic on his face.

He doesn’t see me, Matthew thought, he doesn’t know where I am. Not yet. He veered to the right, towards a wagon parked against a building. He pushed himself to move faster, before the man could react. He leapt to the back of the wagon. Two strides and he leapt again, soaring above the heads of people that were rising to their feet after the bald man had tackled them. Matthew began to fall, right onto the balding man.

A woman screamed as time slowed. The bald man’s head turned to look up. His eyes widened as he saw Matthew falling towards him. In the back of his mind Matthew could hear Alexander shouting something, but he did not care what. This man had hurt one of his friends, maybe killed her. He would pay.

Matthew’s left hand made contact with the bald man’s throat. The other man began to fall. Matthew’s knees struck the man’s chest as they made their way to the ground. When they struck, Matthew could feel the bones in the man’s chest crack. Blood flew from his mouth as the air was pushed from his chest. Matthew stared into the man’s gray eyes. The eyes of the man that stabbed Tavira for no reason. There was nothing else but Matthew and the bald man.

Everything came rushing back at once; sounds, motion, everything. Matthew was suddenly aware of his shouts. He was shouting at the man, demanding that he tell him why he had stabbed Tavira. He was now aware of the arms trying to pull him off the man. He was aware of the jet black dagger blade that was now coated with dark, red blood. He was aware of the glazed look in the bald man’s eyes and the blood flowing from his side. He was aware of what Alexander had been shouting, “Stop, don't kill him!”

“What have I done?” Matthew said, the blade dropping from his hand as he gave into the hands that wrestled him to the ground.

“Easy with him!” Alexander’s voice ordered.

Matthew finally realized that the hands that pinned him belonged to men of the city guard. Another group of guards surrounded the scene, keeping people back.

“This is none of your business!” A guard shouted at Alexander, “We’ll handle this!”

“Really?” Alexander shouted back, voice full of indignation, “you know what happened? You saw everything?”

“And you do?” The guard said. Matthew could see the men glaring at one another. He could see both of their faces full of blood, full of anger.

Alexander breathed, calming himself, “I do. I will accompany the boy to the prison. I will explain what happened.”

The guard still stared at him, face tight and getting redder, “Fine!” he shouted, turning to his men, “grab that knife and let’s get this body off the street!” he ordered.

Men hurried, rolling the body up in some canvas. Three men hoisted it and started off. Two guards led Matthew, head hanging, after the corpse.

—————————-

Celes Debeart smiled, pleased with everything that had happened. It had gone even better than she had planned. She had expected that she would have to affect the mind of the young man more, but she had to merely amplify the rage that had sprung up in the man.

She had been impressed. Even in his almost blind rage he had been able to adapt and process what was going on. Celes supposed that part of his reaction was instinct from his time living on the street, but it was all impressive none the less.

She watched as the guards carried Matthew and the dead man off. The man had been easy to manipulate. Gold made the minds of greedy men easier to mold. The promise of a few gold coins for the life of one, unknown girl, was easy money, or so that man had thought. He had no idea that he would not survive the day. The first stage of her plan was done. Celes just hoped that her Uncle was keeping up to his end of the bargain with the good Captain.

Chapter 12 - Truths of Garlin

2010-03-25T00:51:00.000-04:00

Jaron watched as Matthew walked towards the stairs. He just had to catch him, to talk to him, to figure out what it was he had actually said to him. Jaron was not used to people talking to him as Matthew just had. Most heard that he was from House Kensly and everything after that was polite and kind. Never had anyone actually spoken their mind to Jaron as Matthew did.

Celes had been at Jaron’s side when he started through the hall, but had since left it and disappeared into the crowd. He was glad she was gone. There was something about being in her presence that clouded his mind. He was not exactly sure what it was, however it was more than her beauty. At least Jaron thought that it was something more. Jaron had been surrounded by beautiful young girls most of his life and none had the effect that Celes Debeart had on him.

Jaron noticed Cedric standing beside the stairs talking with Lieutenant Alexander at about the same moment that Cedric noticed Matthew, and then Jaron, heading in his direction. Jaron jerked his head towards Matthew hoping that Cedric understood the motion as a signal to stop the young man. He nodded and stepped in front of Matthew, blocking him from the stairs.

The two men exchanged a few words, but Cedric would not move. The large man’s left hand rested on his sword. Jaron knew that to draw his sword with his left hand would be awkward, seeing it was on his left hip. He knew however that it would take only a moment for the man to shift, holding the sheathed weapon steady so that he could quickly draw it with his right.

Jaron finally got to the small group and motioned to Cedric as he spoke, “Is there a problem Lord Kensly?”

“No,” Jaron said as Matthew turned to look at him. He met the young man’s eyes, thinking he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than he was, “There is no problem Cedric, I just think that there may have been a misunderstanding during our conversation and I wanted to be sure to clear it up before Master Matthew could leave.”

The two continued to look into one another’s eyes. Jaron hoped that Matthew could see the sincerity in his own eyes, the message that he meant him no harm and that he just wanted to talk. Matthew’s dark green eyes bore into Jaron. He was not sure what it was about the boy that caused him to look away first, but he broke the gaze to notice Miktan was nearing the group.

“I do hope that my young friend has not caused any trouble Lord Jaron,” the man gave a smile that Jaron was sure would weakened the defenses of anyone in the room. It was kind and trusting, as if you could tell the man anything and it would be safe.

“No trouble Master Miktan, I just wanted to speak with Jaron some more, to apologize,” Jaron paused as he tried to piece together what he was going to say, “I wanted to apologize for misunderstanding what you said before Master Matthew, I may have spoken too harshly in response and I did not want to offend you. Instead, I hope that you will accompany me to continue our conversation, that I can better understand what it is you were explaining to me.”

Matthew shifted suspiciously before speaking, “I am not sure I can explain it in a way that would be to your satisfaction my lord.”

“Well, there is no better way to see that to try,” Jaron said, giving a smile that he hoped would come across much like Miktan’s had.

Matthew glanced to Miktan, then to Cedric, before nodding to Jaron. Jaron motioned Matthew towards one of the doors and took up step beside him. The two walked in silence until they were through the door and it had shut behind them.

“I’m sorry if I offended you Lord Jaron, I lost control for a moment and did not mean to speak to you in such a way,” Matthew said, the words streaming from his mouth.

“It is nothing,” Jaron said, trying to calm the other man, “I meant you no harm, and I am not offended. At least, I think not. I feel more confused at what you said back there, and would wish to talk about it more, so that I might better understand.”

Matthew looked at Jaron suspiciously, “I mean you no offense my lord, but I am not entirely sure I would be comfortable having that conversation with you. I am afraid of what the outcome might be.”
Jaron thought he began to understand as Matthew’s eyes shifted to the sword on his waist, “I give you my word, on my honor as a noble, as the son of a High Lord, that no matter what you say to me no matter if you offend me, that you will leave here this night the same as you arrived, and that I will never bring harm to you based on the words you speak to me this night.”

Matthew hesitated, seeming to weigh the words given him before speaking, “I suppose I can’t argue with the word of a High Lord.”

Jaron cringed, “I do have one request however, if you could refrain from using my title and simply calling me Jaron?”

“I will do my best,” Matthew said with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“This way,” Jaron said motioning down the hall.

He and Matthew travelled down the hallway in relative silence, except when Jaron would direct him down a side hall. He noticed that the young man, nearly a hand taller than he was, seemed to almost blend in with the shadow when they would reach an area between two torches, or a dark area in a hallway.

Finally they reached the sitting room that Jaron was looking for. It was out of the way, and a good distance from the hall. It was unlikely that anyone would disturb the two there, so they could talk in peace. Jaron was comforted by the fact that he could finally get away from all the bowing and scraping that had been taking place during the banquet.

They entered the room. It was one of the simpler of the sitting rooms in the manor. It had a single stone fireplace mirrored by a tapestry on the opposite wall. A portrait of Derrad Kensly, Jaron’s great, great grandfather, hung over the fireplace. Plush armchairs circled a low table decorated with fresh flowers.
Jaron took the torch from outside the sitting room and used it to ignite the logs already sitting in the fireplace. He replaced the torch to his mount outside the room and went to work lighting the oil lanterns on the wall. When he finished, he sat in one of the armchairs and motioned Matthew to sit. He hesitated, but finally sat in the chair across the table from Jaron.

“Now, I was confused by what it said to me out in the courtyard,” Jaron started, not wanting to waste any more time in understanding what had been said to him, “you spoke of hardships, troubles of living in the city. You spoke of begging and stealing to survive as if you yourself have to suffer in such a way.”

Matthew stared into the fireplace, never looking away as he spoke, “That would be because I do.”
Jaron’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean, you do not look like on that suffers.” Jaron looked over the other man’s clothes. They were well made, of the same quality that Jaron wore. They were tailored to Matthew’s build, and could not be cheap, let alone stolen.

Matthew gave a weak laugh, “Clothes, the way one talks, the way one acts; these things can be faked, can be used in a way to play a part. These clothes were given to me by Miktan. He paid for them to be made. Tonight is the only night I have ever worn clothes such as these. Everything I have shown tonight has been a lie,” Matthew lifted his eyes to look at Jaron, “everything except what I said to you.”

“Explain,” Jaron said, hoping that it did not sound like an order.

His eyes returning to the fire, Matthew spoke, “When I was around two years old, my parents died. I was sent to the orphanage where I lived until I was fourteen. Then, I was kicked out, told to survive on my own. I looked for work, I spent an entire month looking. I scoured the city, I even went out to some of the nearby farms, but no one was going to hire a fourteen year old boy that they would have to teach everything to, not when they had sons or daughters they could teach; not when there were young boys half my age willing to learn, more easily taught.”

Jaron stared at the man across from him, enthralled by his words. He continued, “So, I started stealing. Well, I was recruited actually, by another that had been kicked out of the orphanage. With him, and others he had gathered, we began to survive. We stole to survive,” Matthew looked up at Jaron again, “only what we needed mind you, never anything more,” his eyes dropped away again, “everyday we fight this city just to live. Everyday we steal, food, clothes, anything, just to make it to the next day. It isn’t like we want to live like this, we have to. It’s either that, or we just die out on the street to have our bodies found and burned.”

“I was told,” Jaron said, “that those that left the orphanage were given money to survive.”

“Five fangs,” Matthew said with disgust, “I was given five copper fangs when I left. Five fangs doesn’t even feed a person for a day, not if they want to eat decently,” he laughed, “I made it last almost two weeks.”

“I’m sorry, I did not know,” Jaron said, dropping his head to look at the floor.

“Of course you didn’t,” Matthew said. It was quiet, but deliberate, “You, who live here in this manor, who live completely cut off from the city. How could you know? How could you really know what it’s like? I’ve seen guards that look on me with pity, because they almost know what it’s like out there. They see what really goes on.”

Jaron looked up at Matthew, “But, my family, we give money to the city to take care of those that have nothing.”

“I know, but it is given to the elderly, to those too weak to fend for themselves, before it is ever even seen by one like me,” Matthew explained as he continued to stare into the fire, “They deserve it. I still have the strength, the ability, to make it out there. Those people, they’ve fought their entire lives to make it out of the situation they’re in, only to get kicked back down every time they make it to their feet.”

“There must be something that can be done!” Jaron said, hoping for a some sort of suggestion.

Matthew looked at him, a look that was somewhere between indignation and surprise on his face, “As long as there are nobles, there will be the poor. As long as there are people that have plenty, there will be those that have none. There is nothing that can be done, it is a reality that we all must face. I hold no ill-will towards you or your family. You do what you can to ease the suffering of the people. If all the nobles of Garlin did the same, then maybe the lives of those at the bottom wouldn’t be so bad. However, can you see House Danar, or House Bething giving anything outside of what they had to in order to make things easier out there? I doubt it, Lord Danar would be more likely to propose to cleanse the streets completely, killing those that he saw as ‘not fit for society’, am I wrong?”

Jaron drooped, “I suppose not.”

“Again, I apologize for coming at you like I did,” Matthew said, meeting Jaron’s eyes, “It is impossible for you to truly know the state of things in the city, but at the same time, for you to wish to have a different life is just something that I find offensive to me. You, who are in a position to change things, wishing for a life out there. I just don’t understand how you could wish such a thing.”

“In the same way, it is difficult for you to understand my life in here,” Jaron motioned to the room around him, “As you said, I am separated from the city. I am safe in here. Safe from any out there that would wish me harm. However, my entire day is scheduled. There is nothing that has not been planned out in advance. I am a prisoner in my life just as much as you are in yours. I wish for something unexpected,” Jaron raised a hand to motion to Matthew, “Something like you. Never did I expect to be speaking with someone like you tonight, about something like this.”

Matthew grinned, “I suppose I can understand, a little.”

“There is so much that I would give to have a life in which I would not know what was coming next. A life where I had to worry,” Jaron sighed heavily.

“‘Be careful, that you would get that what you wish for, and find that it is not what you thought it would be,’” Matthew said, sitting up straight, finger raised knowingly, “That’s something that matron in the orphanage would always say to anyone that wished for anything. It’s true though. More often than not, what we think we want isn’t what we expect when we get it.”

Jaron chuckled, “I suppose you are right. I also suppose that I have been away for too long. I am sure my mother is worried about where I have disappeared to, and my father, well…” Jaron let the phrase hang.

The two rose, putting out the lamps and shutting the door and flue on the fireplace to choke out the flames. They left the room and returned to the hall. When they entered, Jaron’s father was speaking to Cedric. The man looked backed into a corner. When the large individual noticed Jaron, he pointed at him. Jaron’s father spun and stared at Jaron.

Well, this should be fun, Jaron thought as he strode towards his father.

——————————

Celes Debeart sat in the high-backed chair across from her uncle. The man was thin but held himself in a way that would seem threatening to most. He hair was dark brown, almost as dark as Celes’ was, though the gray streaks at his temples seemed to lighten the rest of his hair. He sat, elbows on the desk, fingers peaked. He pressed the fingers to his lips, contemplating something. His dueling cane, fixed with a large sapphire fixed into the silver grip.

“So,” the older man said, pulling his hands from his face, “you think that you can use these two?”

“Uncle,” the words flowed from her mouth, “with my abilities, there are none that can resist me.”
The man eyed her with suspicion, “And you hold to the fact that you have done no weaving on me? You have left my mind clear?”

“Uncle, I gave you my word, if that is no good, then I have nothing,” she said with a smile.

“There is a little too much of your father in you child,” Lord Bething said, “Excuse me if I have trouble trusting you.”

Celes gave a light laugh. She knew the hatred Juston Bething had for her father, but she also knew his respect for the man. It had taken a lot of work on her father’s part to become a High Lord of Beldin in such short time. A lot of work indeed, but he had trained her well, and she would not have the trouble carrying out her plans that he had found carrying out his.

“Uncle, by the end of the week, the first seal will be released and we will be well on our way towards our final goal,” she curled a strand of hair around her finger, “I know it is hard to do, but you must trust me. Without you, my plans are useless, so I will do nothing to harm you or your family.”

She meant what she said. If she did anything to lose the help of her uncle, then if something were to go wrong, she had no one to place the blame on. She had everything planned, or better, the ones she was working for had everything planned. She knew that she too was just a pawn, but she had plans to become more, plans that those that moved the pieces had no clue about.

Chapter 11 - A Thief in Noble's Clothing

2010-03-22T00:44:00.001-04:00

Lord Kensly and his son stood before all the people gathered in the banquet all, Jaron kneeling before his father. Matthew was enthralled by the ceremony. The two had just exchanged well rehearsed words. Lord Kensly confronted Jaron with numerous questions and Jaron answered them, vowing to live his life in a way that would show respect to every person living in Garlin, as well as any he may come across elsewhere, meeting their needs in any way he could. It was something that Matthew had not expected to hear a noble’s son vow.

Lord Kensly now stood holding a sword that from what Matthew could tell, was expertly crafted. He knelt down, eye level with his son and presented the sword to him.

“It is with this blade that I ask you to protect,” Lord Kensly said in a voice that filled the room and quieted everything, “I ask you to protect those that you love. I ask you to protect those that need protection. The weak and the oppressed. Though remember that this blade is only metal, there are some battles that it will not be a useful tool. It is in those battles that you must use your wit, and your intelligence to win,” Jaron took the sword from his father and stood, leaving his father kneeling before him.

“I shall use this sword to defend those that need defending, regardless of the cost to myself. I will use the knowledge and wisdom gained throughout my time lived to help those that are in need of help,” Jaron’s voice was solid as he made his vow, never wavering, “I promise this to you, my father, as well as to all who have gathered here this day.”

Lord Kensly rose, and the two embraced one another as a cheer went up from those gathered. The two stepped away from one another as Jaron belted the sword to his waist before giving a bow to his father, who returned the act with a bow of his own. Matthew continued to watch even as the two returned to their seats.

People began to rise from their tables, the meal over, and head to the two empty areas in the room. Musicians began to play an upbeat tune as still others rose to speak with Lord Kensly and his family. Matthew relaxed when Alexander stood and went off in the direction of the head table. It was not that he disliked the man, it was just that he had trouble trusting anyone who would be more likely to throw him in a cell than let him survive on the streets.

Eventually Miktan left the table, as well as the young couple that had spent the majority of their evening with them. Miktan went to the musicians, speaking to one of the men before beginning to sing along with what they were playing. The couple went to the dance floor. With nothing to keep him at the table but Matthew, Telan left too, off in search of the information that he seemed to hold so dear.
Matthew sat alone at the empty table. He watched as numerous couples spun along the dance floor. He could not understand what it was about dancing that appealed to people. As far as he could tell dancing served no purpose. Matthew saw a number of girls glancing in his direction as if to will him to ask them to dance. During the meal, Miktan had pointed out any young woman, and some more than ten years older than Matthew, that eyed him curiously. Miktan claimed that they were evaluating him, and probably wished that when the meal was over Matthew would ask them to dance.

In his watching the dance floor, Matthew didn’t notice as someone approached him from his left, “Excuse me,” a voice said and Matthew spun to look in the direction the voice came from, fighting the urge to stand and run.

When Matthew noticed who was standing there, he stood anyway. In all her beauty, Celes Debeart stood, an eyebrow raised at Matthew’s reaction. The want to run strengthened. He was not sure how to handle the situation. He wished Miktan were there, he would know what to say at a time like this.
“L, Lady Celes, it is an honor,” Matthew managed to stutter out.

She covered her mouth as she laughed quietly, “Please, call me Celes, you are Matthew, correct? Master Miktan’s young friend?”

“Ye, yes, I am. Is there anything I can do for you?” Matthew hoped that there was nothing. He hoped that it was just merely some prank that she and the other young women were playing on him. A prank to watch him bumble his way through a conversation with a lady of Celes Debeart’s caliber.

“I was curious if you would be willing to join me for a walk through the courtyard?” She motioned to one of the doors opposite from the main entrance of the hall.

Matthew stood, stunned. He hoped that his mouth was not hanging open, but couldn’t be sure. His head swam, looking for an excuse to get away, any reason.

“He would be honored to,” a voice said from behind him.

Matthew spun again, suddenly realizing how much he had let his guard down. He saw Miktan standing there, a large grin on his face that Matthew knew to be trouble. It was the same grin he had given Matthew when he had accepted Miktan’s offer to accompany him to this accursed banquet. It was not until that moment he realized there were no words accompanying the music that filled the hall.

“I do not believe we have had the honor of being properly introduced, I am Miktan Lonstrat,” the older man said fluidly.

“Yes of course, I am Lady Celes Debeart, daughter of Lord Wilrich Debeart. I must say that I enjoyed your singing, it was a pleasure to hear your wonderful voice,” she said, finally offering her hand which Miktan took and placed a light kiss on her knuckles.

“The pleasure was all mine. Now Matthew,” Miktan turned to look at him, “I do believe that the young lady asked you to accompany her through the gardens.”

Matthew glared at the old man, hoping that his look had softened as he turned to look at Celes, “It’d… It would be my honor,” he said offering his arm to Celes.

Gooseflesh raced across his arm as her hand lightly touched it. He was certain that never again in his life would he see a woman as beautiful as Celes Debeart. As they started off for the door, Matthew concentrated on his walking. He felt uncoordinated next to her, as if he were tripping over his own feet. Celes however seemed to glide across the floor, her feet not even touching the ground as they walked.

Matthew could feel the eyes of most of the young men and women follow them across the room. He was sure that the men were angered at the fact that Celes was on his arm, and he wasn’t sure what the girls were watching. Perhaps this is still part of their prank, Matthew thought as they neared the door.

All that he had learned from Miktan and Jonson over the last couple days left him. He could not remember a thing they had told him. Matthew searched his mind for anything that he was suppose to do. As they were a few steps from the door, Matthew remembered that he should open it, allowing her through the door completely before following.

He forced himself to part from her, feeling as if he lost something as her touch left him. He took two quick steps and pulled the door open. He gave a slight inclination of his head and motioned her through with his arm. Miktan and Jonson had not taught him that, but he had seen nobles in the city do the same and figured that it was appropriate.

She walked past him, the scent of her filling his nose. She smelled of jasmine and something else that he could not place. Once she was through, he stepped through the doorway, leaving the door to close behind him. She walked over to the railing, paying him no mind. He followed, like an obedient hound.

“They are amazing, are they not?” She asked.

Matthew was confused until he noticed that she was staring at the stars, “Uh, yes. Yes they are.”

“It Beldin, the sky is so full of smoke from all the industry buildings that you can not see nearly half of the stars you can see here in Garlin,” she continued to look at the sky as she spoke, but Matthew was fixed on her face in the moonlight.

Celes turned to look at him, their eyes meeting. Her eyes gleamed. It was as if they captured the stars and shone back through them. She smiled and Matthew felt as if he would melt if she commanded it.

“Do you know why it is that I asked you to accompany me out here rather than some other?” She asked, her every word hypnotizing him.

He shook his head and she continued, “It is because unlike every other man in that room, you were one of the few that did not approach me, and from what I can gather, you were the only one that did not approach me that was not already married or promised to another,” she paused a moment before continuing, “though there were a few that approached me all the same.”

Matthew continued to watch her, dumbstruck. She smiled again and Matthew thought that he could lose himself in her deep, blue eyes. They seemed to stand there looking at each other for an eternity, and Matthew was more than happy to do so.

“You are an enigma to me,” she said, breaking the silence and looking away. Matthew felt as if he had just earned all the gold in Garlin and that it had been stolen away from him.

“Why is that?” He asked, finally speaking, though he still watched her face.

“I have been attending the gatherings here in Garlin since I arrived nearly a month ago, yet I have not seen your face once,” again she turned to look at him, this time a look of confusion on her face, “how is that?”

“That would be because this is the first event in Garlin I have attended,” Matthew said before thinking the rest, as a guest at least.

“I see,” she said, an eyebrow raising in suspicion, “did you just arrive in Garlin? From Ugana perhaps?”

“No, I live here in Garlin,” the thought of why he was being so open with her crossed his mind, but he paid it no attention.

“With Master Miktan?” she asked.

“No, Miktan is just a friend that tricked me into coming to this thing,” the thought came again, and this time he caught it. By the weave, what am I thinking telling her this. If she finds out the truth… frayed, I need to find a way out of this.

Celes’ eyebrows furrowed, “Then where do you live?”

“I,” Matthew halted. I almost told her everything. Burn my thread this woman is trouble, He thought carefully before continuing, “I do not think you would believe me if I told you.”

Celes face softened and she smile, “You may be surprised Matthew.”

Any hesitation he had vanished when facing that smile, “I’m a street-thief. I was orphaned when I was very young. When I couldn’t find any work after the orphanage released me, I was taken in by an old friend. He taught me how to steal and survive on the streets. I’ve been doing that ever since.”

Matthew’s mind reeled when he realized what he had said. He was not sure what had just happened. He never trusted anyone outside the crew, besides Miktan, with that information. Now he just blurted it all out to some girl he had only met. He took a couple steps back as he pressed fingers to his temples. His head throbbed as if he had just been struck.

“Interesting,” Celes said blankly, turning from him to look at the sky again.

“Interesting,” Matthwe said sarcastically, looking at her, but with a finger still rubbing at his left temple, “I am willing to bet that anyone else in that room besides Miktan would be shocked at the least to have heard what I just said. There would be some that would probably be more than willing to hand me over to the guard that very moment. And you just think that it’s interesting?”

“I can understand your confusion Matthew, but you know nothing about me, about why I was sent to live with my uncle here in Garlin,” Celes’ face held a pained expression, but she stared at the stars, “I had a habit, back in Beldin, that my father was ashamed of. Mine is a young family, new to the high houses, and my father did not want my habit to tarnish our already fragile reputation.”

Matthew was not sure, but he thought he saw tears in Celes’ blue eyes, “The story everyone is told was that I was sent here to live with my Uncle, to learn the ways of Garlin government and how the houses fit into it. That is barely a part of the truth. In Beldin I had a habit of sneaking out of the keep and passing myself off as one of the commoners.”

Matthew thought that was impossible, that someone as beautiful as Celes could ever be mistaken as a simple commoner, but he did not interrupt, “My father saw little merit in my behavior, thinking as he did of those that were not noble born. The irony is that he himself is not noble born, it is my mother that is. When they married, he used her power to make a name for himself, and through less than righteous means, he weaseled his way in among the high houses. Eventually he was named a High Lord of Beldin.

“When my excursions from the keep came to his attention, he tried to imprison me. Me, his own daughter, locked in a room in the keep. However, I continued to find ways out. Finally my father sent me here to live with my Uncle, the brother of my mother. He hopes that my Uncle will be able to force me into being the dutiful noble’s daughter he truly wishes me to be.”

It was now Matthew’s turn to be confused, and he was, “How is living with your Uncle suppose to change you behavior?”

“My Uncle is a rather harsh individual. I would rather not go into the details of how, but he gave me options of which there was one that was clearly what was safe for me,” tears streamed from Celes’ eyes now as she told her story.

Matthew was about to go to her, to try and offer her some comfort as the door to the banquet hall burst open and someone stormed through. Matthew could not see who it was with the bright light of the hall to his back, and the sudden introduction of the light blurred Matthew’s vision.

He looked to Celes, who’s tears had seemed to vanish as quickly as the person had entered the courtyard. She stood, beautiful in her light blue dress, looking at the stars. As Matthew’s eyes adjusted he could make out the sword on the man’s hip and some of his face.

“Lord Jaron?” Celes spoke, putting words to Matthew’s thoughts and having turned to look at the young man.

“What?” he said, spinning on her, “Oh, Lady Celes, I am sorry, I hope that I did not frighten you.”
Matthew had tightened when Jaron had turned on Celes, but they relaxed as Celes spoke, “It was no trouble, is everything all right?”

Jaron threw his hands in the air in frustration, “All right? Of course they are, why wouldn’t they be? I am the son of a High Lord. Heir to his estate. And now? Now I should be free to do what I like but I am still a prisoner to this life!”

Matthew flinched as Jaron shouted the last to the sky. He wanted to stand by Celes, to protect her if she should need it, but instinct told him to stay in the shadows where it seemed he had not yet been seen.

“Is there trouble my lord?” Celes asked, placing a hand on Jaron’s shoulder.

Matthew felt a pang of jealousy as Jaron turned his head to look into Celes’ eyes, “No, no trouble,” Jaron said, his voice much calmer than before, “I just wish that I could live the life I choose. I wish that I could live outside this manor, among the people. Instead I have everything handed to me. Anything I could ask for is brought to me. Why do I deserve to be pampered? What is it that set me apart from any other man in this city? My family? My father? My blood? Burn it all.”

Matthew stood confused at Jaron’s words. That one such as he, one that lived in comfort. One that had the choice to forsake all he had could be envious of those that fought to survive. Matthew felt anger bubble up in him. Anger at the boy’s naiveté.

“A life beyond these walls, that it what I want. A life in which I can accomplish something, where I can see the fruits of my labor,” Jaron’s head hung.

Matthew finally stepped from the shadows, “You know nothing of what you wish,” Jaron’s head spun to look at him, “Life out there isn’t nearly as glamorous as you seem to think it is. Day after day people have to do things they wish they didn’t, to do things they’re not proud of, all because they aren’t born into a life you have. We have to lie, cheat and steal our way through life while you sit in your beautiful manor, have your banquets and whine about what you have while my friends and I live out there wondering if we’ll eat tomorrow,”

Matthew realized that he had shifted to including himself in those he spoke of, but in his anger he didn’t care, “You are right when you say that you are apart from the world beyond this place, that you don’t live a life like we do. Be happy that you can. You aren’t happy with your life here? You think that living out there will change anything? You are poorly mistaken, my Lord,” Matthew’s voice dripped contempt on those words, “You know what you do have? You have power. You have power to change things, to change the way things are out there. To make people’s lives better. Instead you wish to leave this place, the place that would allow you to do something, and trade it for a life of misery.”

Matthew stared at the two noble’s before him, sure his face was red in anger. Finally everything he had just said hit him like a club. Panic set in. I just yelled at a Lord, fray, not just a lord, a High Lord. He turned to the door and quickly made his way back inside the hall, leaving Celes and Jaron standing in the courtyard with dumbstruck expressions on their faces.

He felt exposed, completely naked as he entered the massive room. He looked to the massive doors on the other side of the hall that would open to his freedom. All that stood between them and him were hundreds of nobles and dozens of guards. He started his way across the room.

He could hear that Miktan was singing along with the band now, but it was a dim thought as he focused on the two large doors. He was nearly a quarter of the way there when he felt eyes on his back. Instinctively he cut into the crowds, looking back to see Jaron and Celes standing just inside the door, scanning the room.

Looking for me, Matthew thought, By the weave, what was I thinking? He continued across the room, weaving through the crowd. It slowed him, but it also hid him. When he reached the edge he saw that he had maybe thirty paces to the stairs. Thirty paces with no cover. A large guard stood to one side of the stairs talking with someone. Matthew recognized the man talking with the guard as Alexander.
Thinking his luck could not get any worse, he started. He walked casually, at least as casually as he could manage with his skin crawling and his mind screaming at him to run. He tried to swallow his fear.

Then steps from the first stair Matthew noticed the guard look up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that he wasn’t looking at him, but out into the hall. Five steps away and the guard stood in front of him, hand on his sword, though it remained sheathed. Alexander stood next to the man looking at Matthew curiously.

“If you will excuse me, I really need to be going,” Matthew said, looking up at the much larger man, hoping that he would step aside.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave just yet,” the man said with a blank look on his face.

Chapter 10 - Finding Comfort

2010-03-18T00:01:00.000-04:00

Alexander stood straight as a board, fighting the urge to lean against the wall that was just behind him. He knew that doing so would say something about his character, and as he was in his full dress uniform, it would in turn reflect on the army. Captain Edbar stood to his left. His superior’s eyes continually scanned the crowd, as if there was a threat waiting for him.

When the invitations had arrived at the barracks two days before, Captain Edbar was surprised. He confronted Alexander about it, asking why the two of them had received the invitations. After Alexander explained the happenings of the previous day, Edbar actually praised him, in his own way. He had said that it would be good to have connections within the Garlin nobles, and the banquet would serve as a way for the two of them to create more connections.

In the short four days since the soldiers had arrived in Garlin, they had received their fair share of people come to them with anger and disappointment. Nobles from around the city were sure that their presence was one of oppression, that it was the intent of the government to begin take away the freedoms Garlin had enjoyed since they joined with the Beldinian Empire.

The Captain had done all he could to ensure that the men were not there to cause any trouble and that people would be free to live their lives as they always did. The problems came when Captain Edbar was confronted with what their true purpose in Garlin was.

He had yet to receive any orders since arriving in Garlin, at least none that Alexander had been aware of. The men were growing anxious, only having their patrols throughout the city to occupy them. Many of them were confused as to why they were there, why some of them had been pulled from their families to come to Garlin, why others had been called from their previous assignments. Alexander managed to keep most of his men, and some of Edbar’s, content for the time being, but he hoped orders would come down soon, before they lost control of the men.

Alexander noticed Lord Kensly and Jaron moving in the direction of himself and the Captain. The two men saluted as they approached.

“Lieutenant, I am glad to see that you could make it,” Lord Kensly said, offering a had which Alexander took.

“Lord Kensly, it is an honor to be here. This is my commanding officer, Captain Vanles Edbar,” Alexander said, motioning to his left.

“It is an honor to meet you High Lord,” Edbar said, taking the man’s hand and giving it a firm shake.
“As it is you Captain. This is my son,” the man motioned to the young man standing beside him, “the reason for this gathering.

Jaron shook the Captain’s hand, going through the ceremony he had gone through so many times already this evening.

“Ah, yes, the Lieutenant tells me that you are quite the swordsman,” Edbar said with a smile.
Jaron returned the smile, “I am afraid that I have a long way to go before I would compare with Lieutenant Varross.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure that as long as you stick with it, you’ll be one of the best sword-arms in Garlin in no time,” Captain Edbar said almost giddily. Edbar always had seemed to overdo it when around nobility.

Jaron gave another slight smile as two sharp cracks rung throughout the hall and a voice cried out, “I present Master Miktan Lonstrat and his protege Matthew.”

All eyes focused on the two as they descended the stairs, Alexander’s included. The older, Miktan he assumed, seemed in rather good shape for his age, carrying himself well. Alexander estimated the man in his late forties at the youngest. He wore a white coat worked in gold, as were his black slacks. In his right hand he held a simple dueling cane, the handle however was an intricately carved talon with gripped an emerald of decent size.

The younger man seemed the exact opposite from the man he accompanied. The older gentleman seemed to fit in with the crowd gathered in the hall, eyes kept forward as he descended the stairs. The boy’s eyes however scanned the room, as if to watch everything at once. He was not overly noticeable, or so Alexander thought, though a group of girls on the other side of the room did not seem to think so. The boy looked to be of average height, perhaps a little on the thin side, though it was difficult to tell with his long coat. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing that it was cut short on the sides.

His outfit was almost entirely black, save for the silver vest he wore under his coat. The entire suit was worked in an elaborate embroidery with silver thread. The style of the suit was unlike any Alexander had seen in Garlin, at least on any of the men present, though it seemed familiar of some he had seen when he was in Beldin last. If not for his dark hair and his hidden wonder at the hall, Alexander could have easily mistaken him for the son of some noble in Beldin.

The two reached the bottom of the stairs and everyone returned to their previous doings as if nothing had happened. Alexander was not sure why the custom existed, but he found it strange that everyone watched a guest enter the hall in silence. His eyes however lingered on the two men a short while longer.

“If you would excuse us,” Lord Kensly said, Alexander finally breaking from looking at the newcomers, “we had better greet some others before they begin to feel slighted.”

Alexander and the Captain nodded in understand as the two others turned and headed in the direction of the newcomers. Alexander began to survey the crowd, seeing if he could recognize the crests on men’s jackets. He noticed that Captain Edbar’s gaze seemed to be locked on a group of girls, on one young woman in particular.

The girl was pretty, beautiful in fact, wearing a light blue, almost white dress of typical Beldin styling. Her long dark brunette hair hung near the small of her back, all in waves and shining in the light of the hall. Her attitude seemed unlike the rest of the girls at the banquet, most seeming to gossip and chatter over anything. This girl kept herself composed, speaking with few, small motions of her hand and while the others laughed and giggled loudly, she was soft.

“Do you know her Captain?” Alexander asked, knowing that the Captain had spent a good deal of time around nobles in recent years.

“Hmm?” the other man started, never looking from the young woman, “oh, yes. She is Lord Debeart’s second daughter.”

“Lord Debeart, of Beldin?”

This time Edbar turned to look at him before looking back to the girl, “Of course. Though, I’m not sure why she is here in Garlin. The last I had heard she was betrothed to the young Lord Therick.”

“Perhaps the betrothal was broken,” Alexander suggested, “I had heard in my last passing through Beldin that House Therick and House Debeart were not other best of terms.”

“Perhaps,” the Captain said, almost as if to say more, but he remained silent.

The two men returned to scanning the room as more people arrived and the strange ceremony was repeated for each new arrival. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, the caller rapped his heavy cane five times and called for everyone to be seated. Everyone wove their way through people to tables. In a way it seemed like a dance, a large, uncoordinated dance. Alexander and Edbar made their way to a clear table, sitting among two young couples and a lone, older man.

Once everyone had found a seat, there came another rap of the cane and the caller spoke in his thunderous voice that seemed to fill the hall, “Dinner is now served.”

The man bowed as servants began to stream from two doors along one wall carrying a plate in each hand. The servants wore the dark purple and yellow of House Kensly. They placed the plates before the guests; the women first, then the men. Once everyone had a plate before them, the servants made their way through the crowd carrying pitchers. As Alexander’s glass was filled, he could smell the wine each pitcher carried. The serving took minutes with the number of people hired to take care of the guests that evening.

Once all the servants had left, everyone looked to the head table and Lord Kensly stood, “Lords and ladies, men and women, I would like to begin by thanking you for joining my family and I in celebrating this momentous occasion. This is that day in which my son begins his journey no longer as a boy, but as a man. This is day in which I can look at my son, knowing the kind of boy he has been, and hope at what kind of man he will become.”

There was a rise of applause that filled the room before Lord Kensly raised his hand to silence the room so he might continue, “This day I release my hold on my son and allow him to make choices for himself, allowing him to experience things for himself. I believe that each and every one of you in some way has helped to shape my son into the person he has become, and the man he will be. A man that we can all be proud to call a friend, brother,” Lord Kensly turned to look at Jaron, and son. To Lord Jaron Kensly!”

Lord Kensly lifted his wine glass as a cheer went up and people raised their glasses. As Lord Kensly took a drink from his goblet, the crowd quieted and did the same. Alexander was surprised as the cool liquid ran down his throat. It was stronger than he was accustomed to. Captain Edbar seemed to have a similar reaction, eyes wide as he looked at the cup before him before he finally returned it to the table.
Alexander examined the plate before him. It was a simple salad, as was tradition for the first course. It was made with greens accented with a few carrots and peppers and dressed with a light oil. As Alexander took a bit, it was as he expected, the best. The greens were crisp, the carrots sweet and flavorful, the peppers accented the carrots well, and the oil was light, so as to not overpower the rest of the dish.

Alexander ate quietly, letting Captain Edbar answer most of the questions the rest of the people at the table asked. It was rare that Alexander took part in conversations with nobles, as they seemed to always have some hidden meaning in them. From what Alexander could tell, the conversations at his table were much the same. The men at the table asked why the army had come, appearing to not care about the presence of over one thousand men, yet the tone of their voice bordered on demanding. A few asked how long the men would be in Garlin; no doubt hoping that it was a stopping point while on the way to some other destination.

Alexander glanced around at the other tables. Most of the conversations were quieted, kept to the table. Some were a little more casual than others, more relaxed and less worried about people overhearing. Alexander’s eyes fell on a particular table at which two older men, a younger man and a lesser noble couple, or so Alexander assumed by their dress, all sat. There was an occasional bout of boisterous laughter that would erupt from one of the older men, and the rest at the table smiled, seeming to enjoy the conversation they were having.

“If you will excuse me Captain,” Alexander said, leaning towards Edbar, “I believe I will take this opportunity to speak with some of the other guests.”

Edbar waved his hand in dismissal, happy to being given the attention that the people at their table offered. Alexander rose, taking his wine glass, and began his way through the tables. Various tables stopped him, introducing themselves and asking his name. He gave it willingly, as well as answered any of the questions they had for him to the best of his ability before starting off again. Finally he found himself standing before the table with the two older men, currently laughing about something.
“Excuse me,” Alexander said, “would you mind if I joined you?” He motioned to an empty chair at the table.

“Of course not Lieutenant,” one of the older men said, motioning him to sit. Alexander thought through all the people he had watched arrive, trying to remember who the old man in the white coat was.

“Thank you, you are Master Miktan, correct?” Alexander asked as he lowered himself into the chair.

“Yes indeed, very good memory Lieutenant…” he left the sentence hanging, waiting for Alexander to supply his name.

“Alexander, Lieutenant Alexander Varross, Commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit,” Alexander said, giving a formal introduction.

“A pleasure, this,” the man motioned to the young boy on his left, “is my companion Matthew, the older gentleman here,” he said motioning to the man across the table, “is Telan, and this lovely young couple are Lord Duncan and Lady Lyna.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Alexander said before taking another drink of his wine, the strength of it still catching him off guard.

“And a pleasure to meet you,” Telan said before turning to look at Miktan, pointing a finger at the other man, “Do you remember the time in Sticaster when we met young Lena Reed?”

“Oh dear, yes, all too well. If I remember correctly,” Miktan said raising an eyebrow towards the other man, “it all began with you having too much to drink, a common occurrence if memory serves.”
Telan laughed, “That may be true, but there were very few times that you were right there with me. Anyway, that has little to do with the story. Miktan, a few others and myself were on our way out of Beldin, in a hurry. One of us had managed to anger one of the local nobles in some way or another and he was out for blood, or so we thought. So we are traveling, camping out, hiding, when we come across this small village name Sticaster. We find a farmer that is willing to allow us to sleep in his barn, in the loft, for a few copper. While there, one of our fellows manages to catch the eye of a young lady by the name of…” Telan rubbed his forehead as if it would produce the name.

“Velene,” Miktan provided.

“That’s right, Velene. So, she is all cow eyed over our friend, and is becoming rather forward. When our friend gives into the temptation, just a little bit, Lena Reed reveals herself. Lena Reed just happens to be Velene’s mother, who we hadn’t seen the two days we were in the village. Our friend tries to explain what was happening, but she would not believe that her darling, innocent daughter would do such a thing,” Telan’s words dripped with sarcasm, “It seemed that she held some sway in the village and we were ran out that very night.”

“She is the healer,” Alexander said with a grin.

Everyone turned to look at him, but it was Telan that spoke, “What’s that?”

“Lena Reed is the healer of the village of Sticaster, and a rather good one as a matter of fact. She is quite often visited by some of the people of Beldin, and from time from time she is summoned by some of the noble families to look after their ill,” the table was fixed on Alexander as he spoke, “I took one of my men to her last spring when he came down with a fever that none of the herb workers in Beldin could cure. Within two days he was back on his feet, strong as ever and hungry as an ox.”
“Well I’ll be…” Telan started, “Well, at least we was run out by someone important!”

Everyone laughed and the conversations continued, Telan and Miktan sharing stories while the rest of the table watched in anticipation. The two of them could weave a tale as if they were both court bards to the highest houses. The stories continued as the main course was brought out; a large slice of roast with vegetables and potatoes.

As the table ate, Miktan looked to Alexander, “Lieutenant, if you don’t mind my asking, what is it that brings a small unit such as your to our fair city of Garlin?” The question did not hold the anger or disdain that had been present in the voices of many of the others that asked the question. Instead, it held curiosity, simple and pure.

“I wish I could tell you, but the orders have not yet been given to me, Captain Edbar is the superior officer on this excursion, and he has not yet revealed to us its purpose, though I doubt it holds any trouble for the citizens here in Garlin,” Alexander hoped that his explanation would do for the man.

“I see…” he said, though he pushed the issue no further.

Alexander relaxed as the conversation went back to the lighter mood it had been when he arrived. More stories were told as the dinner was cleared, wine glasses were refilled and dessert was served. Toasts were given to Jaron throughout the meal and Alexander was glad that he had finally found a place he could relax among the frenzy that was the life of nobles.

Chapter 9 - The World of Nobles

2010-03-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

Matthew stared at the mirror in front of him. He could hardly believe that the reflection he saw was his. He was astonished at how he looked. If he saw himself walking down the street, he would believe that he was from the upper class at least.

He ran his fingers over his hair. It felt strange. His hair hadn’t just been washed, Miktan said that wouldn’t do. Instead, Jonson had thoroughly cleaned it. He then cut it and styled it. Where before, it had simply hung to his shoulders, looking like that of a mop, it now was pulled back, a short tail left at the back of his head. The sides had been cut short, long enough to remain visible, but so short that if Matthew ran his hand across it, it would scratch at his skin.

The clothes were completely different than anything he had ever worn, more than he had ever even thought of wearing. He wore the black slacks, the black silk shirt and the gray vest. The tailor had taken the liberty of working an elaborate pattern throughout the vest in a darker thread. At first Matthew had been upset at the change, however, seeing it now as part of the whole, he understood it and rather liked it.

He looked at the coat draped over the chair beside the mirror. He knew that putting it on would change nothing, but as long as it was left on the chair, Matthew held on to a last bit of hope that he could still manage his way out of the evening. However, he now felt indebted to Miktan. He’d gone through buying him the clothes and he and Jonson had worked so hard the last two days drilling him with the etiquette and unwritten rules of the upper class; when to bow, when to simply incline your head, when to stand, when to sit, when to speak and when to remain silent; there were so many rules that Matthew was certain he was going to forget one, if not all of them before the night was out. He was glad however that he wouldn’t have to dance, the two older men hadn’t had the time, nor the patience to teach him that. Miktan assured Matthew that at such an event as this one it was the role of the man to approach the woman to dance.

Matthew reached over and took up the coat, sliding his arms into the sleeves and shrugging his shoulders so that everything fell into place. He clumsily did up the buttons down the front, he was still horrible at those and the silk shirt had taken him nearly ten minutes to do correctly. He gave the coat a nice tug before looking back to the mirror. The coat fit perfectly and enhanced the appearance that he was of the upper class, if not a noble. He smoothed his hands down the front of the coat and traced the embroidery along the sleeves.

A knock came at the door, “Come in,” Matthew said, turning towards it.

Jonson entered the room, looking Matthew over before speaking, “You look quite dashing Master Matthew,” the man’s tone was no different than it ever was, but Matthew was sure he had seen a smile on the man’s face, “Master Miktan asked me to check on you, to be see that you were ready. The carriage will be arriving soon.”

Matthew looked himself over, “I’m pretty sure I’m ready Jonson, I can’t think of anything else.”

“I am, and can not, Master Matthew, please try your best to not use contractions this evening, it projects a lower education,” Jonson lectured.

"I did recieve a lower education Jonson, I can’t… can not help it,” Matthew shot back.

The lessons regarding his speech had been some of the hardest to take. Jonson and Miktan continually corrected him and expected him to speak without contractions and without slurring at all over the past couple days. It had grown quite annoying after dinner the first night.

“This party will be full of lords and ladies Master Matthew, as well as some of the high lords no doubt,” Jonson began explaining, just as he had every time Matthew argued with him on the topic, “They will expect a level of caliber of the people attending. While it is true that you are not part of their social circle, they will look down upon you if you speak as you always do and think that you are disrespecting them. It would be best if of you to try and hold to something of their standards in order to give them the peace of mind that they are in good company.”

Matthew sniffed before heading towards the door. Jonson took a step to the side to allow him through before taking up a position behind him, following him through the hall. Matthew moved quickly down the stairs. He was surprised at the softness of the boots and how comfortable they were. The boots were the first pair he had ever worn that were fitted for him. Every pair before had been stolen, or handed down from another in the gang. Neither case lent itself to a good fit.

Miktan stood at the bottom of the stairs. While Matthew’s wore a black coat, Miktan wore a white coat with gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His vest was a dark blue and his slacks were black, sharing in the gold embroidery down the outside of the leg. Matthew thought that the outfit was fitting for Miktan, though it would stand out far too much for Matthew’s taste. In his right hand he held a dueling cane, the top decorated with a talon grasping a decent sized emerald.

“Are you ready my boy?” Miktan asked as he grinned at Matthew.

Through the windows to either side of the door, Matthew could see that the carriage was waiting for them out front, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he shot a look at Jonson, expecting him to correct his use of a contraction, but the man stood silent and shook his head instead.

Miktan opened the door and motioned Matthew through. Matthew walked through into the street and breathed deep. There was something about the dusty air of the street of Garlin that calmed Matthew. He supposed it had something to do with his familiarness with them.

He took a few more steps and froze as shouts and whistling rang out from above him. His eyes shot up to see what was causing the noise. As his eyes focused in the light, he saw what he could only assume was the entire crew looking over the ledge of one of the flat roofed buildings on the other side of the street. They cheered and whistled, waving fists in the air and pointing at him. He could feel as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and a little anger he thought.

Matthew spun to face Miktan as he shut the door behind him, “How did they find out about this?”

“Oh,” he said as if it were no surprise at all to have more than a dozen people shouting at them from the rooftops, “well you see, when I sent Jonson to the warehouse with the writ of payment for your outstanding work the other evening, he may have let slip that you were going to be attending this function with me. He felt it was only fitting that Vansen know where you were going to be over the next couple days.”

Matthew shook his head and spun back around, stalking to the carriage. People on the street stared in wonder at what was going on, some with curiosity, others with anger. A few people shouted back for the crew to be silent, and some even took up throwing stones from the street. None of it had any effect on the commotion, it seemed to feed it, the shouts and jeers growing louder.

Matthew stepped into the carriage, Miktan following behind him. He had hoped once he was out of sight, the screams, shouts and whistles would stop. They did not. They continued as the carriage lurched, starting down the street. Even as they took the first turn he could hear the cries continue.
Matthew stared at the floor the entire ride, not saying a word. When he glanced up at Miktan the few times, the man just smiled as if it were all planned out from the beginning. Matthew thought maybe it was. Miktan worked that way, not leaving anything to chance as long as he could.

Finally Matthew felt the carriage begin to slow, finally coming to a stop. He felt it rock as the driver dropped to the ground. The door opened and Miktan stepped through first. Matthew hesitated. There was absolutely no way of getting out of it, but at least in the carriage he was still invisible to the rest of the world.

Matthew stepped out the door of the carriage and stared at the scene before him. Miktan had explained to Matthew that Lord Kensly saw little value in being overly extravagant and so he didn’t have a large stone keep like the rest of the high lords. However, looking at the manor before him, Matthew was of the opinion that it was every bit as awe inspiring as Keep Danar.

“Close your mouth boy,” Miktan said grinning at Matthew, “you are libel to swallow a fly if you leave it open.”

Matthew did as he was instructed and took position just to the right of Miktan, two steps behind. They climbed the few stairs leading leading up to two large doors that were swung open. As they entered the banquet hall, Matthew couldn’t help but stare. The inside of the manor was amazing. It didn’t have tapestries and statues that he had seen during the banquet in Keep Danar, but the simpleness of the room seemed to bring out the beauty of it. The entire room was wood, just as the entire outside of the manor was, but inside it shone. Matthew guessed that the wood was cherry by the color and grain of it, but he couldn’t be certain. Evenly spaced hung a few tapestries and murals depicting great battles or ceremonies.

Torches were fitting to the walls about fifteen paces apart. From the ceiling hung six chandeliers, each one holding dozens of candles that flooded the room with light. Round tables were spread across one section of the room, deliberately placed, each one fit with a white cloth and a magnificent centerpiece of flowers. There were two areas clear of everything, one larger than the other. Matthew assumed that one was for dancing, and another, with people currently milling about speaking with one another, was for conversations. A walkway, almost twenty paces wide encompassed the room.

A man walked over to Miktan from one side. He wore a dark purple coat with dark yellow along the wrist and bottom hem and he carried a heavy cane. Miktan leaned to the man, saying something that Matthew couldn’t make out over the noise of the room. The man then returned to his position at the side of the platform.

The man struck his heavy cane against a smooth piece of stone set into the floor twice and the room grew silent, “I present Master Miktan Lonstrat and his protege Matthew,” he said, his voice filling the room.

Miktan began down the stairs that led down into the banquet all and Matthew followed. Every face in the room seemed to be focused on the two. Matthew tried remain composed and not stare or make a fool of himself. He didn’t like having all those eyes trained on him. He could not help but notice that there were a few people that leaned in near each other and whispered something between them as they watched. To one side of the room, Matthew spotted a small group of young women, he guessed the had to be around his age, chattering and giggling quietly as they shot glances towards him.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, it was as if they were not there. Everyone turned back to their own conversations, or whatever they were doing before and continued along. Matthew watched as an older gentleman followed by a young boy.. The older man was of average size and height, but carried himself in a way that made him appear more intimidating than he was. His black hair, beginning to gray at the temples, was swept back. His full beard was trimmed short and well groomed. He wore a traditional suit, much like Miktan’s was. It was a deep blue in color and on the left breast the sigil of House Kensly, the hawk, wings flared and talons stretching, was readily visible.

The boy behind him, Matthew thought boy, though he was only a year younger than he was at most, followed close behind the older man. He had much the same look of the older man. Matthew guessed that he must be Jaron, Lord Kensly’s son, and the reason for the banquet, though Matthew thought that nobles needed little reason to hold a grand banquet such as this one. The boy’s hair was just slightly darker than his father’s, nearing black, and his face was clean. The major difference in the two was how they carried themselves. Lord Kensly walked and stood in such a way that demanded respect. Jaron however seemed to just stand and walk as any other. The other difference was their eyes. Lord Kensly had deep blue eyes but Jaron’s were a steely gray.

“Master Miktan, I am so glad to see that you could make it,” Lord Kensly said as they stopped before the two men near the bottom of the stairs.

“It was an honor to be invited, this is quite the display,” Miktan replied, giving a deep bow before taking the high lord’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

Lord Kensly turned to look at Matthew before speaking, “And this must be young Matthew that you wrote about in your reply. It is an honor to meet you Matthew, as I am sure you already know, I am Lord Maris Kensly.”

Matthew bowed, emulating Miktan as best he could, before shaking the man’s outstretched hand, “The honor is all mine Lord Kensly, I hope that I am not intruding on you and your guests,” Matthew said politely. Jonson had asked that he humble himself when speaking to the host of the event and Matthew did not want to give the High Lord any reason to distrust him.

“It is no problem Matthew, we have more than enough to share with you,” the man smiled as he spoke.
The tone in the High Lord’s voice caught Matthew off guard. He expected something different somehow. It did not give the same commanding, disdainful feeling that most of the other nobles Matthew came across did. It seemed almost friendly.

Lord Kensly motioned the boy behind him forward, “This is my son, Jaron. Jaron, this is Master Miktan Lonstrat. Back in my youth, he entertained many of us with his tales and songs.”

“It is a pleasure Master Miktan,” Jaron said politely but with an empty tone. He shook hands with Miktan before turning to Matthew, “and it is a pleasure to meet you Matthew.”

“The same,” Matthew said with a bow.

“Master Miktan, perhaps you would be so kind as to honor us with one of those songs to tales this evening,” Jaron said.

“I would be honored,” Miktan replied.

Lord Kensly seemed to notice something beyond the two he was speaking with, “Ah, I suppose we had better move on and speak to some more of our guests. You must find me sometime this evening Miktan, it has been far too long since we last spoke.”

“I will do my best Maris,” Miktan said with a laugh as the two others turned and headed off in the direction of another small group of people.

Matthew scanned the room as Miktan made his way through the groups of people, stopping to speak with some of them, introducing Matthew who remained as silent as possible. Matthew’s eyes fell on two men that stood near on of the walls. Each man stood stiffly, much like the guards did that stood around the room, and both had a sword on his hip, but their clothes were different. Each wore a dark green coat and black slacks that had a broad golden stripe that ran the length of the leg. One of the man’s coats was decorated with two stars on the shoulder and color, the other’s had only one. Each man had a number of medals hanging from the left breast of the jacket.

When they stood apart from any other people, Matthew motioned carefully towards the two men, “Who are they?”

Miktan stopped, looking in the direction that Matthew directed, “Hm? Oh, those are army officers, a captain and lieutenant by the stars,” Miktan answered, “it may not be a bad idea to speak with them, perhaps I can learn why so many soldiers have entered Garlin.”

Matthew thought that the second part was not for him, but he thought on it all the same. The two sat at and empty table with glasses of water sitting at each place setting. From time to time Miktan would point out groups of people, explaining who they were, giving their families and what they were known for. Matthew made mental notes of each one, not knowing if it would come in handy or not, but thinking it was better to have the information than not.

As Matthew scanned the room his eyes fell upon a group of young women. There was one in particular that caught his attention and held it. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He estimated that she was older than he was by a couple years at most, but that may have been part of her appearance playing tricks on his mind.

She wore a light blue dress that when the light hit is just right, it almost seemed white. The dress was unlike the ones that the majority of the other women wore. Instead of revealing her legs and bosom as the other women did, this woman’s dress covered her. The top of the dress followed her collarbone, leaving her shoulders bare. Instead of revealing her body, it hinted at it. The sleeves were tight around her upper arm but were cut at the elbow so that they hung down when she raised her arm, revealing her forearm and hand.

Her skin, what was visible of it, was creamy, pale and appeared to be ever so smooth, almost glowing in the light. Of all her features, her face seemed to be perfection among perfection. Her mouth formed an ever present smile which was also apparent in the area around her eyes. Her dark brunette hair hung in long waves, ending near the small of her back. Her clear, bright blue eyes sparkled in the lights of the banquet hall.

“Who is she?” Matthew asked, leaning to Miktan but never taking his eyes from the girl.

“Who? Oh,” Miktan sat quietly for a moment, “I, I don’t know,” the tone of his voice was akin to surprise, though Matthew paid it little mind, “I do not believe I have ever seen that young woman before in my life.”

“No doubt,” a new voice said. Miktan and Matthew both spun to look in the direction it came from as a large gentleman of about Miktan’s age Matthew thought, sat in one of the chairs at their table, “it has been a long time since you have been in Beldin old friend. That would be the young Lady Celes Debeart.”

“Telan!” Miktan said excitedly, “Why, it has been far too long since I have seen your ugly face. Frayed man, you’ve gotten old.”

The other man laughed as they shook hand across the table, “I can’t say that you look any younger than last I saw you either Miktan.”

“Debeart,” Miktan said, “I’m not familiar with that name. And from Beldin, what in the weave is she doing here in Garlin? Does it have something to do with those soldiers being here?”

Telan shook his head, “It has nothing to do with the shoulders, and it is no doubt that you haven’t heard of House Debeart, they only managed to get their house added to the great houses about a year back, though they have climbed to power in quick time. There are none that I have met that ever heard of House Debeart before five years back. They seemed to come from no where.”

Telan took a moment to take a drink of water before continuing, “As for why she is here, there is much rumor about that.”

Miktan raised a questioning eyebrow at the other man, “And I am sure that you have managed to weasel enough information out of everyone to piece together the truth?”

Telan laughed, “You know me too well Miktan,” the three leaned in together at Telan’s motioning hand, “From what I’ve learned, the young lady managed to displease her father in some way and she was sent here to live with her mother’s brother and learn some discipline, as well as to learn the ways of the Garlinian court.”

“Is that so?” Miktan commented as he turned back to look at the woman, “And who would her uncle be?”

“Lord Juston Bething,” Telan said plainly.

Miktan nodded as if he were beginning to piece the puzzle together that was the mystery of Lady Celes Debeart. “I must say that she isn’t too hard on the eyes,” Miktan said with a laugh.

“Indeed not, though I’m afraid she is a bit too young and we too old,” Telan’s gaze shifted to Matthew, “Your young friend however…” Telan let the comment drop off, implying the rest.

Matthew felt his cheeks flush and he tried to hide it by taking a long drink of his water. The two men laughed loudly, drawing looks from some of the closer tables.

“You should ask the girl to dance tonight,” Telan said, jerking his head toward the group of women Celes was a part of, “I doubt she’d be able to turn down a strapping young man like yourself.”
Matthew shook his head, “I assure that there will be no dancing for me tonight. I’d be as lost as a street-thief in this party.”

Miktan looked at Matthew with a glance that just made him grin, but Telan continued on, “All the better. Women like it when the man is lost, it makes them think that they can mold you into whatever they like.”

Miktan barked another laugh, “I am not sure that you are the best to be giving advice when it comes to women Telan, what wife are you on now? Four? Five?”

“The seventh just left me three months back,” Telan said, “but that’s beside the point, those marriages mean I have experience when it comes to how women work.”

The three shared a laugh and the conversation became Miktan and Telan trading jabs at one another’s life. Matthew was glad that the attention had shifted away from him. He was more comfortable watching from the shadows that being put on display for all to see.

He continually scanned the numerous people in the hall, reminding himself of the people Miktan had pointed out. However, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he always found his gaze lingering back on Celes Debeart.

Chapter 8 - Omnious Visions

2010-03-11T00:01:00.000-05:00

The stars shone brightly as Siala stared out the window at them. She needed something to occupy her mind. Initially, she had tried to concentrate on the words being said by the seven other people that occupied the small hut, but the conversation was dull and the voices monotone. On top of that, it seemed that they were talking in some sort of code, none of what they said made sense to Siala. So, she began to watch the stars. The sky was clear for the most part, only a few clouds dotted the sky above.

“We need to find out what the danger is and when it will be here,” Atres, the High Elder explained, “Without knowing that, there is no way for us to prepare properly.”

“We understand the urgency Atres, but we have only the word of one to interpret. None of the other Chosen shared in the same vision, so how can we be sure sure how events will unfold, or that it will come to pass at all?” Eldee, another of the elders, asked.

“We can’t be, and at the same time we can not just ignore the words of a Chosen, especially one that had such a violent response to their vision. Taen still has not woken since the occurrence. Such a powerful vision must not be ignored,” Atres replied calmly.

“Siala, what are your thoughts on this?” Loaray asked.

Siala jerked at the call of her name. She looked back to the room of elders, all now looked at her expectantly.

Siala swallowed before she spoke, “I am not entirely sure. I must confess that I have not been paying attention.”

The faces looking at her changed from looks of expectation and curiosity to looks of disappointment.

“Siala,” Atres began calmly, “you have been brought before us because unlike most of our people, you have a way of thinking that is different. While we do not always approve of your methods and ideas, we understand that difference is not always something to be frowned upon,” Atres paused before continuing, taking a slow breathe, “Now, one of the Chosen has had a vision. The vision is disturbing, yet none of the others shared in the vision.”

Siala’s eyebrows lowered in confusion. The Chosen were light weavers, powerful ones at that. There were few that could catch glimpses of the future with their ability, yet the Chosen did so regularly, though completely uncontrolled. They were held in the highest respect in Quel'dan culture. When one was found, they were immediately brought to Rwendia, the largest settlement of the Quel'dan, as well as the home of the Elders. It was there that the visions of the Chosen were compared and debated.

“What was the vision High Elder Atres?” Siala asked respectively.

“The listeners told us that it was a map of Elaesif, or more correctly, all of the world. Darkness began to spread over the map, quickly followed by fire, then all the other threads of creation. What was left behind was something completely different, a new world. In the vision, the spread of darkness and fire began in Garlin,” Atres’ face looked pained and confused as he spoke.

Siala thought for a moment, examining the wooden planks that made up the floor of the hut. She ran a hand through her short-cut hair. She pondered what the vision could mean, going through every possible scenario but coming up with nothing. She gave up on trying to interpret what the vision meant, the Elder’s had obviously been trying to to that very same thing with no avail, so instead she moved to what they could do. How could they learn more. She wasn’t sure what she could do about darkness and fire, not if it was powerful enough to destroy the entire tapestry of creation and begin again. She had to look at the situation as she would a slumbering enemy about to awake.

“Our best choice would be to send a group of watchers to Garlin,” she began explaining, looking back up to Elders who continued to watch her, “they will need to be familiar with larger cities and able to blend in with the populations that are there. From what I know of Garlin it is rather diverse in its people and there are a good number of Quel'dan that already live there,” she paused, swallowing before continuing on, “I have not any clue what the vision means, however, it does seem that things will start in Garlin and spread out from there, so we should watch Garlin for anything strange. The watchers should report back to you often, and if you were to learn anything new, they should be informed as soon as possible so that plans may be adjusted to match the new information.”

The Elders glanced around at one another, considering what Siala had just said. Their body language seemed to suggest that they agreed with, or at least were considering, what she had just said. She could not be sure however, these seven men and women were the oldest and wisest members of the Quel'dan and were known for being able to hide their true intentions.

“Siala,” Atres finally broke the silence, “would you please leave us while we consider what you have said. Stay near, in the case we need to summon you again.”

Siala rose and exited the small hut, glad to be outside again. Or was she glad to be out of the presence of the Elders? She moved to the tree line of the small clearing and stared up at the sky again, watching as the twin moons shone from above. Noemet shone bright in the sky, so blue that it almost seemed white near his center. He proclaimed his summer dominance over his brother, Lauros, currently a red sliver in the sky.

Siala thought back to the vision, going over it in her head as she watched the moons make their journey across the night sky. There must be something massive coming for it to be able to engulf all of the world. Nothing seemed to reveal itself to Siala. The humans and Quel'dan had been at peace for nearly five centuries, besides the small skirmishes that might break out when one group expanded too far out of the agreed upon borders. The Glaekith had been silent on their island prison of Norena, seemingly pleased with it as long as they were left alone for nearly as long. There was nothing that Siala could imagine that would threaten Elaesif with destruction, let alone the entire world.

--------------

“Siala, would you come back in please?” Siala opened her eyes to see Loaray standing in the door to the hut.

She wasn’t sure exactly how long she had been waiting, having fell asleep, but by the position of the moons, she estimated it had been a little over an hour. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of sleep as she walked towards the hut.

Kildeen motioned Siala to sit as she entered the building. The Elders all sat with unreadable faces, just as they often did. It was disarming to find seven individuals all appearing to be calm and uncaring, though Siala knew that it was quite different. As she sat, Siala felt as if she wasn’t going to like when the Elders spoke.

“Siala, we have decided to agree to your suggestion. We do not have enough information at this time, but that does not mean we should not act. We will be sending a team of Watchers to Garlin to investigate the going ons and hopefully to discover this possible threat,” Atres said calmly, though there seemed to be looks given by the other Elders that made it seem as if they were not in complete agreement.

Siala nodded in understanding, but the knot in her stomach was still there, the feeling that they had something more planned. She sat with her legs crossed, hand set on her knees, it took all her control to keep from ringing them.

“The way you think, the way you act and react, it isn’t like the rest of our people,” the knot in her stomach grew bigger as Atres went on, “you look at things differently, with a unique perspective. It is because of that we have decided to send you with the Watchers to Garlin.”

Siala’s jaw clenched, keeping her from speaking anything that would anger the Elders. She was barely old enough to leave Rwendia for a few days, let alone the time it would take to travel to Garlin, and however long they would be there.

Atres continued, seeing that Siala had nothing to say, or at least that she would say nothing, “We will be sending hawks in front of you with messages for a the few Watchers we already have in Garlin. Should we find anything new before you arrive, it will be there waiting for you.”

“If you already have Watchers in place, why send me? Why not keep me here where I could confer with you directly?” Siala lost her control, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.
A smile crept along elder Saelet’s face, as if she had expected Siala to say such things, “It is quite a different matter trying to understand second-hand accounts rather than seeing things for yourself child. This is why we will be sending you.”

For the first time in a long time, Siala was scared. She was use doing things her own way, it was true, but this was something completely different. She preferred to be able to see what was coming. This darkness; this danger to all of the world was all still a mystery to her. She knew nothing of it’s source, of how to stop it. She knew not what to look for. It was as if they were sending her into a den of starved wolves to steal a cub and expecting her to come out unscathed.

Siala stood and started for the door. Atres spoke, “And where are you going?”

She stopped, staring at the floor for a moment, a smile slowly crept onto her face as she turned to look at them, “I suppose to Garlin.”

Chapter 7 - New Clothes

2010-03-08T12:01:00.000-05:00

Miktan awoke the next morning to a knock on his door, “Enter,” he said groggily as he sat up in the large bed. Jonson poked his head into the room, “I assume breakfast must be nearly ready?”

“Indeed sir, would you like to wake Master Matthew?” Jonson quietly and politely asked, trying not to disturb Miktan’s morning, as he always did.

Miktan nodded to him in reply as he swung his legs out from under the light covering he had used during the warm night. He let his legs fall over the edge of the bed. He stretched, joints popping and muscles stretching the sleep from his body. He rubbed at his eyes, remembering when he was younger and was able to be up and out of bed, ready for the day mere moments after waking. He envied young men like Matthew, they still had so much of their lives before them. Miktan hoped that he would be able to travel somewhere at least once more in what remained of his time.

He stood from the bed, stretching out his legs before moving to the wardrobe. He through open the carved maple doors and scanned through his outfits before finally finding one that appealed to him. He slid his arms through the sleeves of the white, silk undershirt, his fingers deftly doing up the buttons down the front with agility that belied his age. He stepped into the black slacks, tucking the shirt in before doing up the belt. He glanced to the mirror, assuring himself everything was in place before finally removing the jacket from the wardrobe. He traced his finger along the golden embroidery that ran the length of the arm, around the color, and down the front, standing out against the dark green material that made up the majority of the light coat. He slid his arms in before shrugging his shoulders, setting the coat comfortably into place. He buttoned a few of the buttons, leaving the top and bottom buttons open, before heading out the door.

Miktan took the back stairwell that ran past the kitchen and straight into the dining room. Matthew was already seated, the coat from his House Danar serving uniform from the night before draped over the back of the chair. He began to stand before Miktan motioned him to remain seated. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table from the young man.

“How did you sleep?” Miktan asked with a smile.

Matthew returned the smile, “When you are use to sleeping on the floor, or a makeshift hammock, a bed is a welcome change of pace. How about you?”

“As well as an old man can.” Miktan replied.

The boy sat wearing a clean white shirt, and Miktan assumed the black pants with the gray stripe that went with the serving uniform. I should take him to get some new clothes, Miktan thought to himself, though I doubt he’d use them, at least he would have them.

It still shocked Miktan how much Matthew looked like his father. His face was nearly identical, except a little thinner from the boys irregular eating habits Miktan assumed. He had the same body shape and height of Braas. The difference was in the eyes and hair. The black hair and dark green eyes were distinctly Helen.

Miktan poured himself a glass over water and began to drink, the cool liquid sliding down his throat, when Matthew spoke, “Miktan, is there anything else you can tell me about Gabriel?”

Miktan was confused for a moment before remembering the night before. He placed the glass down, taking the time to think things out, “Gabriel was a great man and an even better thief. Though, he hated being called a thief. He had a policy when it came to who he would rob. He would only steal from those that wouldn’t miss what he had taken, or people that wronged people, people that needed protection. That is what he truly saw himself as, a protector of the weak, not a thief. The world lost a great man the day he was killed.”

Matthew’s face was one of solemn reverence before a smile split it, “I hope that one day people can say the same about me.”

Miktan laughed, “I’m sure that one day they will boy,” and he took another drink. He had worried that his story the night before had depressed the boy, but he saw that it had only strengthened him, focusing him towards what kind of man he wanted to become.

Soon two of the kitchen staff entered the dining room, each one carrying a platter. Matthew’s eye widened at the food that was set before him. To one that lived as he did, stealing what he could to survive, the meal probably looked like a feast. Two more platters were brought in. One held various fruits, another with breads and pastries, the final two held meats prepared in different ways, most of it pork, but some beef and poultry was there also.

Matthew wasted no time getting into the food, piling his plate with food from the platters. One of the kitchen staff came out and poured each of them a glass of fruit juice before once again retreating to the kitchens to begin cleaning. Miktan began to place food on his plate also, focusing most on the fruit, but also taking a few pastries and some of the meats. The two remained relatively silent, making casual conversation as they ate.

The two moved to the library after they had finished their meal, not wanting to be in the way of the staff as they continued their cleaning. Almost as soon as they’d settled, Jonson entered the room holding a letter sealed with yellow wax. He handed it to Miktan who read his name, written in flowing script before turning it to examine the seal. He quickly recognized the hawk with wing flared and talons outstretched as that of House Kensly.

Breaking the seal, Miktan opened the letter.

        Miktan Lonstrat,

            It is my great honor to invite you to the Kensly Manor, two nights from today, to join me and my family in celebrating my son, Jaron’s coming of age. We hope that you will grace us with your presence.

            Lord Jaron Kensly of House Kensly

“What is it?” Matthew asked, adjusting himself in his chair in an attempt to see the invitation.

“It seems that Lord Kensly has invited me to his next party, celebrating the coming of age of his son, Jaron,” Miktan explained.

“Sounds fun,” the boy said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “will you go?”

“Of course,” Miktan said plainly, “it would be rude of me not to. Lord Kensly has been nothing but kind to me, as well as the inhabitants of Garlin." A thought struck Miktan, which he pondered a moment before speaking, “You know, you could accompany me.”

Matthew’s eyes shot open, eyebrows rising higher on his face, mouth hanging open. He collected himself before speaking, a look of shock still lingering, “I… I couldn’t. I’m a street-thief, I don’t belong as a Lord’s party,” he paused a moment before continuing, “at least not as an invited guest.”

Miktan gave a pleasant smile, “Nonsense, you would simply be seen as my young protege. No one would know who you truly were and none would bother to ask. It may be beneficial for you to better understand how the other side lives.”

Matthew gave a suspicious, questioning look, “Now why would I need to know that? I think I got a pretty good idea last night serving most of them.”

“Last night you saw things from the point of view of a servant, this,” Miktan saw, waving the invitation, “would give you a look from the inside, seeing how they truly act and behave. How they interact with one another.”

“And how would that help me at all on the streets?” Matthew asked, apprehension was beginning to take its hold on the boy.

“You never know where your life might lead Matthew. The skills you would learn, the information gleaned, could come in handy down the road. You say you are a street-thief, but last night you managed to do something that Gabriel himself failed at, it takes more than a simple street-thief to rob Lord Danar without his knowledge,” Miktan gave another charming smile as he fed the boy’s ego.

Matthew shook his head in defeat, “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“Of course not, though we’ll have to get you some new clothes before the party,” Miktan said, examining him. Matthew looked down at himself, looking back up with a frown, “For now, what your wearing will do fine, just leave the jacket, it makes the outfit too easily recognizable as a Danar servant’s uniform, we’ll visit my tailor today and get you something more suitable.”

“Vansen will be curious where I’m at,” Matthew said. Miktan figured the boy thought he had possibly found an escape.

“I will be sure he knows, I intended on sending Jonson to see him later today about his payment anyway,” Miktan smiled as he saw the last bit of resistance melt away from the boy. Miktan was glad he didn’t have to manipulate the boy’s mind with magic. It was an accomplishment to rationalize everything out to one such as Matthew.

Miktan motioned to Jonson, asking him to have the carriage prepared for them before looking back at Matthew who sat dejected in the chair.

—————

Matthew groaned as the rotund man took another measurement of his arm, holding the string against it before clicking to himself and writing something down. He stood on a short platform in the middle of the hexagonal room. Four of the walls were lined with mirrors, while plush chairs sat against one and the door leading out of the room occupied the other. Miktan sat in one of the plush chairs, a large grin on his face as he watching Matthew squirm on the platform. He felt as if he had been standing up there for near an eternity, though he knew it had only been a few minutes at most.

The tailor stood in front of him now, right hand on his chin, left waving through the air as if envisioning something as he mumbled to himself. Miktan swore that this was the best tailor in town, but Matthew just thought he was mad. The tailor had nearly attacked Matthew when Miktan told him that they needed an outfit for the event at the Kensly Manor two days from now.

“He is not large enough for any of the Rhodaron styles, they require a larger upper body, though he is too tall to fit any of the typical Garlin styles well,” the man stood pondering for a moment, hand waving before he seemed to have an epiphany, “I know, there is a style from Ugana that is taking hold in Beldin, with some slight modifications of course. It will be magnificent!” The man spun on his heels and rushed out the door.

Matthew looked at Miktan, his face showing only his annoyance, “Miktan, none of this is necessary, you don’t have to take me to this thing.”

Matthew had been trying to talk his way out of going to the event all morning. Every excuse he came up with, every counter argument Miktan met with rationality. Matthew had sense given up on logical arguments and was hoping to annoy the old man until he decided it was a horrible idea and canceled his offer.

“You are through the worst of it already, now it is just a matter of choosing the materials, patterns and cut,” Miktan explain with a calm tone.

Matthew was beginning to dread the fact that he and Vansen had ever stolen that flute from Miktan. The day was beginning to drag on. The carriage ride to the tailor took nearly three times as long as it should have as groups of soldiers made their way through the streets, seemingly keeping patrol just as the guards did, but in larger groups. Miktan gave no explanation for their presence when Matthew asked. He seemed to be just as confused as everyone else was. Now he was standing on this platform, having every fault and asset pointed out by a man a head shorter than he was and three times as wide. He felt as if the man had violated him, all in the name of fashion.

As if the thought had summoned him, the tailor darted back into the small room holding an already finished red coat. He handed the garment up to Matthew.

“Now, that will be a little large I think, but it should give us a good idea how the style looks on you,” the man said, barely breathing as the words flew from his mouth.

Matthew looked at the coat, then to Miktan, then to the tailor who was looking at him expectantly. He reluctantly slid his arms into the sleeves, pulling the coat up onto his shoulders and let it settle into place. The tailor was right, the coat was a little loose in some areas, but it was comfortable. He looked at himself in the mirror before him. Unlike most of the coats he had seen the nobles wearing the night before, which ended at their waist or just below, this coat hung to his mid-thigh. He liked the look, examining himself in the mirror. The coat split in the back near his waist, traveling the rest of the length to the bottom hem, allowing for freedom of movement of his legs and the material of the coat was lightweight and breathed well, which was good considering Garlin’s warm weather.

“Well?” Miktan asked, a tone of expectation present.

Matthew cringed at the thought of what he was about to say, “I… like it.”

“Oh excellent, I do believe that the cut fits you very well. Of course, it will fit that much better when it is tailored to your measurements. Now, I do suppose you will be wanting to see some materials won’t you?” Words fell from the tailor’s mouth in an continual stream and before either of them could respond he was out the door again.

Matthew raised an eyebrow as he looked towards Miktan before removing the coat, “Can I get off this thing now, I feel like a buffoon.”

“Yes, you can come down,” Miktan said with a laugh.

Matthew hopped off the platform, setting the red coat down on it before taking up one of the other plush chair against the wall.

It was a few more minutes before the man hurried back through the door, followed by three of his apprentices, each one carrying different swatches of cloth. Immediately the man was presenting materials of different colors and textures. Matthew rejected most of them, the colors two bright or gaudy for him. Many of the neutral and dark colors went into a pile for later consideration.

After was seemed like forever to Matthew they had gone through all of the different swatches and the man sat on the platform across from Matthew and Miktan, dismissing his apprentices.

“Now, with your darker hair,” the tailor began, “I would suggest darker tones for the cloth, with brighter threads for the accenting embroidery. Something similar to Master Miktan’s coat,” the man motioned to Miktan.

Matthew examined Miktan’s coat carefully, beginning to understand what the man meant. Matthew picked up a dark material, not quite black, but very close, “How about this for the material,” he pointed at a silver thread on the spools that the man had brought in with the cloth, “and then that for the embroidery?”

The tailor looked at the materials Matthew had suggested carefully, as if weighing them, “I do believe that would work well, an excellent choice Master Matthew, and excellent choice indeed,” the man took the material and made a mark with some chalk before setting it aside.

Finally, we’re done, Matthew thought.

“That will make an excellent combination for the first coat,” the tailor said, looking back to Matthew.

“First coat?” Matthew said shocked. The words came out harsher and louder than he may have intended, but he had been caught off guard.

“I thought that it might be a good idea to have a few outfits made,” Miktan said, looking at him with a grin, “so I’ve commissioned three outfits, though we only need one for tomorrow night,” the last part was meant for the tailor, Matthew was sure.

The tailor nodded knowingly to Miktan. You had this planned all along, Matthew thought, glaring at the old man who continued to grin at him.

“Now,” the tailor said, Matthew turning back to look at him, “what if we were to try this green material,” the swatch he held was similar in color to Miktan’s coat, though there was a slight pattern to it, almost not visible unless you focused on it, “I believe the color would match your eyes well, and with this earthy feel, we could do a bronze or maybe a gold embroidery.”

“Bronze, gold would be too much,” Matthew said plainly, anger still ever so slightly present in his voice.

“Very good, and what would you say to this red material,” the tailor said as he lifted the coat he had brought in before, “with perhaps the same silver thread as the first coat?”

“That sounds fine,” Matthew was beginning to grow weary of the overly energetic man. He reminded Matthew of Tavira in some ways, though more abrasive.

“For the material, is there anything you would prefer?” The tailor asked as he brought up new swatches.

“I’d want something that breathes well, is lightweight and I can move around in freely,” Matthew said almost cutting the man off from continuing.

The tailor pondered for a moment, looking through his swatches before pulling two out and handing one to Matthew, “This material is used by many nobles for their dueling coats, it is quite nice in my opinion.”

Matthew felt the material and tugged on it before handing it back to the man, saying, “Use that.”
The tailor paused for a moment as if he was still going to hand the second sample to Matthew. He finally set both samples down, setting the one Matthew had chosen with the others that were set apart.

“Now this style of suit,” the tailor started up again in his quick speech, “is often worn with a vest, the color matching the embroidery, and a white silk shirt. For the slacks, I believe a flat black for all of them, with matching embroidery of course.”

“Would it be too much trouble,” Matthew began, both Miktan’s and the tailor’s heads focusing on him, “for the shirt of the first suit to be black, or a gray maybe, instead of white?”

Both of them stared at him, Miktan with an astonished look and the tailor with a curious look. Finally the tailor began to speak, slowly at first, “Yes. Yes indeed, I do believe that would look marvelous,” his speech began to pick up as he went, “The darker shirt would accent the silver vest. Yes, that would look quite marvelous. I dare say that it would be something entirely new, unique to you, at first at least, until some other noble saw it and ordered it for himself. Yes, we will use black silk for the first shirt,” the tailor made it sound as if that were his idea in the end.

Miktan finally broke his stare and turned to the tailor, “If there is nothing else you need from us, I believe we will head home now.”

“Yes, of course, that should be everything. You said you need the first suit two days from now? And would you like that delivered to your residence Master Miktan?” The tailor asked.

“That will be fine. I thank you for your help in this, and your haste,” Miktan stood, taking the tailor’s hand as he rose.

Matthew followed suit, shaking the tailor’s hand and giving thanks before they turned to leave the man to his work. The tailor followed the two out of the small room and immediately began giving orders to those he had working for him as Miktan and Matthew left the building.

Matthew took a deep breath, glad to be out of the shop, “Well, that took longer than I’d hoped. I can’t help but feel that you are trying to change me Miktan, make me into something I’m not.”

“Nonsense boy, I’m simply trying to make you into something more. You never stop being that which makes you who you are, you only become something more. Do you honestly believe that I, the man that commissioned you and your friends for the job last night, am any different than the man who did those same things when I was your age?” Miktan raised an eyebrow and grinned at Matthew, “In the same way, do you want to live the rest of your life as a street-thief, barely surviving? Or do you want to become something? Become someone that can shape this world into something better?”

Matthew thought for a moment as the two climbed into the carriage, “I suppose not,” he said as the two took their seats.

“Good, now, Jonson and I are going to have to drill you for the next two days in hopes that we can pass you off as a respectable member of society.”

Matthew groaned, “I do know that I don’t want to become a noble, it’s far too much work.”

Miktan gave a hearty laugh, “Boy, you don’t know the half of it yet!”

Chapter 6 - Tales of the Past

2010-03-04T00:01:00.000-05:00

Miktan woke to the sound of the heavy knocker striking on the door. He shifted in the high-backed chair he used for reading. Miktan looked up to see Jonson standing in the doorway to the library. Miktan nodded to him and he started off towards the front entrance. Miktan rubbed sleep from his eyes. He wished that Jonson took more initiative instead of waiting for Miktan to tell him what he already knew what he needed to do. Jonson was a good manservant, perhaps too good at times.

Miktan looked around at his library and it’s collection of books. It was nothing spectacular, especially when compared with the libraries of some of the nobles in Garlin, but it was more than enough for him. Miktan had managed to read most of the books. There were some that held no interest for him however. The books had come with the house, which he’d bought from a blacksmith who had become quite wealthy during the war with Actaron. The man had collected the various books because that is what he thought people with wealth did. When his business had slowed after the war, the blacksmith realized he could no longer afford the house and sold it as it was to Miktan at a reasonable price.

Miktan still enjoyed reading stories, though he could recite most of them just as he had during his time as a bard. There was something about the epic tales of the heroes of old that intrigued him. It was a life he wished he had lived, not that his life had been boring. Far from it, he had been part of a crew of thieves that had pulled some of the greatest heists in recent history. Miktan had heard his share of tales taken from the exploits of the old gang, though they were embellished far beyond anything they had ever done. He supposed that was true of any tale told over time.

Miktan had spent a fair share of his time in inns and taverns throughout the kingdoms sharing the tales of their exploits, changing any details that would tie the caper to himself or his companions. It wouldn’t do to tell a tall of Braas the Shadow-Walker and Miktan, not at all.

Miktan smiled as Jonson escorted a young boy, almost a man, into the library. The boy stood, cradling a canvas tube. He wore the black and gray of House Danar’s staff and had his shoulder length black hair pulled back. Miktan looked the boy over, marveling at how much he looked like his father, with hiw mother’s coloring in the eyes and hair.

Matthew had no clue who his parents were; had no idea that they were Braas and Helen, two members of the old gang. Two of the best thieves and con-artists the world had ever seen. It wasn’t long after Matthew was born that Braas approached Miktan, wanting to pull one more job. One job to end it all, vaulting them to full-fledged legends and more importantly to set his new family up to live comfortably the rest of their lives. A pang of guilt stung at Miktan at the memory.

Matthew stepped forward, handing the canvas tube to Miktan. He took the tube and slid the flute from it. Every detail was just as he remembered. A smile crept across his lips as he held it once again. Miktan held the flute to his mouth and played a few notes; they came, crisp and clear. After all those years it still held it’s tuning.

“Lovely,” Miktan said, looking up to Matthew as he lowered the instrument to his lap, “thank you for retrieving it for me. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Matthew returned the smile, “It was nothing,” he said nonchalantly, just as his father would have.
Miktan motioned to one of the chairs in the room for Matthew to sit. Matthew shifted something on his belt as he sat.

“What have you got there boy?” Miktan asked, trying to catch a glimpse.

“Just something else I found in the vault,” he replied as he pulled a black dagger from his belt, “I’m not sure why, but they seemed familiar to me.”

Miktan held back a gasp as he saw the blade. He recognized it as another item from his past.
“One of a pair, is it not?” Miktan asked carefully.

Matthew nodded and pulled the second blade from his belt. There was no mistaking it now. The two identical daggers could only be Braas’ shadow-blades. That was what he had always called them. They had always seemed like more of a good luck charm to the man rather than weapons, though he was more than capable with them.

“Do you know anything about them?” Matthew asked, looking up to Miktan with curious eyes.

So much like your father, Miktan thought before he spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like to hear a tale?” Matthew’s eyes gleamed as he nodded, “Very well. Some years ago, well before you were born, I was a member of a group of people who were notorious for pulling some of the greatest heists in all the world. At least, that was what we liked to believe. Those blades belonged to one of the members of that group.”

Miktan paused for a moment, thinking things over before continuing before, “He was a great thief that went by the name of Gabriel,” Miktan was sure that Matthew didn’t know his parent’s names, however, if he recognized the blades at all, Miktan didn’t want to take too many chances, “He was a great thief. Fast hands and a sharp wit. He could manage to get in and out of places that other thieves wouldn’t have dared even dream of trying. His feats garnished him the name of Shadow-Walker and those daggers were his Shadow-Blades and Gabriel took them on every heist, claiming they brought him luck. They saw him through thick and thin,” Matthew looked down at the blades he held in a new light.

“I remember the night that Gabriel died very clearly. It was the night that I lost this flute,” Miktan said, motioning to the instrument in his lap, “it was suppose to be our last job. We were going to rob High Lord Danar, though his house was not one of the high houses at the time. Lord Danar was cheating the people that worked for him, paying them enough to live, but not enough to move on. We planned the heist to take place during a banquet Danar was holding. Lord Danar sent out an open invitation for bards to play and entertain the guests that evening. We used that as our cover. During the evening, Gabriel and his wife broke into the vault to take all they could, but something went horribly wrong. The vault was empty except for a large number of guards. Gabriel and his wife tried to flee but were no match for the men.”

Miktan’s eyes began to well up with tears, but took a few deep breaths, forcing the pain away, “I was in the dining hall when the two were brought in before Lord Danar. He brought them forward and announced what they were found doing and sentenced them then and there. The Lord then asked if there was anything they wished to say. To this day, Gabriel’s words are clear in my ears,” Miktan closed his eyes as he recited the words, “You all may believe that we are the thieves, yet I tell you it is you nobles that cheat your workers that are the true thieves,” Miktan looked up at Matthew before he continued, “I watched in horror as they were executed. It was when Lord Danar’s eyes fell on me that I knew I had to escape. I ran like I had never run before, leaving my flute behind. I barely escaped that evening. I disappeared from Garlin for a time before finally returning.”

Matthew stared, eyes wide, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry Miktan,” he looked down at the daggers before holding them out towards the older man, “take them, you deserve them more than I do.”
Miktan laughed weakly, “What would I do with such things boy. No, I think you should keep them, I’m sure Gabriel would rather have it that way.”

It pained Miktan to hide things from Matthew, but he wasn’t sure the boy would be able to handle the truth at that moment, especially having just heard that story. Miktan stretched out towards Matthew’s mind, ever so slightly manipulating it. He brought on a touch of weariness, adding to what was already there. Miktan had not woven a thread in a long while. Bringing on weariness was a simple matter, not like manipulating emotions.

Miktan had done well to hide that he was a Mind-Weaver in the past, not wanting the Weaver’s Guild to get their fingers into him. They were better now than they had been during the war, recruiting anyone and everyone that had access to one of the threads of power, training them to fight against Actaron.

Matthew yawned and started to rise, “I’d better get back to the warehouse and get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you stay here tonight Matthew. It’s late, and I’d hate to hear that something happened to you on your way to the warehouse.” Miktan was ready to brush away any hesitance that the boy might have, but there was none.

“If it all right with you, than sure. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my eyes open the whole way to the warehouse anyway.”

Miktan hadn’t been entirely aware of how tired the boy was before he had added to it. He motioned to Jonson who had stood quietly beside the door of the library while the two had conversed. He stepped forward and began helping Matthew to the guest room. Matthew gratefully accepted the help and the two slowly exited the room.

Miktan stood, smiling, “You must be proud of the boy Braas,” Miktan walked to the fireplace and set the flute on the stand that sat on the mantle, “so very proud.”

Chapter 5 - A Flute and Daggers

2010-03-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

Matthew stood looking himself over. He still wasn’t sure how Vansen had managed to get ahold of two House Danar serving uniforms, let alone uniforms that fit them both. Even though the uniform was that of a servant, the clothes were still of a better quality than Matthew had ever worn. The slacks and jacket were completely black with a gray stripe that ran the length of the leg and arm. Underneath the jacket Matthew wore a pure white shirt. It had taken Matthew a few tries to get the buttons done up correctly, he wasn’t use to dealing with them, but he though he at least looked the part of a servant.

Vansen had told him that he needed to wash his hair and get as much of the grease that had collected in it out. Matthew had sense pulled his shoulder length, black hair back into a low ponytail in order give him a cleaner appearance, or so he thought. Matthew wasn’t sure if any of the crew, if they walked past him at that moment, would recognize him. Matthew knew that when Vansen had finally approached him, having cleaned and groomed himself also, Matthew had to look twice to be sure it was him.

“So, you remember the plan?” Vansen asked, looking Matthew over and nodding in approval.

Matthew nodded. They had planned out as much as they could with the knowledge they had. They knew that most of the servants that would be serving the meal would be arriving at the manor just before the guests began arriving. They would be using the servant’s entrance on the west wall of the keep. Once in, Matthew and Vansen would continue to play the role of servants until after the dinner course was served. That was when they would have the most amount of time to get away and all the guests would be focused on their meal. It was then that they would make their way for the vault.

“Good, let’s get moving, we don’t want to miss our chance to get in,” Vansen said as he motioned towards the door.

The two had used an abandoned tailor’s shop to get ready. It was nearby the keep, as near as they could manage, and it had access to the alleyway behind the building. They exited the door and made their way down the alley to the street. Vansen scouted the street before heading out. Matthew followed.
They kept a quick pace. Anyone that saw them would simply see two servants hurrying in the direction of Keep Danar. As they approached the keep, Matthew’s jaw dropped at it’s size. He quickly composed himself and continued on. He knew that House Danar was one of the more powerful high houses, and he’d seen the keep before, but never from so close. The craftsmanship was extraordinary and it was enormous.

Matthew saw a group of people wearing the same clothes he and Vansen wore and pointed them out. Vansen nodded in agreement as they cut towards them. They joined in with the group and continued on towards the keep.

The conversation in the group was light, mostly concerns about pleasing the right nobles and such. That was until one of the servants looked at Vansen and Matthew, “I don’t recognize you two,” the young man said with a questioning look on his face.

Matthew’s throat clenched and his eyes darted to Vansen who looked back at him before looking back to the servant that had pointed them out. One of the other servant’s chimed in, “They are probably just two of the new hires for the banquet, I’m sure there will be plenty of faces you don’t recognize tonight.”

“Yeah, we were just hired for the night, though we’re hoping to please the right people and find something more permanent,” Vansen said with a slight laugh. Matthew released a held breath and nervously chuckled.

“Well,” the first servant started up, “there are a few things you should keep in mind. Do not speak to any of the Danar family unless they address you directly. Keep your heads down and mouths shut and do everything the mistress of servants tells you without missing a beat and you should make it out tonight with a few coins in your pockets at least.”

“Thank you,” Matthew replied, “the help is appreciated.”

“It’s no problem,” the second servant said, “we were all new once. We’ve got to look out for each other. Without us, the noble houses would fall to the ground. They think with all their money and power everything is possible, but we’re the ones that actually make it so.”

The group laughed as they approached the servant’s gate. The guards herded them all in without a second look, all they saw was the uniform and that was enough for them. Inside the small gate was a well kept garden with paths criss-crossing through it. Matthew saw plants that he’d never seen before and bushes cut to look like animals or men. He was relieved when he noticed Vansen’s eyes wandering over everything too.

Soon the group entered the keep proper and began to weave their way knowingly along the servant’s corridors. Matthew felt that he knew the passages as well. One of the other items that Vansen managed to get ahold of was a map of the corridors of the keep. He and Matthew had poured over the map the day before, each one memorizing groups of passages. Between the two of them they knew every corridor between the west servant’s gate and the vault, as well as the passages between the servant’s chambers, where they would wait until they were summoned, and the great hall.

They had come up with multiple paths to get to the vault, as well as to get out of the keep in their planning. Matthew felt good at the preparation they had put into the job, though now that everything was in action, he questioned whether or not they would be able to pull it off.

Soon they stood in a large, poorly lit room. At one end was a platform with two braziers lighting it up, marking it apart from the rest of the room. Inside the room stood servants. Matthew was surprised at the large number of people that he stood among, all wearing the black and gray of House Danar. The men wore identical suits to Matthew and Vansen, and the women wore long dresses with a gray stripe traveling the back of the skirt and the same stripes on the arms as the men’s suits. It was as if they were a part of an army, all wearing the same thing.

Everyone milled about until a larger woman, wearing the same dress as the other women, except marked with silver instead of gray, stood on the platform at the far end of the room. Suddenly the room was silent.

“Very good,” the woman said with a smile. Her voice carried clearly throughout the room, reverberating off the walls, “I am Mistress Katherine, the mistress of servants for House Danar. Many of you are permanent servants here at the keep, however for those of you that were hired for this evenings event, I will explain how things work. First, my word is law to you, only overruled by the nobles you will be serving. If you do not do as I say, you will be removed from the keep and sent on your way, your name will be added to the list of names which have been barred from serving in this keep. If your actions are as such to deserve it, your name will be passed among the other houses, barring you from working for any of them.

“If one of Lord Danar’s guests this evening have in issue, you will bow and scrape, giving assurances that it will be dealt with immediately. As soon as you are released from their attention you will find either myself or one of my overseers,” the woman motioned to a group of men and women standing to either side of her, each one marked by the silver stripe, “we will deal with the problem. You will do nothing to disrupt this evenings festivities.

“When serving the guests, you will not speak unless you are addressed and then you will keep your words to as little as possible. Everyone will be addressed as either my lord or my lady with no exception except for Lord Danar and his family. Should you be honored enough to be spoken to by any of the family, they are to be addressed as high lord or lady. Now, we have a busy night, relax for now, you will be summoned when you are needed. There is water and bread here in this room for you all. Drink just enough water to keep you hydrated and eat just enough bread to give you the energy to last the night.”

Then the woman and her overseers stepped off the platform and hurried out a side door. The servants all seemed to release a collective sigh after the door shut behind them and the conversations picked up again. Vansen and Matthew made their way to the table with water and bread, each one taking a small glass and piece of bread before finding a corner.

“All right, we have to make it through the serving of wine, salad and dinner,” Vansen said quietly, reciting the plan to Matthew, “then we have to break away from the other servants and make our way to the vault. We will only be able to take the servant’s corridors so far, there are none that go directly to the vault.”

“I know Vansen, you don’t have any reason to worry yet,” Matthew said, his own nerves causing gooseflesh to run up and down his arms and back.

Vansen smiled, “Let’s hope you can keep that cool head of yours.”

——————-

Matthew was breathing hard as he exited the great hall and entered the serving room. He set the pitcher of wine he had been carrying on the great wooden table. It felt as if his arms would fall off. The pace of the servants was ridiculous. There were some that seemed as winded as he was, though others grinned knowingly, other laughing outright.

He quickly scanned the room, glancing at the doors and tables, hoping to spot Vansen. A hand slapped him on the back and Matthew spun. It was Vansen. He seemed to be breathing hard too.

“It’s time,” he said, taking the opportunity to collect his breath, “we’ve got to get away.”

Matthew nodded and they started back towards one of the doors that led into a servant’s hallway that they would usually be taking back to the large, cavernous room that they’d started in. The ducked into the low hall and made their way through the poorly lit passageway.

Matthew was ahead, counting branching passageways. “This one,” he said as he quickly turned down a new corridor.

Vansen looked behind them before ducking in behind Matthew. The continued their journey, snaking their way through the dark halls. They continued down, Vansen sometimes pointing out turns they needed to take that Matthew had missed. Finally they came to a dead end, or so it appeared until Vansen felt for the small handle. He pushed and the wall swung open. He poked his head into the hall beyond and looked down each direction before pushed the door the rest of the way open and darted out. Matthew followed, taking the door and pushing it back closed. If not for the slight cutout from the panel, it would have fit seamlessly into the wall. He supposed the noble’s paid the appearance no mind if it kept servants out of sight.

Vansen led down the hallway. Matthew was glad to be able to stand upright after so long in the servant’s passages. At every corner Vansen stopped, looking around to be sure the way was clear, before continuing on. The two eventually came upon a stairwell leading down to a lower level.
They started down the stairs. Before long they reached a platform with a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron straps. Vansen pulled out a small device from one of his pockets, Matthew did the same.

“There should only be two guards,” Vansen explained, “I’ll go in first, you come in when you think it is clear.”

Matthew nodded and pressed himself up against the wall. Vansen opened the door and stepped in. The door closed and Matthew hurriedly pressed an ear to it. He could hear unfamiliar voices, then Vansen’s voice. Matthew listened for a few more moments before pulling open the door to peek in. Matthew saw two large men. One stood with his back to the door and the other stood facing Vansen, the two boxing him against the wall and blocking him from the door. Matthew started in, seeing Vansen’s eyes quickly dart to him before returning to the large men.

Vansen moved like a snake. His arm snapped out, slamming the small device into a guards neck. The guard with his back to the door began to draw his sword. It wasn’t fast enough. Matthew dashed up behind him and pressed his device against his exposed neck. There was a small click as the spring released and drove the poison-coated needle through the man’s skin.

The two men buckled before falling to the floor. Vansen grabbed a key from one of the guards and smiled to Matthew has he dangled it before him. The two hurried to the next door. This was appeared to be completely made of iron. Vansen used the key on the heavy lock, removing it and pulling at the heavy door. It slid open about a hand’s width and the two of them grabbed the side, wrestling it the rest of the way open.

Vansen grabbed a torch and headed into the next room. He lit two brazier beside the door that illuminated the vault before them. Matthew’s jaw fell open at the wealth before him. Chests he imagined had to be full of gold and jewels were stacked against one wall. One the other hung ornate tapestries and other wall decorations made of various precious medals and stones.

On the other side of the room were pedestals, “What we’re after will be over there,” Vansen said as he began walking the length of the room.

Matthew followed, staring at the wealth that surrounded him. When they reached the pedestals, Matthew’s awe increased.

“So, what is it we’re looking for?” Matthew asked, realizing he still didn’t know.

“A flute of gold and silver,” Vansen said plainly.

“A flute?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah, Miktan said that at some point in the past his flute was taken by Lord Danar. I’m not sure what the story is, but that’s what we’re here to get back, you look over here,” Vansen pointed to his left, “I’ll check the other side.”

Matthew wove his way through the pedestals, looking over each one. His eyes fell upon one particular. Upon it sat not the flute, but two daggers setting in a leather harness of sorts. He carefully pulled the blades from their sheathes. Each one seemed to be made of one piece of metal with worn leather wrapping the grip of each. Only one edge was sharpened, the light dancing off the slight curve of what looked like a razor sharp edge. What seemed to hold Matthew’s attention was that they were black. The light glinted off them, almost seeming to dance.

Matthew looked over his shoulder at Vansen who was still looking over the pedestals looking for the flute. He looked back at the daggers and couldn’t resist. He quickly returned the daggers to the harness and after removing his coat, he slid his arms into the loops. The harness was made so that he dagger sat in the small of his back. He put his coat back on hurriedly and turned to look at Vansen just as he turned to look back at him. The other shook his head and Matthew did the same in response. Matthew was glad he had not been seen. He was not sure what he would do with such weapons, but having them felt right.

He continued to go over the pedestals until he heard Vansen behind him, “I’ve got it,” he said, holding up an ornate flute. He produced a canvas tube and carefully slid the instrument into it before looking back at Matthew, “All right, let’s go.”

The two turned back to the door and hurried out, pushing the heavy iron door back closed and replacing the lock. The two then rushed back out the room and up the stairs. They found their way back to the servant’s corridor they had used to make their way in and ducked in. They wove through the passageways, avoiding the ones that led to the serving room and the large room with the rest of the servants. The found the exit to the garden. They ran down the path, slowing and catching their breath before they would enter the view of the guards that would watching the servant’s gate.

As they approached the gate hurriedly, one of the guards held up and arm. The two stopped, “Shouldn’t you two be in there?” He asked, pointing back to the keep.

“It seems that Lord Tyaldurn was displeased with High Lord Danar’s choice in wine this evening. When he voiced his opinion, High Lord Danar challenged him to provide a better wine. We have been ordered to Keep Tyaldurn to fetch it,” Vansen’s voice was steady throughout the lie.

“It takes two of you to fetch a bottle of wine?” The second guard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A bottle of wine, no, but you don’t expect me to carry a cask of the stuff by myself, do you?” Vansen replied with an amused look.

The two guards looked at each other for a moment before looking back at Vansen. Matthew felt himself tighten. The whole job had gone so smoothly thus far, Matthew hoped that the pattern kept up.
“Fine,” the first guard said as he pulled open the gate, “be quick about it. It sounds like the High Lord is in one of his moods and I’d rather not add to it.”

The two nodded and hurried out the gate. They ran for all they had getting away from the keep, hoping that they weren’t discovered.

They eventually stopped in the middle of an intersection, breathing heavily. Vansen pulled the canvas tube that held the flute out of his coat where he had hidden it.

“Here,” he said, handing the flute towards Matthew, “take it to Miktan.”

“Me,” Matthew asked, confused at Vansen’s actions, “I thought you would take it to Miktan.”

“I would, except that guard managed to stick me a bit with a dagger before the drug took effect,” Vansen pulled back his coat to reveal blood staining most of the right side of his white shirt.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked, concern heavy in his voice.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to get back to the warehouse and get this looked at. You,” he said emphatically, “need to get that to Miktan, now go, I’ll see you when you get back to the warehouse.”

“Okay,” Matthew agreed, “you’re sure you’ll be all right.”

“I’ll be fine,” Vansen said, a tone of command in his voice, “now go.”

Matthew nodded and took off one of the streets. He looked back when he reached a turn and saw that Vansen was already gone.

Chapter 4 - Lessons with the Sword

2010-02-22T00:01:00.005-05:00

Jaron stared out the window of his sitting room at the outer gardens below. He daydreamed about what life outside the walls that contained the gardens would be like, life as a regular citizen and not the son of a high nobleman. He found his life to be dreary. His daydreams usually consisted of what it would be like to be the son of a farmer, or a blacksmith. He knew that their lives were no source of adventure, but they had something he didn’t; freedom. They had the freedom to leave whenever they wanted; the freedom to take risks and chances. Almost anything had to be better than sitting stuck in a manor all day taking various lessons on subjects his father and mother thought would be important for him to have when he took control of the family estate.

Jaron wanted something more, something that filled his life with the unexpected. His days were monotonous. What he wouldn’t give for some variety. He knew what was going to come before it actually happened. Within minutes there would be a knock at the door and a servant would look in the room at his acknowledgement. The servant would inform him that it was time for his swordplay lesson to begin.

Jaron loathed his swordplay lessons. Of everything he had to endure, his training with the sword was when he felt as if he were treated like the weakest child. His trainer was Cedric Eddes, the Captain of his family’s personal guard. Jaron had seen the large man training and working with the other guards and when he worked with Jaron, it seemed as if he were holding back.

When the guards practiced, they were fierce, giving their opponent no mercy. When Cedric sparred with Jaron, there was no fierceness, no danger. Instead there seemed to be a fear of sorts, the fear that if Jaron were injured that Cedric would face the wrath of his father, or worse yet, his mother.

What use were lessons with the sword if after three years of training he was still ineffective with a blade? The knock came at the door, followed by the servant entering after Jaron acknowledged him and the servant told Jaron that it was time for his swordplay lesson. It was all as Jaron had predicted, all as it was every time.

Jaron left his sitting room and walked through the busy halls of the manner. Servants were bustling about; cleaning, redecorating and whatever else needed to be finished before the banquet. The manor had been that way for nearly three days now, as if it would never be done.

Jaron walked out into the inner courtyard, squinting in the bright light. He saw Cedric standing in the center of the clearing holding two wooden practice swords.

“Ready for today’s lesson lad?” the man’s thick accent marked him as originally being from the Rhodaron province to the south, as did his thick blonde head of hair and his beard, though both were marked with some gray and his deeply tanned skin. The man wore a sleeveless tunic which revealed his massive arms, and a pair of loose leather pants.

Jaron removed his jacket, placing it to rest over the rail the seperated the walkway from the gardens and clearing. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, setting it beside the jacket. He stood before the large man wearing only his slacks. The sun felt warm on his bare skin.

“I’m ready Cedric,” Jaron said as he held his hand out for one of the swords. Cedric tossed one of the practice blades to him. He swung the well-worked piece of wood a couple times, getting a feel for the balance and weight before finally letting his arm drop to his side.

Cedric watched a few paces away and readied himself when he saw that Jaron was finished. Cedric never attacked first, letting Jaron make the first move. Usually the first strike was deflected followed by instruction on what Jaron had done wrong.

This time, Jaron intended to catch the man off guard. Jaron charged without warning, darting towards his much larger opponent. As he moved in, Cedric shifted his stance, widening his feet and brining his blade up before him. Jaron tightened his grip on the practice blade in his right hand, feeling the grain of the wood in his palm and fingers. The craftsmanship was good, the grip of the wood was just smooth enough to be comfortable, but rough enough to maintain a solid hold.

Jaron began to move to the left. As he did so the large man began to shift his weight to his left foot, ready to parry the blow he expected to come in from his right side. Once Jaron saw the move begin, he quickly moved to his right and leapt into the air. Cedric’s eyes began to widen as he realized he wouldn’t be able to shift his significant weight in time to block the blow. Jaron swung down as he fell back to the earth.

Rather than attempt to block the blow, Cedric continued his motion already started towards the left and moved out of the way of the strike. The attack whistled through the air that Cedric had just been. Jaron quickly recovered, spinning to meet the strike that Cedric threw. There was a loud crack as the two pieces of wood struck each other.

Jaron wasted no time recovering, there was no time to waste. If he was going to force Cedric into fighting him, truly fighting, he would have to maintain the offensive. Jaron delivered blow after blow at the Rhodaron. Cedric deftly blocked each blow, however he was beginning to move back.

Finally Jaron found his opening. He began an overhead swing, bringing his sword straight down towards the older man’s head. Cedric blocked just as he had expected, but rather than continuing the strike Jaron began to spin, purposefully directing his blow to miss the man and his blocking sword. He dropped to one knee as he spun and struck out with the piece of wood.

Cedric cursed as the practice sword connected with his knee. He limped away from Jaron, holding a hand out to ensure that Jaron stopped his assault, “Damn lad, well done,” Cedric said through gritted teeth as be bent down to rub at his knee.

“You know, it’s your own fault Cedric,” a voice said from behind Jaron. He spun to find the source.
Leaning against one of the pillars of the walkway rail was a man. He wore a soldier’s uniform, from its make and cut, Jaron thought it was an officer’s coat. The man was taller than both Jaron and Cedric both, and well built from what Jaron could tell by the way he held himself. The man pushed himself off the pillar and walked over to Cedric.

“Quiet boy, don’t you think I know it’s my own fault? I trained the boy, I should have know he’d be crafty,” Cedric stood, stretching his leg and working his knee, using the man as a support as he did so.
Jaron used the moment to further inspect the man. From his red hair and lighter skin, Jaron marked him as a native of Garlin, or at least the area. Though the people of Garlin were varied in their appearance, there were not many from elsewhere in the world that would have that hair. Jaron quickly noted that there was a single star embroidered on his lapel and shoulder. A lieutenant, Jaron thought to himself, trying to piece together the relationship between the two men.

“So, this is the young lord you were telling me about?” the man asked as he looked Jaron over.

“Yes, yes. This is Jaron Kensly, Lord Kensly’s son.” Cedric said as he motioned towards Jaron.

“I see, not a bad swordsman from what I saw. It is an honor to meet you Jaron. I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army,” the man gave a salute and a slight bow before offering his hand.

“And it is an honor to meet you,” Jaron said as he inclined his head and took the man’s hand, giving it a firm shake before releasing it.

“Now Cedric,” Alexander said as he turned to look at the man that seemed to be moving around better than he had a moment ago, “how is it you think you are training this boy. He had you back into a corner, and he struck you no less. Are you afraid that you’ll break him?”

Jaron was shocked. Cedric was an intimidating man when he wanted to be, and to see the taller, yet noticeably smaller man approach him in such a way was strange.

“I’ll teach the boy as I see fit Alexander, or would you rather that I broke the poor lad.”

“I seem to remember you giving me more than my fair share of bruises when you trained me, and a broken arm or two if I remember correctly,” the soldier said frankly.

Jaron’s eyes widened slightly at the statement. Though the statement placed another piece into the puzzle that was the connection between the two men.

“Aye, I did, and your mother had my head for every one. The only reason you ever got hurt was because you were reckless and stupid,” Cedric said in defense of himself.

The two men stood staring at one another. It looked as if they might come to blows. The two suddenly burst into laughter. Jaron stood dumbstruck, having no idea what had just happened. The two settled themselves after a few more moments and Alexander turned to look at Jaron with a smile.

“Perhaps you’d like a different opponent while Cedric recovers from that strike. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent spar and I could use the exercise. I’ve spent the last month on a horse getting here and my muscles are a little tight,” Alexander didn’t even seem to wait for a response before he was standing by the rail removing his officer’s coat and gray tunic.

Jaron began to worry. With the coat on, the man looked well built, but no more so than Jaron was. Looking at his back, Jaron knew that he was wrong. The man’s back was a tight knot of well toned muscle. The man turned and Jaron had to keep his jaw from dropping open, his arms and chest were no different from his back. Alexander stretched his arms and back and Jaron almost tried to think of a way out of what he was sure would be a lot of pain.

This is what you wanted, Jaron thought, an opponent that would challenge you, that wouldn’t be concerned so much with who or what you are.

Cedric held the practice sword away from Alexander when he came to grab it, “Don’t hurt him too bad, please, it’s my job to protect the boy and it’ll be my hide if anything happens.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Alexander said as he snatched the sword, “I’ll be sure that any bruising will heal within a few days. And besides, I’m sure you know a good healer here in Garlin that could look to him.”

Jaron moved towards the center of the clearing, waiting for Alexander. Cedric stood, arms crossed and jaw clenched, watching. It looked as if every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to jump in if things got out of hand.

Alexander stepped into Jaron’s line of vision, “Ready?” he asked matter-of-factly.

Jaron nodded, readying his stance. Alexander dropped into a low stance and immediately charged. Jaron was stunned, he wasn’t use to going on the defensive. Almost instinctively he brought up his sword to block the blow. Wood met wood with a loud crack. Jaron leapt back, increasing the gap between the two men. Alexander did not waste a moment, he lunged back in, swinging the practice sword at Jaron’s head. Jaron ducked and rolled to his left, away from the blow.

Jaron jumped back up to his feet. Alexander was on top of him. Jaron brought up his sword, barely blocking blow after blow. His ears began to ring as the sound of the two pieces of wood connecting drummed inside his ears. His hand began to pound. The force with which Alexander struck jarred the practice sword in his hand, but he refused to let go, if he let go, there would be nothing to protect him.

You’re the one that wanted a real fight, and now you have one, do something! Jaron screamed at himself.

He leapt backwards and immediately charged in, going on the offensive. Alexander easily deflected the blow and let Jaron’s momentum carry him past. Pain shot across Jaron’s back as Alexander struck him with the flat of the blade. Jaron was stunned. Cedric had hit him before with the sword, but he usually pulled back on the blow so that the pain was minor.

Jaron spun around just in time to see Alexander charging back in. Jaron feigned a block and rolled to his right, striking Alexander in the back as he had just done. He barely seemed to notice it. Jaron took the opportunity while Alexander’s back was still to him to strike. He swung his practice blade and was stunned when it stopped short with a loud crack.

Alexander’s back was still to Jaron, but his sword was held over his left shoulder, blocking the entire length of his back. Alexander flicked his wrist and threw Jaron off balance and stumbling backwards. Alexander then spun, swinging his sword and dropping to a knee, just as Jaron had done to Cedric.

Jaron jumped. He watched as Alexander’s strike flowed through where he had just been. He managed to right himself in mid-air and jumped back two more times creating a distance of nearly fifteen paces between himself and the other man. Jaron panted for air, sweat streaming down his face. He had never worked this hard before. Jaron looked at Alexander as he stood straight, sweat beaded on his forehead but stuck. His breathing was even and calm, no sign of laboring at all.

Alexander charged. Jaron decided that evasiveness wouldn’t help, the other man was just as agile, if not more, than he was. He took a wide stance, readying himself to take the charge head on. As Alexander got in range Jaron stabbed at him. Alexander shifted himself to the right. He grabbed Jaron’s wrist with his left and and twisted.

Time seemed to slow, every detail becoming clear. Jaron watched as the practice sword slid from his own hand, tumbling to the ground. He felt his knee fold as Alexander kicked it out. He watched as the grass below him became sky above him while be spun, falling to the ground. Then the fear came as he watched Alexander spin his practice sword in his hand, reversing the grip. Jaron tried to move but Alexander held him fast to the ground with his left arm. The blade began it’s descent. Jaron squeezed his eyes closed as he prepared for the pain that was about to come.

The pain never came. The pressure was released from Jaron’s chest. He opened his eyes to find Alexander holding his practice sword a sliver’s width fro his throat. He other man stood up straight and offered his hand.

“Not bad at all,” Alexander said as he pulled Jaron to his feet, “you’ll make a fine swordsman, as long as Cedric trains you properly.”

Jaron gasped for air and doubled over. It seemed impossible to breathe. A strong hand pulled him up straight and lifted his hands behind his head.

“Stand up straight and keep your arms up, give yourself room to expand and breathe.” Alexander said as he demonstrated, filling his chest with air.

Cedric still stood by the railing, arms still crossed, though a shaky smile marked his face now.

“You… you’re bare… barely even breathing hard.” Jaron said, gasping for air.

Alexander smiled knowingly, “You need to learn to control your breathing better, breathe in as you prepare for a strike and breathe out as your deliver it. There is a rhythm to combat. Find that, and match your breathing to it. It’ll take some practice, but you’ll get it.”

Cedric approached the two finally, giving a slight chuckle, “Well, that was impressive,” he said, markedly less worried than before the sparring match, “but that thing there at the end, where’d you learn that, I sure didn’t teach it to you?”

Alexander spun the piece of wood he still held, demonstrating the reversed grip, “This? A couple years back I was sent to Sumadur with a small contingent of my men. There was a group of Quel’dan that were said to be causing some trouble for a local lumber mill. We were sent to mediate a solution. However, as we approached we were attack be a group of the Quel’dan. Their leader fought entirely with this style. It was quite impressive to see. Once we calmed everyone down and mediated a solution, I asked if he might teach me some of it.”

Jaron lowered his arms, breath finally coming easier to him. He looked past the two men towards one of the entrances to the courtyard. He saw his father standing just outside the door along with his retainer, Waltence. When his father saw that he had been noticed he approached the small group.
Cedric stiffened as he saw the approaching men. Alexander noticed the reaction and looked towards the two that approached. His demeanor didn’t seem to change at all.

“Cedric, have you decided to bring another in to teach my son the ways of the sword?” Jaron’s father asked calmed, though his voice still held a tone of command, as it always did.

“Oh, uh, of course not Lord Kensly, this is merely an old friend,” Cedric replied worriedly, motioning towards Alexander and giving a deep bow.

“Is that so?” Jaron’s father asked as he looked to Alexander.

“I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross of the Sixth Cavalry Unit Lord Kensly,” he gave a salute and bowed, “It is an honor to meet you. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds, I merely asked your son if he would like a change in sparring partners. I apologize if…”

Jaron’s father cut Alexander off with a raise of his hand, “Nonsense Lieutenant, quite the contrary. I believe that it was good to experience something different, something closer to a real fight,” Cedric released a breath he had apparently been holding.

“Your son is quite the swordsman, a little rough in some areas, but those will smooth out with a few more months training. He is more than capable even now, what he lacks is more than made up for in his determination and his courage.” Jaron thought he could feel his cheeks redden at the compliments, though he hoped the others took it as exhaustion.

“I believe it was good for the boy to experience some fear in combat. It hardens a man and prepares him for any conflict he may face in the future, physical or not,” Alexander nodded in agreement to Jaron’s father’s statement, “Lieutenant, later this week my family and I are holding a banquet to celebrate Jaron’s coming-of-age. I would be honored if you would attend.” The inflection in the man’s voice was more that of an order than a question.

“I would be glad to attend. I would have to clear it with Captain Edbar when he arrives, though the break from soldiering would be appreciated.”

“Excellent, I will have invitations sent for you and Captain Edbar, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a higher ranking officer to not be invited to an event of this caliber that his subordinate was.”
“Lord Kensly,” Waltence interrupted the conversation, “I’m afraid that you still need to prepare for Lord Danar’s ball for this evening.”

“Indeed, the duties of a nobleman, sometimes what I wouldn’t give to be in your place Lieutenant. Well, I look forward to seeing you again, and may the Great Weaver keep you safe,” Jaron’s father gave a nod as he turned and headed back towards the manor. Cedric and Alexander gave bows, though no one was watching.

“Well Cedric, I should probably get back to the barracks before Captain Edbar arrives, wouldn’t want to give him any more reason than he already does to hate me,” Alexander said with a chuckle.

“Sounds good boy, if you get the chance to see your parents give them my wishes, and feel free to stop in and chat if you get the chance,” Cedric said, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Jaron, again it was a pleasure meeting you. A few words of advice, keep your sword arm up and you body turned away ever so slightly. It makes it more difficult to read your moves before you make them.” Alexander gave a bow before turning and collecting his things, pulling his tunic over his head and replacing his jacket and exiting the courtyard.

“Well boy,” Cedric said as he collected the two practice swords and tossed one to Jaron, “I don’t believe your lesson is over yet and I think I’m in good enough shape to spar yet.”

Arm up and body turned, Jaron thought as he readied himself.

Chapter 3 - Old Friends and New Enemies

2010-02-15T00:01:00.001-05:00

Alexander pulled the reins, bringing his gray gelding to a stop. Alexander had rode his men hard to make it to Garlin early in the day. He looked out before him at the walls of the city, the sun barely broke over them. History told that those walls had stopped numerous attacks before Beldin managed to gain control of the city. He knew the walls well. He had grown up only a couple days ride from Garlin.

Thinking of home brought a pang of guilt up in Alexander. His parents hadn’t been happy with his decision to leave and join the army. He still did what he could to help them, sending money regularly to help with the maintenance and the higher of hands to make sure crops and animals were taken care of. His mother often wrote back, thanking him for his help. He was sure his father complained every time the writ for a withdrawal came in, but the money was always taken from his accounts.

Perhaps I’ll ask for a couple days leave and visit home, Alexander thought. He had not been home in nearly ten years, and the last time was only a couple hours on his way through the area. He missed his home, the days toiling in the fields, the evening meals and tales told by his father. He even missed his older brother, who had his own family now, though he no doubt still worked his father’s farm.

Alexander recognized the sound of the horse’s canter coming up from behind him, he was not surprised when Jogan spoke, “Lieutenant, Bosber has returned, the city guard has been informed of our approach and are preparing for our arrival.”

Alexander nodded, not even looking at the man, thoughts still focused on home, “Good, signal the approach, look casual, we don’t want people to think we’re there to attack. Only swords, any other weapons should be put in saddle bags or secured in some other way. Anyone still wearing their leather should take it off now. Anyone found not following the order will find themselves in more trouble than they’d like.”

“Very good Lieutenant, I’ll spread the word.” Jogan wheeled his horse around and road back to the unit leaders. Riders spread out from the small group of men and word was spread throughout the unit.

Alexander smiled at the organization of his men. When he had been given the command of the Sixth Cavalry, they were a good unit. Alexander brought in a new chain of command, much to the displeasure of some of the senior riders, but it had formed a much more proficient chain of communication. Now, if he gave an order, he knew that within ten minutes, every man in the unit would know the command almost as if they’d heard it directly from Alexander’s lips. Alexander chirped to his gelding and started of towards Garlin at a casual walk.

The ride to the city was easy, and he could tell that the guard was anxious, but not worried as they approached the Western Gate. There was a group of five men standing a few paces outside the gate. Alexander soon recognized the uniforms of Garlin’s High Guard.

Alexander saluted as he pulled his gelding to a stop before the men. They returned the salute and Alexander dismounted. He walked forward, standing before who he assumed was the Captain of the Guard.

“May the sun grace your fields and your family thrive,” Alexander started in the formal greeting of Garlin.

“And the rain waters come and go, bringing only life,” the Captain finished, “It is good to meet a soldier that knows the ways of this city,” the man said, offering his hand.

“I grew up on a farm not far from here, this is home for me, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross charged with the command of the Sixth Cavalry Unit,” Alexander replied as he took the man’s hand.

“I am Jefell Russent, Captain of the Guard here in Garlin. So, to what honor are we graced by you and your men?” the Captain said as he eyed Alexander’s riders.

“We have been sent here by General Therad. My men and I were sent ahead by Captain Vanles Edbar to prepare for the arrival of him and the rest of our men.” Alexander explained.

“Very well, how many men should we prepare for?” Jefell asked.

“With me I have one hundred fifty men, and as many horses. The Captain will be leading 1,150 men, with about two hundred more horses.”

Jefell’s eyes betrayed a look of shock, though he quickly covered it, “I see, I will send word immediately to ready the barracks and stables for you.”

Alexander could see the question on Jefell’s face. He wanted to know why so many men were being brought to Garlin. Of course, Alexander’s mind held the same question.

“If you will follow me and my men Lieutenant, we will lead you to the barracks.” Jefell turned and started back into the city.

Alexander mounted his horse and signaled his men before following the Captain of the Guard into the city. The looks on the faces of the people on the street were those of shock, anger, and awe as Alexander led his riders through the town. The men formed three perfect columns as their procession made its way down the street. A hush fell over the crowds as they watched. The ride through the city to the barracks seemed to take forever.

Finally, Jefell turned and looked to Alexander, “Here are the barracks. There should be men arriving soon to take your horses to the stables.”

Alexander dismounted as Jogan signaled for the rest of the men to do the same, “I thank you Captain Russent.”

Alexander squinted in the sunlight as he watched a carriage pull up to the barracks. The driver hopped down and quickly moved to the door, opening it and bowing a man through. The man was of decent age, silver marking his temples. He was well groomed and well dressed, obviously one of the nobles of the city. He wore a dark green suit of typical Garlin cut and carried an ornate dueling cane fitted with a large sapphire.

Jefell noticed Alexander’s sudden interest and turned to see what he was looking at. He started when he noticed who it was, “Ah, High Lord Bething, to what do we owe the honor?”

“Nothing to worry about Captain, I merely heard that there was a group of soldiers that had entered the city and came to see what the commotion was about.” The man’s tone was demanding and clear.

“Lord Bething,” Alexander said as he stepped forward, giving a salute and small bow, “I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lieutenant, I am Lord Juston Bething of House Bething. If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you and your men into our fair city?” Bething’s voice seemed to hold a tone of displeasure.
Alexander suddenly remembered the name. House Bething was one of the few noble houses that survived the capture of Garlin. They fought to maintain self-sufficiency in Garlin to keep a degree of separation from Beldin. Most of all, the family hated any the military in any respect.

“I’m afraid I have nothing to share with you. You will have to wait for Captain Vales Edbar to arrive with the rest of our men later this day, though I do not believe that it will be until sometime this evening.” Alexander explained while trying to maintain a level of formality.

“The rest of your men?” The Lord started, “Just how many do you bring to our city?”

“Thirteen hundred total Lord Bething, on the orders of General Lofric Therad.” Alexander said frankly.

Lord Bething’s eyebrows rose in what appeared to be shock and anger, “You will inform your Captain Edbar that I will be visiting him at my earliest convenience.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course Lord Bething,” Alexander said with a bow.

As Alexander straightened, Lord Bething was already started back to his carriage, “My apologies Lieutenant Varross,” Jefell began.

Alexander cut him off, “It is no trouble Captain Russent, I assumed that we would be met with some anger when I first heard we were coming here. Now, if you would see to my men and their horses, there is an old friend I would like to visit.”

“Of course,” the Captain said as he turned to give orders.

Alexander turned to Jogan, handing him the reins to his horse, “Would you look to Cloud for me Jogan?”

“Of course Lieutenant,” he said as he took the reins.

“I’ll be back soon, there’s just an old friend here in the city I would like to see. You are in command until I return. The men are not to move from the barracks or the stables until I get back. Is that understood?”

“Yes Lieutenant,” Jogan nodded.

Alexander saluted before he turned and started down the street. It had been a long time since he had been to Garlin last, but he was certain that he could find what he was looking for.

Alexander made his way through the streets, stopping on Merchant’s street to buy a kabob of roasted meat and vegetables. While he was there he asked for directions to insure that he still knew where he was going. Many people gave him a wide girth, recognizing his uniform. There was little doubt that the news of soldiers in the city had been spreading like an uncontrolled fire throughout it’s inhabitants.
Finally Alexander found himself in front of the gates to manor estate of House Kensly. The gate guard eyed him carefully as he approached.

“Can I help you?” The large man asked, a hand resting on his sword-breaker.

“Yes, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross and would like to visit with Cedric Eddes if that is possible.” Alexander noticed as the guard stiffened at the mention of the name.

Cedric Eddes had been a friend to Alexander for as long as he could remember. The man was a good twenty years older than Alexander, but had helped his father on the farm while Alexander was a child. He had taught Alexander the sword and so much more.

The gate guard waved down one of his fellow guards and gave an order. The second man hurried off in the direction of the manor house. Alexander waited patiently, standing outside the gate.

After a few minutes, the guard returned, giving a nod to the man at the gate, “All right, looks like you can see Captain Cedric. He should be in the courtyard this time of the day, I’ll have this man here lead you in.”

The guard opened the gate and Alexander walked through. He followed the second guard through the outer courtyard and into one of the entrances to the manor. Servants bustled through the halls; replacing flowers, cleaning tables, straightening tapestries and making any other changes to make the appearance of the manor that much better.

“Is it always this busy?” Alexander asked the guard.

“Wha… oh, no, not usually at least. Lord Kensly has a banquet coming up soon, so the whole house is busy in preparation.

Alexander nodded in understanding, remaining quiet until the guard stopped in front of a door, “The Captain is through here.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said. The guard turned and left. Alexander pulled open the door and stepping out into the inner courtyard. It was modest, at least as far as Alexander could tell. He assumed that most nobles had extravagant manors and gardens, yet from what Alexander had seen of the Kensly Manor so far, it seemed rather contained.

In the middle of the courtyard stood Cedric working through forms with a wooden practice sword. The man was just as Alexander remembered, if maybe a little larger in the middle. His skin was deeply tanned and though it held some gray, his hair and beard still held on to more of the blonde that Alexander now recognized as wholly Rhodaron.

Alexander walked into the courtyard and waited to be noticed. Cedric kept working through the forms until he turned and noticed Alexander standing there. The man grinned.
“One of my men told me that there was some soldier wantin’ to see me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Indeed, how are you old man?” Alexander started his way to his old mentor.

“I’m doin’ all right, I see that you’ve made lieutenant,” Cedric stated as the two men shook hands.

Alexander smiled, “I have, though I can’t say as it has been the joy I always thought it would be. Now I find myself here, two days ride from home, following orders I don’t understand and answering to Captain Vanles Edbar who I think would rather see me discharged than follow his orders as he gives them.”

“Welcome to the life of an officer,” Cedric said as he balked a laugh.

“And what of you?” Alexander asked, “Mother’s letter said that you had left the farm to join the guard here, not command it.”

“Ah, she doesn’t know the second part. When I left workin’ for your father to join the guard here, it was just with the intention of being just that, a guard. However, when Lord Kensly saw my skill with the blade, and how I worked with the men, he made me captain, just as soon as the previous captain retired,” Cedric explained.

“So, you went from working for my father to living in this?” Alexander said as he motioned around him.

“Trust me, it’s not always what it’s made out to be. Speaking of your family, you goin’ to visit them while your here?” Cedric had a knack for jumping into the area of your life that you wanted to talk about the least.

“I don’t know, I was thinking about it, but my father and I didn’t exactly part ways on the best of terms. I’m not too sure how much he’d appreciate a visit.”

“Don’t worried ‘bout none of that. He’s your da, if’n he gives you can trouble, let me know and I’ll be sure to stop by and knock some sense into him,” Cedric said with a laugh.

“So, what is it you do around here?” Alexander asked, trying to change the subject.

“Too much of what I’d rather not be doin’ and not enough of what I’d like to, quite a bit like you I’d imagine,” Cedric laughed again, “however, here in a little bit, I’ll be givin’ a lesson to the young lord. He’s decent with the blade, nothing like you were, but capable.”

“I see, perhaps I should be on my way then.” Alexander said, not wanting to get in the way.

“Nonsense, just be sure to stay out of the way and keep quiet, I don’t need you going and confusing the boy,” Cedric said sarcastically.

Alexander shared a laugh with his old friend. At least I know that I’m welcome here, Alexander thought as he continued his conversation with his old friend.

Chapter 2 - Preparation

2010-02-08T00:01:00.002-05:00

Matthew stood ten paces from the wall, knife in hand. He stared at the point in the wall he hoped to hit. Knife throwing wasn’t a strong point of his. His accuracy at ten paces was mediocre at best. He could sometimes hit the target, however, most throws missed their mark.

He remembered everything Vansen had taught him when it came to throwing knives. The importance wasn’t the distance as much as it was in the throw. Of course, Vansen was deadly accurate at nearly forty paces.

Matthew took a deep breath, imagining the throw, imagining the distance being closer than it was. He began to throw the knife, releasing the breath as he went. The knife cut through the air, quickly closing the ten paces before slamming into the wall. The blade was buried nearly the length of the first knuckle of his first finger. The depth was good, but he’d missed his mark by a hand-width.

“Not bad,” Vansen said from behind him, “But you’re still concentrating too much on the throw. Just let it come naturally. You’re mind will fill in the gaps automatically, you don’t have to force it.”

Vansen flourished his hand and a knife appeared in it. He quickly threw the knife, only glancing at the wall as he did so. It pierced the mark on the wall. Quickly he threw two more knives. They both crowded the first knife on the white circle.

Matthew let out a laugh, “Maybe you’re just better at it than I am. I’ll stick with the skills I do have for now.”

“That might be for the best. Come on, time for the meeting.”

Vansen turned and headed for the office, shouting for everyone to gather up before he went in. Matthew followed him through the doorway and found his corner. He leaned back against the wall and waited as everyone entered and found their spots.

Once the last members sat down, Vansen began, “All right, you all know I’m not one for beating around the bush, so here’s the deal. We’ve been asked to pull a heist…”

Vansen was cut off before he could continue, “Wait a minute, I thought we didn’t steal for others?” It was Sarrich, the young boy had only joined the crew a couple months before and had a problem with Vansen’s rules, always pushing them to their limit without actually breaking them.

Matthew had always thought that the rules were simple. Only steal what you or the crew needed and don’t rat out anyone on the crew. Anyone found breaking those rules was turned out on the street and left on their own. Sarrich thought the rules were unfair. He thought that just because some people had jobs and could live a comfortable life, why should he suffer with the bare minimum. The crew was about survival, something that Sarrich didn’t understand. But he knew that he couldn’t make it on his own, not without getting caught by the guard, and following Vansen’s rules seemed easier than a life in prison.

“Usually we don’t, but I’m making an exception this time, we don’t have enough saved up for the warehouse payment yet and the request came from an old friend,” Vansen looked around the room as many people gave him curious looks, “Miktan Lonstrat.”

There were a few looks of shock, but more of happiness. There wasn’t a child that came out of the orphanage that didn’t know Miktan. He regularly visited, recounting tales and legends. Miktan had been a bard before retiring and living a life of comfort in Garlin. He was a friend to any of the kids, and his visits were always met with gifts and great stories.

“All right then,” Sarrich started, “What’s the job.”

Vansen smiled, “We’ve been asked to retrieve an item of his that is currently held in one of the noble’s treasure rooms.”

“Which one?” someone asked before Vansen could continue.

Vansen shot a look to whoever it was that had spoken before continuing, “House Danar.”

There was more than one gasp that went through the group. Even Matthew was surprised. He never imagined that Vansen would dare pull a job against one of the high houses, let alone Danar. Lord Danar had a reputation in Garlin of being one of the cruelest lords. To ask mercy from Lord Danar was like trying to ask a starving hound to not eat a cut of meat set before it.

“You’ve got to be crazy,” Randson exclaimed, “I heard the last thieves caught in Danar’s vault were tried and executed before the day was out. You’ve got to be mad to think we could pull off a job like that. Even if it was to steal a flower from his outer gardens, it’s mad. His guards might as well be ordered to kill first and ask later.”

Vansen waited for the crew to settle before continuing, “I know it is going to be dangerous, but as with any job I organize, involvement is completely voluntary. If you don’t want in, or think that it is too dangerous, you are welcome to leave.”

A large number of people stood and exited the room. Randson and Sarrich among them. Matthew was surprised to see Tavira stand and leave. She tended to be more of a thrill-seeker than any other in the crew, besides maybe Vansen. Soon it was just Vansen, Matthew, Natt, and Dell left in the room. Natt and Dell were new to the crew, and had only joined in the last month or so. Vansen looked at the boys and motioned to the door.

“Aw, come on Vansen, we deserve to be part of this as much as anyone else. We want to pull our weight around here.” Natt spoke up.

“Yeah Vansen, give us a shot.” Dell said.

“Guys, it’s nothing against you, I just need people with a little more experience for this job. The Danar estate isn’t someplace you guys need to be, not yet at least. Just keep up with what you’re doing and we’ll see about getting you in on the next job.”

Matthew smirked as the two left the room, heads hung low, “I know how they feel,” he said after the door closed behind them, “it’s rough at that age, being part of the crew.”

“What’re you talking about, each one of them is twice the thief you were at their age.” Vansen smiled before motioning Matthew over to the table, “All right, let’s get started on this plan.

————————

Alexander had finished setting up his camp just as Jogan approached him. The man saluted before speaking, “Lieutenant, the patrols are all back and report that there is nothing in the area we need to be concerned with.”

Alexander brought his right fist to his chest, just over his heart, returning the salute, “Very well Jogan, I’ll be sure to report to the Captain. Make sure everyone’s camp is set up and that everyone has gotten something to eat. We should be arriving at Garlin tomorrow, so be sure to get a good nights rest tonight.”

“Of course Lieutenant,” Jogan paused for a moment before speaking, “Lieutenant, some of the men are concerned about this transfer. Why are we being sent to Garlin?”

“I assure you Jogan, as soon as I know, you’ll know.”

“Of course Lieutenant, sleep well.” Jogan saluted again and made his way back through the men, stopping on occasion to speak with some of them.

Alexander understood Jogan’s confusion. When the order came down for him to select three hundred of his riders and join up with Captain Edbar’s infantry unit, he didn’t understand. His confusion wasn’t relieved when he met up with the Captain, who wouldn’t give him any more information other than that they were to make way to Garlin, a city that hadn’t had a military unit stationed there in nearly a century.

Alexander wasn’t sure if the Captain’s unwillingness to pass on the orders was because he was ordered not to say, or if it was his disdain for Alexander. Captain Vanles Edbar had always viewed Alexander as a thorn in his hide. Alexander wasn’t sure what he had done to Edbar to garner such an attitude, but it didn’t seem to matter what he did. Before being transferred to his current post as the head of the Sixth Cavalry Unit, Alexander had been in command of the mounted brigade within the Third Infantry Unit under the command of Captain Edbar, though, Edbar was just a Lieutenant at the time and Alexander a Sergeant.

No matter what it was that Alexander did, Edbar seemed displeased. In the beginning, the Captain had assigned him to meaningless missions, apparently trying to bore Alexander into asking for a transfer, however, Alexander knew that the best chance he had to become an officer was to stay with the highly decorated Third Infantry Unit. After it became apparent that boring him wouldn’t work, Edbar began assigning Alexander to missions that were of the highest difficulty.

During the war between Beldin and Actaron, the infantry unit was often sent to the front lines. Edbar took the opportunity to send Alexander’s cavalry behind the enemy line. The thing that Edbar was unaware of at that time was that Alexander had always prided himself on his skill as a tactician. It was rare that Alexander couldn’t find some way of pulling a positive outcome from a near hopeless situation. When Alexander couldn’t find a way to a victory of some sort, he could usually find a method of retreat that kept the majority of his unit safe.

It wasn’t long before Edbar realized the benefit to having Alexander in his unit, however, when General Therad heard of Alexander’s exploits, he promoted him to Lieutenant and transferred him to lead the Sixth Cavalry. Alexander had originally hoped when he heard that Edbar was leading the troop transfer that his past disdain for Alexander had waned. It was quickly apparent that was not to be the case.

Alexander made sure that his tent was set up to his standards and began his way through the troops towards the Captain’s tent. As he approached, the two soldiers at the entrance to the tent saluted. Alexander returned the salute as he ducked into the tent.

“Captain Edbar,” Alexander said as he saluted.

Edbar held up a finger and continued to write something down. Alexander remained at attention and held the salute until he was recognized.

Finally, Edbar looked up, “Lieutenant Varross, what can I do for you this evening.”
Alexander released the salute but remained at attention, “Captain, I wanted to report that my patrols have returned and that they found nothing that we should be concerned with.”

“Of course not, we are a days march from Garlin with one infantry men and three hundred of your cavalry. Who in their right mind would try to attack us here?” Edbar looked back down to a sheet of paper before looking back up, “Is there something else?”

“Captain, excuse me for bringing this up again, but some of my men are concerned. Are you certain that there is nothing else about this assignment that you can share with me?” Alexander had asked that very question multiple times in the last month of travel from Beldin to Garlin and had always been met with silence and a dismissal. He hoped that this time would be different.

Captain Edbar placed what he was reading on his small desk before looking up at Alexander. He stood from his chair and walked over over to a large wooden chest. He opened the chest and rifled through it, finally pulling a sheet of paper out. He walked over to Alexander and handed him the sheet.

“That is exactly what I was given, if you can glean any more information from it, be my guest.” Edbar said before walked back to his chair.

Alexander unfolded the letter. At the top was the crest of the Beldin Army.

            Captain Vanles Edbar,
                    Your orders are to take one thousand of your infantry to Garlin. You will be met by Lieutenant Alexander Varross and three hundred of his riders. Soon after you arrive, you will receive a missive. The missive will explain your presence in Garlin. Until you receive this missive you are to assist the city guard in their protection and patrolling of the city. May your mission be a success and The Great Weaver watch over you.

                    Third General of the Beldinian Armed Forces
                        Lofric Therad

Alexander looked up at the Captain to find him staring back, “This is it? We are going to enter Garlin with no real reason and then we will receive new orders?”

Edbar smirked, “That’s it, however, the seal and the signature, as well as the handwriting as far as I can tell, are that of General Therad, so if it’s a forgery, it’s one of the best I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Alexander set the letter on the Captain’s desk, “Well then, if you have nothing for me Captain, I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, yes, you’re dismissed.” Captain Edbar said waving his hand as he returned his attention to what was on his desk.

Alexander exited Edbar’s tent and started back to his own. As he approached he noticed Jogan standing outside the door flap impatiently. As soon as he noticed Alexander’s approach he stood at attention and saluted.

“Lieutenant,” Jogan spoke before Alexander could say anything, “You must come quickly, Corporal Bargun has been attacked!”

Alexander stiffened, “What? Quickly, take me to him.”
Jogan immediately began his way through the soldiers tents, “I’m not entirely sure what happened, I was making my way through the ranks as you had ordered me to. When I came upon the Corporal’s tent, I found him struggling with another man.”

“Was it one of ours?” Alexander asked.

Jogan’s head spun back to look at Alexander questioningly before returning to the path before him, “No sir, at least not that I’m aware of. He wore no uniform and I didn’t recognize his face. He is being held in another tent, under guard by six of our men.”

“Very good, how badly injured is Bargun?” Alexander hoped it wasn’t anything serious. Thomas Bargun was one of his better riders and could always be counted on t think for himself when it was needed.

“It didn’t look like anything too serious. The attacker had a knife, but it seems that the Corporal made it out with minor injuries.” Jogan quickly looked back at Alexander.

Alexander wasn’t sure how accurate Jogan’s report was, he had the tendency to misread injuries, making them seem like less of a trouble than they truly were.

Finally they came upon the group of small tents that Bargus had set up in. There was a medic looking the Corporal over as Alexander approached.

“Lieutenant!” Bargus said as he tried to stand. The medic held him fast.

Alexander saluted the man, “Don’t worry about about protocol right now Bargus,” Alexander looked to the medic, “How bad is he?”

“Well,” the medic said with a nasally voice, “He has a rather serious cut along his arm, but other than that he seems to have made it out with rather minor injuries. Once we stitch up the arm and he gives it a couple weeks rest, he should be back in optimal condition.”

“Nonsense Lieutenant, it’s just a small cut, I’ll be fit to ride by the morrow.” Bargus said confidently. Alexander saw the cut along his arm. It ran the length of his forearm. The medic had managed to slow the bleeding, but Alexander could also see the pile of rags it had taken to do so.

“Corporal,” Alexander began, “you’ll follow this man’s directions to the letter, if I hear that you have disobeyed him it will be as if you disobeyed me, understood?”

“Of course Lieutenant, to the letter.” The Corporal responded.

Alexander turned to Jogan, “Take me to the man that did this.”

Jogan spun on his heel and made his way about four tent groups over. There stood six guards with their swords trained on a lone man tied up and sitting on the ground.

Alexander stepped into the fire light. The six men noticed him and nodded, not wanting to take their swords from the man to salute. Alexander pointed to one of the soldiers, “Go and fetch the Captain, I think he’ll want to know about this.”

The soldier sheathed his sword and trotted off towards the Captain’s tent. Alexander stepped between two of the men guarding the prisoner and drew his sword. The rasp of steel against the scabbard rang out in the silence of the night.

“I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, you are going to tell me who you are and why it is you attacked one of my men,” The man looked at Alexander and spat at his feet. Alexander chuckled before placing the point of his sword at the man’s neck, “I assure you, you would much rather tell me the answers than to wait for my Captain to get here. He’s not nearly the pleasant individual that I am.”

The man stared into Alexander’s eyes defiantly. Alexander examined the man’s face. The dark skin and the slight slant to his eyes marked him as Actarian. Alexander pressed the sword point against the man’s throat until he saw a trickle of blood run down his neck. The man’s eyes widened.

“Are you going to speak?” Alexander asked with a slight curve to his mouth.

“Y… yes, I’ll talk,” The man said.

“Good,” a voice said from behind him, Alexander turned to see Captain Edbar standing beside the fire, a hand on his hip, the other scratching his face, “have him brought to my tent, I’ll question him there. Alexander, good work catching him, is your man okay?”

“He’ll be fine Captain.” Alexander said as he stood and returned his sword to it’s sheathe.

“Very well, you’d best get some rest, I’m sending you and half of your riders ahead of us in the morning to prepare for our arrival and so that your man can get looked over by a healer.”

Alexander was surprised, he didn’t expect that, “Very well Captain,” he turned to the five men left encircling the prisoner, “Escort this man and the Captain back to his tent, stay there as long as Captain Edbar needs you,” he turned to Jogan, “I’m leaving it up to you to select the riders that will be going with us tomorrow, find them and let them know tonight, we ride with the sun. Captain, if there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

Alexander stamped his fist to his chest, Edbar did the same. Show a strong front, Alexander thought to himself. There was no other reason Edbar would have shown the respect to Alexander he just did if it weren’t for the prisoner. Alexander left the tents and headed back to his own.

He sat down on his cot after making it back to his tent. He kicked off his boots and laid back.

Tomorrow we enter Garlin, what a fuss that’s going to cause, Alexander thought as he closed his eyes.

Chapter 1 - The Chase

2010-02-03T01:40:00.001-05:00

The sun sat high in the cloudless sky above Garlin. Matthew could not help but smile at the beautiful day as he walked down the street looking for a good stand to find his lunch. It wasn’t long before he spotted Old Man Hantan’s bread stand. It wasn’t the only bread cart in Garlin. It wasn’t even the only bread cart on Merchant’s Street. However, Matthew knew it very well. Old Man Hantan boasted that he made the best bread in the city, and Matthew agreed.

He approached the cart, eyeing the goods, looking for what he would like. A medium-sized loaf sitting on top of a pile of similar breads caught his eye. Matthew watched the baker as a man approached the stand, pointing to a pile of pastries. As the baker took the man’s coin and turned to grab the man’s order, Matthew snatched the loaf and quickly headed off in the other direction.

Matthew was almost certain he hadn’t been spotted until the call went out, “Stop, thief!”

Matthew’s head spun to look back behind him to find the balding baker pointing a long finger at him. He noticed that the baker was moving to the side of his cart, torn between protecting what he had left and trying to get back what had been taken. Matthew turned back around to run only to notice that the crowd was parting for a pair of guards.

“That one, that’s him right there!” The baker continued to shout. Matthew knew the baker was still pointing at him. He spun back the other direction and began to maneuver his way through the thick crowd.

Whenever Matthew managed to find a small clearing in the street, he would pick up his speed, hoping to put as much distance between him and the guards as he could. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found the guards where keeping pace with him. Luckily the crowd that Matthew had originally intended to use for cover was impeding the guards as much as it was him.

“Get him!” The baker shouted at the guards.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matthew muttered under his breath as he pushed his way past another man.

Matthew found himself standing in the middle of a busy intersection. He quickly surveyed his options. Continuing on down Merchant’s Street would keep him in the crowd, however, the cross street was clearer, allowing Matthew more speed. He was certain he could outrun the guards. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before the crowd truly noticed that the guards were after someone and began to work against him.

Matthew glanced behind him one more time to see the guards now beginning to shove people out of the way and closing in on him. He made his decision and began down the side-street. He broke out of the crowd in the intersection and began running. He was glad for his thinner frame, as he often was. It lent him more maneuverability in the street than the guards would have.

Matthew spotted two more guards almost one hundred paces in front of him. Before he would get to them, as long as they did not notice what was going on, he would make it to another intersection. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it.

“You there, stop him!” A voice from behind shouted.

Matthew glanced back to see that the guards chasing him had broke out of the crowd and were sprinting towards him. People jumped out of their way as they ran, something they did not do for him. Matthew looked ahead again to see one the head of one of the guards in front of him spin to look his direction. The man quickly took in the scenario and elbowed his partner before beginning to move towards Matthew.

Run, Matthew thought to himself, pushing himself to run faster, to get to the intersection before the guards. It was going to be close, but if he could manage it he would have a chance at getting free.

“Out of my way!” Matthew shouted at the people in front of him. Heads jerked up and people quickly moved before getting run in to. The intersection was close, but the guards were closer.

Matthew leaned forward, hoping to push himself to move even faster. He shoved a hand into one of his pockets on his vest to hold the apples he had stolen earlier that were bouncing against his hip in an uncomfortable manner. Those weren’t any trouble stealing, Matthew thought. Of course, fruit was easy, it could be put in his pockets. The loaf of bread however was too big for a pocket.

As Matthew and the two guards in front of him both neared the intersection, a wagon drawn by two large horses moved into it. Matthew almost laughed when he noticed that it was on the guards side of the intersection.

Matthew cut the corner, losing very little speed. He heard the guards curse as they had to stop to keep from running into the wagon. He could hear the argument as the guards and the wagon driver exchanged words. Matthew took the chance to glance back. The two original guards were coming around the corner. He could tell from one guard’s manner that he was winded. The other, however seemed to be in fine shape.

Matthew dashed down the clear street creating more distance between himself and the guards. Few people stood in the way, most heard the commotion and cleared a path.

Another intersection, Matthew turned left. He ran as fast as he could. Another turn, right this time. He glanced back down the street as he took the turn. The guards had just made the last turn and spotted him as he made his.

Matthew saw an alley and decided to take his chances. He dove into it and ran to the back. He pressed himself into the corner hoping that he could not be seen in the shadows cast by the buildings surrounding him. He remained as silent as he could, crouched down low into the corner.

One of the guards stepped into the alley and Matthew’s breath caught. Don’t see me, by the weave don’t see me, Matthew thought to himself. The guard took a few steps into the alley, squinting. His eyes passed directly over Matthew. The guard took another survey of the alley as the larger guard stepped in behind his partner, gasping for air.

“You… you see him?” The guard asked between breaths.

“No, he must’ve kept going, come on!” He said as he jogged out the alley and continued down the street. Matthew could see the second guard roll his eyes before trotting after the first.

Matthew waited what felt like an eternity before finally releasing his breath and gasping in air. He sat crouched in the alley for a short time before finally moving to the opening out to the street. He pressed himself against the rough wall of the building and peeked out onto the street in the direction the two guards had gone. Matthew did not see the men. He quickly glanced back the other direction, assuring himself before he stepped out.

He strolled back down the way he had come, retracing his steps back to the first intersection on Merchant’s Street. The street was back to its usual pace now that excitement of the chase had passed. Matthew kept his eyes open for any guards, especially any that might have seen him before. Not seeing any, Matthew started his trek to the warehouse.

He kept the loaf tucked under his arm, protecting it from any that might think he was a good target for theft. Once he entered the storage district he began to jog towards his destination. There was not a single section of Garlin that Matthew considered extremely dangerous, but the storage district was definitely the worst.

He finally approached the warehouse, his home. He walked up to the door and knocked in the predetermined rhythm.

“What’s the password?” A high-pitched, nasally voice called in from the other side.

“Open the door Randson, there isn’t no password,” Matthew called back.

There was a scrapping of metal as the lock was moved back and the door began to open. Matthew shoved it the rest of the way, knocking Randson back. It was not hard, there was little mass to Randson. He had always been thin, even back in the orphanage when they ate rather well, at least Matthew thought it was rather well, he did not have anything better to compare it to.

“Hey, easy Matty-boy, wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble,” Randson chided after he had regained his balance.

“Like Vansen would really believe you if you told him I’d hurt you. Here, have some lunch,” Matthew said as he broke off a chunk from the loaf of bread and tossed it to him.

Randson’s mood changed when he caught the piece of bread and nodded to Matthew. Randson closed the door and slid the lock back into place. Matthew looked around the empty warehouse. Only four or five of the crew were there, most of the others were probably out getting their own lunch. He noticed that many of the ones that were in the warehouse already had theirs.

He made his way across the large room towards Tavira. Tavira had always been a friend to Matthew, even back in the orphanage. She was a couple years younger than he was, but that did not matter much to him. He dropped to the smooth stone next to her and broke what remained of the loaf in half, handing one piece to her.

“Lunch is on me today,” He said as she took the bread.

“Why thank you Matthew, how very kind of you,” She replied. She smiled, revealing her the teeth that seemed too large for her mouth. The smile pushed the freckles that she hated so much up around her eyes.

“No problem. Though, the trouble I went through to get it almost wasn’t worth it,” Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple, which he handed to her.

“Oh, what happened?” Tavira asked with a mouthful of bread as she took the piece of fruit.

“Old Man Hantan spotted me before I could get away,” Matthew said, “Just so happened there were a couple of guards nearby too. It was quite the chase, thought for sure I wasn’t going to make it this time.”

“Oh, I’m sure your just exaggerating to impress me Matthew,” She said with a mocking grin.

“That or he’s getting sloppy,” A voice said.

Vansen was walking by and had obviously overheard the two of them talking. Vansen was the leader of the crew. He had been at the orphanage too, just like most of the crew-members. Vansen had been released from the orphanage nearly seven years before Matthew and immediately started stealing to survive.

Matthew tossed another apple from his pocket to Vansen as he walked past them. Matthew knew that he did not need to, but he tried to give back to Vansen whenever he got the chance. If not for him, Matthew probably would be imprisoned or dead by now.

Matthew had been almost two years old when his parents died, or at least that was what he had been told. He did not know much about his parents and all he had were fuzzy memories and blurry images when he tried to remember them. After their death, he was taken to the orphanage, where he lived a reasonably comfortable life until his fourteenth birthday. That was when the children were put out from the orphanage, given five copper fangs and told to find work.

The problem was that being fourteen, and not having any trade-skills, there were not very many people that were willing to hire, let alone train him. It was the case of most of the children from the orphanage. Matthew had still tried to find work. He looked for nearly a month, spending his coins only when he had to. Still, five fangs barely lasted him two weeks. Vansen eventually found him and brought him into the crew, teaching him how to steal and survive on the streets of Garlin. That was four years ago. Matthew owed his life to Vansen and tried his best to repay it whenever he could.

Matthew took a bite of the bread, chewing it, savoring it before swallowing. He was glad to have something to eat. There were not many in the crew that dared Old Man Hantan’s bread cart, he had a sharp eye and a fast hand. But he made the best bread on Merchant’s Street without a doubt and Matthew believed it well worth the risk.

“Hey Matthew!” Vansen shouted from the door of what was once the office of the warehouse, “Don’t forget about the meeting tonight!” Matthew nodded to Vansen and he disappeared into the room.