A (Part 1) The Abyss - After completing countless battles and collecting millions of Vigor Wisps over a period of several weeks, the Mage's Lodestar has finally reached a point of saturation. Having activated, it now allows for safe passage to the new underwater lands otherwise known as The Abyss. The Advance of Vengaelia - You have proven victorious over the Blodfolc of the past and returned safely to your kingdom in the present. But the moment of peace, as ever, is short-lived... Your spies have uncovered that the Kingdom of Vengaelia is plotting to conquer your lands. The Vengaelian king has uncovered a powerful weapon that will make his conquest nigh unstoppable...unless you challenge him now! The Aeon Dragon - While the Oracle sleeps in her temple, a vision appears to her in fragments in her dreams... An ordeal sent by the Holy Harrower, god of gods...a cataclysm in the form of a dragon the size of mountains...the kingdoms of the world, falling to its terrifying might, one by one...the Harrower raising His scythe to reap life itself... She awakens, cold with terror. The final judgment of the Holy Harrower is at hand. The Aetherflood Event - A magical anomaly is causing elementals to rampage through your kingdom. Your commanders must now fight to counteract the anomaly, destroy the elementals, and save your people!" An Agent of the Brandraven Company - Once again, the cursed wagons of the Brandraven Company wind their way through your lands. A pall of whispered tales and rumors hangs over the grim cortege, and all but the most foolish or wicked among your subjects know to keep far away from its suspicious wares and even more suspicious merchants. However, on this occasion, a member of the dark caravan has come to you... An elusive Brandraven Company has approached you with an offer you won't be able to refuse. Heed their words, listen to what they say, and be wise with your choices. Air vs. Water: Clash of Elements - Since the dawn of creation, Air and Water have fought for dominion over the land. Wind and waves have clashed for centuries, but now these two elemental forces have concentrated their energy to take on new terrestrial forms—as warring bodies of flesh and steel. Who will triumph: cool and agile Air or swift and mercurial Water? The Alliance Against Vigona - After many challenges, you have at last amassed an army of allies powerful enough to hold Vigona to account. With the combined forces of Brum Nazak and Escaria by your side, and your own army on its way, you have arrived at a small town outside the gates of Vigona to demand parley... ...Yet the gates of Vigona do not open...
A (Part 2) Alverdine Aflame - Just as you are about to depart from the Koti Jungle, you receive a message: the port city of Alverdine is being ransacked by corsairs! Your army rushes southward towards the city. Already, you can see plumes of smoke on the horizon… An Ancient Threat - Possession and madness have taken the minds of rime elves near the Hoarfrost Lands! It seems an unseen force of ancient magic is commanding them to attack nearby villages. Amidst the chaos, Spymaster Thanna has disappeared to pursue a secretive goal. You must stop the source of this malevolent magic by any means necessary. The Aolan Games - Your kingdom has been invited to take part in a seven-day gladiatorial tournament in the Hoarfrost Lands. Before you can make a decision, you receive a warning from the Oracle: If you attend, there may be danger... but, if you do not, there will be a disaster... April Fools..? ✨ Revamped Epic Battles ✨ - After many moons of seriously ruling over their kingdoms and gathering cult members, Apheriun and Hexavia have decided that they're tired of being the Netherking and Witchqueen (respectively). With that being said, Apheriun and Hexavia have announced that they've decided to pursue different career opportunities! To go along with these career changes, they have donned fancy new looks! And, to match these visual upgrades, these EBs have also been renamed to 'The XD King' and 'Hexavia the Dancing Queen!' ATA Day 2024 - "🦍 The Apes are back for ATA DAY! 🦍 It's time for the ENTIRE A Thinking Ape community to come together! Make your foe quiver in fear with the newest War Equipment set! Welcome to the ATA Cinematic Universe, the first of it's kind anywhere!"
B (Part 1) The Battle of the Nomads - Every kingdom has its outcasts. Those wretches whose unspeakable crimes will mark them for all time. In these lands, they form two opposing sects: the Drifters, and the Vagrants. Doomed to wander the realm, these nomads spend their days collecting the broken arrows of their bygone follies. The Battle Queen - Arkosa returns!? The great tyrant queen of Damas shockingly appears in the kingdom wielding the legendary blade, Estoc! What could she possibly want from the kingdom? Can you appease this legendary figure? Beneath the Abyss - Far beneath the waves, the Abyss is being rocked by violent tremors that are damaging its settlements and terrifying its citizens. You must travel to the Abyss and investigate the cause of these quakes: a strange, unceasing pulsing that emanates from somewhere beyond the city of Ptelyria... Blodcyth, City of Marble - You and your army open the mysterious silver doors to find a giant underground city of marble...home, according to the Oracle's prophecy, of a "'plague of crimson.'" You march into the city, knowing you are the only one who can vanquish this threat...even though you know you may be marching into a trap... Blood Rains - The Blood Rains were deemed nothing more than a children's story, a cautionary tale dreamt up by the elders to warn against man's hubris. And yet…strange days are upon us. The heavens now seem to open and close by some divine whim. When the clouds are parted, our armies are beset by torrents of reeking blood. Eyes are stung, armor is splattered, boots are stained. Our bloody steps mark a cursed path upon the land. And now the bloods awaken our ancient enemies. Energy flows through the veins of our greatest fallen foes. Gather your courage and unite your Clans, for when the Blood Rains come, the demons shall rise again… (This story was posted when the two day rotation was introduced on Friday, August 15, 2014.) The Blood Plague - A plague of crimson in the deep mine sleeps, In mistbound Dimnes delve his weary thralls. The Crown alone can stay his blood-soaked hand If ever they should reach his marble halls. A Bloody Harvest - Thanna reports Leidamea, disguised as a new goddess, offered power to the Deithe Fiannai in return for greater blood sacrifices. As per usual, the demon trickster gave them a bad deal and is draining the gods of their worship to increase her own power. Can you stop Leidamea's machinations before she destroys an entire pantheon?
B (Part 2) The Buried Continent Part I: Troggub's Maw - You have saved your kingdom and protected your people…but your descent has only just begun… Your scouts have uncovered the source of the strange creatures who have been appearing at night to poison your troops and terrorize your subjects. You march now with your armies to the entrance of a newly discovered system of caverns in the Lowlands, there to put to the sword the remainder of the beings and end their fiendish incursion into your kingdom. However, you soon discover a seam of evil that runs far deeper than you could ever have imagined… The Buried Continent Part II:The Emissary of the Khruta-Kadh - Troggub's true source is closer now. You can almost smell its foul presence. Persevere and deliver the final strike to the very heart of that foul creature! The Buried Continent Part III: The Trials of the Nakra - A desperate plea for aid drives you and your armies further into this new subterranean continent. Before you can delve very far, however, you suddenly encounter an evil infestation...and a proud people on the verge of extermination… The Buried Continent Part IV: Hearts and Minds - At last, you have reached the city of the Khruta-Kadh, only to find it besieged by a gobblyn army of unimaginable scale. With successful direct attack being impossible, you must undermine the gobblyn horde by other means… The Buried Continent Part V: The Sleepless Spire - Thanks to the Khruta-Kadh dwarves, you have learned the location of the being that has organized and empowered the Dugorim. You follow their directions, only to stumble across an abomination from another world… The Buried Continent Part VI: The Battle of Deepmine - The Spire of the Sleepless Orbs has been rendered powerless, and the Dugorim camp has been thrown into chaos! This is your only chance! You lead your armies into the final battle for the very soul of Deepmine itself!"
C (Part 1) Carmen the Warrior-Witch - Once again, the mysterious soothsayer Tomhasir has appeared before you to deliver a prophecy of doom. A warrior-witch named Carmen is headed to your kingdom from across the sea, along with her three sons, Dubh, Dothur, and Dain. They bring pestilence, darkness, and strife. They leave behind naught but death. You must put an end to their rampage...or be destroyed.
C (Part 2) A Cast of Falcons - Prologue - On a high hilltop, stood between the vivid green of the craggy Highland hills and the brooding steel sky, was a young man with a hooded falcon perched on his outstretched arm. The man was tall and pale, his paleness heightened by his long flame-red hair and short red beard. His dour face made him look far older than he was. He had the appearance of a man who did not see the point in smiling, or had little reason to do so. Although he wore the iron brigandine and crimson cloak of the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge, he was not wearing the green tabard bearing the crest of the order. Far in the distance behind him, a thin trail of rising black smoke pointed to the final resting place of the tabard, as well as the blackened remain of his former cottage, and of much more besides. The small saker falcon had a white breast dappled with brown and its back was steel grey fringed with white. It stood on the young man's left arm anxiously making quiet clucking sounds as he stared down into the valley below him that wound northward into the mountains. The man turned around to gaze one last time at the rugged hills of the county of Wolfridge, land of his fathers and jewel of the Kestralian Highlands. "Torcadall," he said quietly to his falcon, as he began to unfasten the bird's anklet and jess with his right hand. "Time to go, my lad. Do not come back, for I'll not be here." He loosened the braces of Torcadall's hood and removed it, revealing two eyes of deepest shining black set in a speckled light-and-dark brown head. He affectionately stroked the back of the bird's neck one last time, then without another word launched it into the air. The falcon leapt from his arm and took to the sky with a screech. The man gravely watched the bird become a speck against the leaden sky, then disappear from view. After a time, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter that had been left at his cottage a week earlier, and read it once more: Sir Angas Crieff, I am sending you this letter because you are someone I believe we can trust. I know you have been troubled by the actions of your king, and that in your heart you know what he does is wrong. I also know that your dissent has not gone unnoticed by your king and those loyal to him. Your life and the lives of those dear to you are in danger as long as you remain in Wolfridge. The time for uprising is now. He must be stopped, or many more innocent lives will be lost. If you would like to know more, meet me in the elven temple in Galdurheim. A Friend Then Angas Crieff, formerly of the Wolfridge Falconers, folded the letter back up and replaced it in his pocket. He turned away from his place of birth and the only home he had ever known, and set off down the path into the valley, in search of rebellion. A Cast of Falcons - Chapter One: Kish the Thief - The city of Anfangstadt in the Lowlands of the kingdom of Kestral was a city of iron. Pillars of black smoke from the city’s iron mines, smelters and refineries were always present, rising up beyond the rooftops of the sooty, blackened houses of its mining district, or “Iron Town” as it was known locally. Anfangstadt iron was in high demand all over the kingdom and beyond. The other side of the city, however, was home to refinement of another sort. Stripped of its iron long ago, it had since become home to the city’s aristocrats and wealthier merchants, along with its ruler, Duke Casnir. The duke of Anfangstadt’s palace was enormous, even by the lavish standards of the Kestralian nobility. It was spread out on a high, flat plateau that looked down on the rest of the city, and was as far removed economically and socially from the city’s mining community as it was geographically. Among the palace’s countless amenities was one of the largest wine cellars in the world, a labyrinthine collection of corridors stocked floor to ceiling with wines of every vineyard, from any country one could name. There was even, beyond the cellars, an abandoned mine that the duke’s grandfather had had converted into a winery. Built directly into the abandoned drifts of the plateau upon which the palace sat, the long-disused winery contained many branching tunnels filled with row after row of giant oaken tuns, along with dust-coated winemaking equipment that hadn’t seen use in more than a generation. Inside one of these tunnels was a giant oak barrel that was indistinguishable from the others in its row but for a small section on top that had rotted from water damage and had been torn away to create an opening, and inside this barrel sat a young thief named Elliel Kish. Kish was short and thin and possessed of a wiry strength and nimbleness, all of which served him very well in his profession. He had a boyish face topped by an unruly shag of blond hair, and had a puckish smile that revealed a missing tooth in his upper jaw. He had found the entrance to the mine that led to the winery years ago, and had gone to great pains to make sure no one else knew of it. By now, he knew its pathways well, and had even become familiar with the inside of the palace, or sections of it at least. He was lying on his back with his head on his rolled-up cloak, and his dark eyes were focused in the gloom on a point on the ceiling of the inside of the tun. Kish did not normally go in for careful planning, but he had on this occasion formulated a plan which was this: sneak into my hiding barrel, wait until the middle of the night, sneak into the palace, pinch a bauble or two, then leave. Nothing else, he told himself. This was nothing more than a short and necessary visit. Anything else and he would be nicked. He sighed to himself in the darkness. Bloody fates, he thought, what a year. He forced himself to focus on the job ahead, and what lay beyond. Just a trinket or two, he reminded himself, and he’d be set for a month. He smiled to himself. A month of wine, women, and...more wine. Perhaps a room in Iron Town. A roof over his head and a lock on the door. Not having to worrying about waking up with a slit throat, or worse, in chains. Not having to remember things... No more cares for a month, he thought. No more remembering... A minute later, he was snoring softly. ************* Kish turned to see a finely appointed bedchamber in which was standing a young woman. Her deep brown eyes brimmed over with warmth. Her skin was ivory. Her curly raven-colored hair had been released from its bounds and tumbled freely around her smooth shoulders, and she wore a white silken dress that shimmered in the candlelight. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" said Alisa, a note of concern in her normally playful voice. "Milady!" exclaimed Kish in a mock-wounded voice, "you're not...ashamed of me, are you?" "Don't be ridiculous, Elliel," she said, walking to him and taking his hand. "Of course, I'm ashamed of you. I am the daughter of the duke, while you are naught but a common footpad! Oh! If the court knew of our dalliances..." Alisa turned and fainted theatrically into Kish's arms. He laughed as he stared at her beloved face, drinking in the view like a bottle of stolen wine. "Dearest!" he admonished, continuing the pantomime, "you wound me!" Suddenly, Alisa's smile disappeared. "Elliel," she said seriously, "You know I do not fear for my reputation, don’t you? You know it is only your life for which I fear. Please tell me you understand." The note of concern in her voice had become a symphony. There was never any doubt in Kish's mind that she was thinking only of him. "I would sooner die," he heard himself say. Alisa's smile returned, once again flooding Kish's soul with warmth. **************
C (Part 3) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 1: Kish the Thief (continued) - Kish awoke with a start. He stared at the top of the inside of the barrel for a few moments before remembering where he was. Would you credit it, he thought to himself, to fall asleep before a job like that. Unprofessional. The inside of the barrel was no more or less pitch black as it was when he had fallen asleep, and he had no idea how much time had passed. He made sure his tools were all accounted for: picks, dagger, cosh, and blowpipe. He got up and peered outside the barrel. Nothing but darkness and silence greeted him. He climbed out and dropped to the ground, then began padding his way silently towards the wine cellars. The cellars were separated from the winery by a wooden wall, in which were set large double doors big enough to accommodate the winery's barrels and equipment. Inside these double doors was set a smaller man-sized door. Kish walked up to the door and put his ear to it. Hearing nothing, he removed his lockpicks from their holders on his armwraps and set to work. A few seconds later, there was a click, and he was in the cellars. Kish ignored the duke’s magnificent wine collection, as he was planning to pinch a celebratory bottle on his way back out, and he soon reached the stone staircase leading to the kitchens. He climbed them and placed his ear once again to the door. This time, however, he was dismayed to hear voices. "What now? At this time of night?" whined a youngish male voice. "Yes, now! Go and get a bottle of the St. Lutz '32," said another voice, male and annoyed, “His grace has a visitor...” Cursing internally, Kish turned and leapt down the stairs as quickly as he could and searched for a hiding place among the racks of wines. He sprinted to a rack as far away from the entrance as he could reach in time and crouched down behind it, just as the door to the kitchen creaked open. Light from the kitchen flooded onto the stairs as a young member of the palace staff entered and began stomping groggily down, yawning all the way. Suddenly, some of the kitchen light fell on the corner in which Kish was hiding, and he got a glimpse of the labels on the wines next to him. They were all of a particular vintage from a particular vineyard: St. Lutz '32. Cursing internally once again, Kish pulled his leaden cosh out of his belt and his hood over his head as he watched the boy stomp towards his hiding place. How could I have allowed myself to get cornered like that? he thought angrily at himself. Pillock! As the boy approached the rack of St. Lutz, Kish readied his cosh. He knew had to knock him out before he could raise the alarm, or face disaster. His heart beat harder and harder as he prepared to pounce. Then, without coming around to the side on which Kish was hiding, the boy unceremoniously reached over the rack from the other side, took a bottle, then turned and headed grumpily back towards the stairs, still yawning. Kish stayed crouched where he was, clutching his cosh, his heart pounding. Once he heard the door to the kitchen slam shut, he fell back onto his arse in relief. Thank goodness the boy knows his wines, he thought, resisting a mad urge to laugh out loud. He waited another minute, then returned to top of the stairs. This time, he didn't hear any sounds at all, and gently opened the door. The kitchens were dark and unmanned. Brilliant, he thought gleefully. His grace is entertaining a guest, is he? His attention will be occupied, then... Kish made his way through the galleries and past the guestrooms of the duke's palace with relative ease, avoiding what staff and guards were up at the hour. If the palace had any sort of treasury, he had never found it before. Best not to be greedy, he thought to himself, and take something they won’t miss...ah! What do we have here…? Walking past one of palace’s salons, a glint of blue in the moonlight caught his eye. He peered inside and saw a mantelpiece on which sat a statuette of a kestrel, carved out of what looked like a single piece of pure sapphire. You beauty! Kish thought, grinning in delight at the glittering trinket. He padded over to the mantelpiece and picked up the treasure, admiring it for a moment in the moonlight. Then he kissed it on the head and tossed it into his backpack. All he needed to do now was go back out the way he came in... But when Kish left the room, he did not return to the kitchens, but rather went further into the palace, even climbing the stairs to the second floor. His feet seemed to be leading him somewhere and his mind was pretending not to notice. A few minutes later, he ended up where he had told himself he would not go. He stared at the door that led to the bedchamber he had just visited in his dream. Don’t do it, you fool, he thought. After a minute, and a brief internal struggle, he heaved a sigh and pulled out his lockpicks. Ten seconds later, he was in. He had not visited Alise's room in nearly a year. The duke had ordered it to be left untouched, forbidding even servants to enter to clean it. The only change was a small portrait the duke had had put up on the wall next to the bed. He had seen it once before, on a previous “visit,” and it had been haunting his thoughts since. Kish continued berating himself as he walked toward it. You can't steal a painting, you clot! his inner voice cried. It was bad enough you took the statue! Do you think they won’t notice!? A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the painting, and suddenly his joy at his successful pilferage was gone, and replaced by a feeling of desolation. He quietly lifted the portrait off the wall and sat on the bed, staring at it. The likeness was painfully accurate. He felt as if all his happiness now lived in this painting, and once he left it behind, his happiness would be left behind with it. Sighing, he stood up to replace the painting, when he suddenly noticed that there was a small wall safe behind where the portrait had been hanging. He couldn't resist a small chuckle in disbelief at his own fool’s luck as he reflexively removed his lockpicks from his armwraps. Was that always here? he wondered to himself as he picked the safe’s lock, or did the duke put it in after she...afterwards? A minute later, there was a soft click, and the small door opened. Kish stood, dumbfounded, his eyes widening... Inside the safe was a jewel. It was golden in color and star-shaped, with a dozen or more rays extending from its polyhedral core. It was larger than Kish's fist, and it glittered furiously in the moonlight as if daring him not to give it its full attention. An aura of something more than simply monetary value was radiating from inside the star-shaped jewel. Not magic, which Kish wouldn’t have recognized anyway, but something weightier. Something that the young thief, even with his uncomplicated mind, recognized as a turning point in the history of the world, as if each of the stone’s rays represented a different branch of fate itself. Eyes wide and heart pounding, Kish reached out his hand towards the stone... A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 2: The Star of Damas - Kish's fingers moved along the smooth, unsullied rays of the star-shaped jewel. It must be real, surely, he thought, why else would it be hidden like this? He gently lifted it out of the small safe, noting its lightness. He held the stone to his eye, allowing the moonlight to pass through it, and searched for seam lines, air bubbles, or other telltale signs of fakery. Finding none, he then touched his lips to the stone and to warm it. The jewel remained promisingly cool to the touch far longer than it would have if it had been made of glass. With a giant grin, Kish placed the jewel in one of his leather pouches, then placed the pouch in his knapsack. His head was spinning at the thought of his once-in-a-lifetime haul. I might never have to work again, he thought. He was about to shut the door to the little safe when he noticed that some papers had been stuffed into it behind the gem. Kish shoved them into his knapsack as a matter of course, then assuring himself that the safe was now properly empty, he quietly shut its door and replaced the painting of Alisa over it. At the sight of her face, Kish’s grin turned into a mournful smile. Alisa, he thought, touching the lips of the painting, thank you. It was as if she had sent him a gift from the heavens, and he suddenly wondered if he would be able to part with it. He was yanked out of his reverie by the sound of metal-clad footsteps outside the door. Instantly, he dropped down to the stone floor by the bed before remembering it was unlikely that they were headed for the bedroom he was in, which the duke had declared off-limits to all staff. He crept to the door and waited for the footprints to recede. However, instead of continuing past his door, they seemed to stop in the hallway. There was a murmur of hushed speech. A few seconds later, he heard additional armored feet joining the first group from a nearby staircase. By a minute later, there were (by Kish's estimation) six to eight armored guards gathered in the rotunda just past Alisa's room. He waited another minute, but the voices and iron boots did not go away. Bloody fates, cursed Kish to himself, of all the times for the palace guard to start doing their job.
C (Part 4) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 2: The Star of Damas (continued) - He turned to the window. Rappelling out was an extremely risky option, even at night time. He padded over to it and unlatched it as quietly as he could. As he swung the window open, he could suddenly hear the voice of the duke floating up out of the night: "...his majesty knows best, I'm sure." As quickly as he could, Kish stuck his head out the window and peeked down. The window below his was also open, and firelight shone from it. Kish sat down on the stone floor with his back against the wall underneath the window, cursing the capriciousness of the god of luck. The duke and his guest were in the room directly under Kish. So much for rappelling... As he sat trying to think of a way out of his situation, more pieces of the conversation floated up from the room below: "One cannot help but be concerned," said the voice of the duke, "after what happened to Boden." The sound of duke's aristocratic baritone twisted the corner of Kish's mouth into an unconscious sneer of contempt. Kish had been raised (insofar as he had had any sort of upbringing) to detest the upper class and their easy lives, and to him the duke was the embodiment of all that was despicable about the high-born and wealthy. Kish imagined that he could have stood in front of the duke with buttocks bared without him taking notice, since the duke was so posh one needed to be a lord or higher for him to acknowledge their existence. "Your Grace needn't concern yourself with the Count of Boden," said another voice, "treason has its cost. Everything does...ah! Which reminds me..." There was a quality to this second voice that drew Kish's full attention to the conversation. His keen ear detected something strange in this new baritone, and in the way he casually addressed the duke. This one, thought Kish, has friends in high places. After a moment, there was a clink as of a bottle tapping another. "There we are," said the voice, "Chateau Gramis, '29. I have 20 bottles for you, Casnir, excluding that one of course." Even Kish, unlearned as he was in the ways of protocol, knew there was something very strange about this man. Clearly, he was some sort of merchant, yet he addressed the duke in so familiar a manner. He imagined the duke's eyes boring into the man's skull at his impertinence. Yet, all he heard the duke say was "Twenty will be satisfactory." "You won't be disappointed! Herbs and plum, with a topnote of black cherry, an absolutely lovely vintage," continued the voice. "I wouldn't dream of allowing anyone to get their hands on these until Your Grace had had a...chance..." his voice strained for a moment with the effort of uncorking the bottle, and there was a pop a moment later. Kish sat, nonplussed, his mouth open. Who was this strange merchant, with a voice like a knife wrapped in a velvet cloth, who spoke to the duke as an equal? He continued to listen, fascinated. He heard the pouring of liquid into glasses, followed a few moments later a sound of discreet spitting. Kish wondered briefly if the duke had shown his distaste at the merchant’s overfamiliarity by spitting on him, before remembering that sometimes nobles liked to spit out their wine for some reason, perhaps as a show of wealth, like as not. "Ah! Excellent," continued the merchant, who evidently had not spat his out, "far easier on the palate than the St. Lutz, wouldn't you say?" He drained his glass. "Delivery on the morrow, payment upon delivery, as per usual, Your Grace?" "That will be acceptable," said the duke, in an oddly stiff voice. "Very good," said the merchant, and there was the sound of more pouring. "Tosckar," said the duke, evidently addressing the merchant, "you do not mean to tell me that you have come to the palace in the middle of the night to peddle wine?" "Your Grace is my most precious client," said the merchant Tosckar, "I simply had to give you the chance to sample my newest wares, perhaps have a chat, share some gossip..." "'Gossip'?" said the duke contemptuously, "I do not indulge in such things. If you have something to tell me then spit it out, man." And now, Kish heard the anxiety in the duke's voice, as clear as a church bell. Something's not right here, he thought. "Your Grace knows I travel far and wide, and I hear a lot of talk. And although there has been quite a bit less of it since Count Boden's execution, tongues continue to wag. It's very difficult to stop a tongue from wagging, although it can be done, as the count found out." Kish's enjoyment of the conversation suddenly vanished, and was replaced by cold unease. The mysterious merchant had removed the velvet cloth from his voice, leaving only the knife. Kish suddenly wondered if he was about to witness a murder. "Although I am but a humble merchant," Tosckar continued, "'even the king himself, Farmer preserve him, is a loyal customer of mine. As such, I am blessed with access to his inner circle, and the rumors which abound therein. And your name has been mentioned quite a lot recently." The duke said nothing. Evidently, thought Kish, this is not a good thing. "His majesty wishes to end his...robust campaign of taxation and recruitment as quickly as possible, with a minimum of fuss," continued Tosckar, his amiable tone barely concealing the menace behind his words. "Alas! If only he had confided in me a bit more. Then I would know exactly what was upsetting his majesty so. Perhaps, his mood could be improved with a small gift...incidentally, Casnir, you will recall that I am a collector, like you?" "Eh?" said the duke, the sudden change of subject catching him off guard. "I'm sure I have mentioned my love of curios, baubles, and the like. Have I not mentioned it in the past?" The duke was silent. "I was wondering if you had any items of interest for me to add to my collection, perhaps something recently acquired? For a good price, naturally." "Speak plainly, man. What is it you want from me?" said the duke, rallying. "The Eye, Casnir. My sources tell me that you have come into possession of The Eye. They are reliable sources, Your Grace." "’Eye’? What ‘eye’?" said the duke, no longer able to conceal his agitation. "The Eye of the Maiden, also known as the Heart or Star of Damas. A stunning piece, the pinnacle of the jeweler's art. Do you know, it's so beautiful that it might even be worthy of presenting to the king." "I have no knowledge of this "eye" of which you speak, regardless of how 'reliable' you claim your sources are..." there was a pause, then the duke continued, "even had I knowledge of such a thing, why would I sell it to you? Why would I not present it to the king myself?" "Present it to the king? Why, such a generous and loyal act would surely please his majesty! I merely wished to give Your Grace an opportunity to enrich yourself, and give myself an opportunity to improve my standing with the king. And then, of course, we might avoid the scenario that befell Count Boden. Poor Count Boden..." At last, Kish understood why the duke had stationed guards nearby. He believed his life was in danger. "Do you recall, Your Grace, the charges brought upon him? Of course, 'treason' was the only reason given, but those of us in the know had better insight. It seems the king was cross because he believed the count was hiding something from him. I never did find out exactly what, but I would hate for a similar fate to befall my favorite client. Best sell the jewel to me. No one need know it was ever in your possession, and I will happily undertake the risk of presenting it to the king." Kish felt as though he had just been punched in the gut, as he realized that they were talking about the jewel he had pilfered only a few minutes ago, then again as he realized that someone, either the duke, this Tosckar, some soldiers, or any combination thereof, would likely be soon dropping into the room, either to check on the gem or to take it. Oh, fates, he thought. Bloody, bloody, bloody fates, what have you gotten me into. He looked up at the window. No time to put everything back, he thought. Looks like I have no choice. As softly as he could, he removed his rope and grappling hook from his pack. Drawing his hood low over his head, he affixed the hook to the windowsill as firmly as he could and began to abseil down the palace wall, fervently praying that no one happened to be looking in his direction. A few seconds later, he was just above the open window of the room the in which the duke was entertaining his guest. He hesitated for a moment, mentally uttering one final prayer for luck, then pushed out with his feet and dropped down past the window as quickly as he could without burning off his handwraps. Time seemed to slow down as he slid past the window. In the brief moment that he passed it, he saw the inside of the guest room with its great fireplace. He saw a small round table on which were several glasses and uncorked bottles of wine. He saw the profile of the duke, who was staring into the fire. And for the first time, he saw Tosckar the merchant. He was tall and sallow, with loose folds under his bloodshot, rheumy eyes, and he wore an odd but lavish golden monocle. His jaw-length hair was black and greasy, but his large mustache had been meticulously groomed. His emerald green finery was of the highest quality. He made the duke seem like a commoner by comparison. Then Tosckar saw Kish. Tosckar’s eyes widened as Kish dropped the rest of the way as quickly as he could. He landed painfully on his shoulder, then got up as quickly as he could and began to sprint through the pre-dawn, just as shouts of “INTRUDER!” began to pierce the air.
C (Part 5) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 2: The Star of Damas (continued) - His mind was a near blank as he ran like the wind towards the front gate, alarm bells clanging in the palace behind him. All he could think about was escape. He heard soldiers running out of guardhouses and shouting after him. He pumped his legs even faster, yet it seemed as if the courtyard would never come to an end. Suddenly, there was a noise from the mews off to his right, and a magnificent gilded coach drawn by a pair of horses and driven by a figure in a cloak of deep crimson burst out of one of the coach houses and clattered across the cobbles, coming to a stop between Kish and the front gates. He stopped and drew his dagger, but the cloaked figure shouted "Get on, quickly! Before the gates are shut again!" Without thinking, Kish threw open the door of the coach and leapt aboard an instant before it took off again, tearing across the rest of the courtyard and through the gates. Panting, Kish leapt to his feet and peered out the rear of the coach. Beyond the open gates and two dead guards on the ground, he could see the duke's guardsmen sprinting towards their own horses. Kish opened his mouth to issue a warning, but the motion of the coach as it flew violently over the cobbled city streets made him fall back onto his freshly bruised shoulder. Stifling a yelp of pain, he held onto the upholstery and waited for the wild ride to reach its terminus. “Are you unharmed?” shouted the driver over the clatter of hooves and wheels, and Kish noticed it was the voice of a woman. “More or less!” he shouted back, then “Nice coach!” “It belongs to a so-called merchant called Corbinian Tosckar. He is a dangerous man. Our lives are forfeit if we are caught, so we must fly!” she shouted back. Kish’s mind swam with so many questions, that he was unable to settle on one. He settled for pulling himself back up onto the rear seat of the carriage and attempting to keep watch out the rear window for pursuers. He felt disinclined to thank his savior, however, until he knew where they were going and what her plans were. The coach carried on through the night, occasionally turning, going up a narrow-side street, then tearing back off as soon as a straight road presented itself. All the while, Kish kept an anxious eye out the rear of the coach while trying to ignore the pain from his shoulder. "Listen!" shouted the driver suddenly, "we're going to stop soon. When we do, we're going to get out of the coach. There will be another horse. I will get on it and pull you up after me, and we will start moving again. You must move quickly. Do you understand?" "Who are you?" shouted Kish, "What do you want from me?" "We will talk later! RIght now, you have a choice! Get captured by the duke's soldiers, get killed by the king's personal assassin, or escape with me!" she shouted back. "The king’s…” Kish shouted, then fell silent. That explains it somewhat, he thought, dumbfounded. “So ‘tis rumored, at any rate! You may take your chances with either of them, or with me!” shouted the woman, and Kish knew that, for the moment at least, they were running together. At last, they came to a sudden stop near an alleyway. "Now!" shouted the driver, leaping off the coach's seat and running into the alleyway. I must be a complete fool, thought Kish as he shot out the door of the coach and ran after her. True to her word, a magnificent white charger stood waiting for them in the alleyway. The woman leapt on to it and pulled the much shorter Kish up in front of her (to his embarrassment), and they galloped out the other side of the alleyway. They kept on at top speed as dawn broke, until they reached the grimy streets of Iron Town. They made their way to a nondescript smithy that lay on the line where the houses gave way to refineries or other buildings of industry. The woman guided the horse into the stable behind the building and dismounted. Kish, who was unused to horses, slid back into the seat and tried to dismount himself, clutching at the horn of the saddle and lifting his leg over the rump of the horse as best as he could. "Come with me," said the woman once Kish had alighted, "we will be safe here for the moment." They left the stable and went into the house behind the smithy. The house was one large room with a few cots along one of the walls. The grimy windows allowed little light into the room, but she did not light a candle. Kish turned to the woman, who had removed the hood of her cloak to reveal a pair of blue eyes framed by a young, but stern face and long white-blonde hair. He was unsure of what to say, but before he could utter a word, the woman finally spoke again: "I am Valerja," she said, "and you have something of mine." A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 3: The Falcon's Letter - Angas Crieff, former brother of the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge and one-time servant of King Naron IV of Kestral, sat partway up a hill amidst a jagged outcrop of stones, which pierced the air like a throne of fangs. The setting sun was hidden by thick cloud, and a cold drizzle was falling which would have made it difficult for most people to start a fire. Angas, however, was an expert, and a small fire burned brightly in defiance of the rain as he sat with his back to the stone, skinning a rabbit. It was the evening of the third night since he left his home, and Angas was still threading his way through the Dileas Mountains, which separated Kestral from the Hoarfrost Lands. He had departed from his home and his previous life with a sense of purpose, yet as he traveled he began to be troubled by doubt. Over the last three days, he had come across many farms that had been abandoned, their denizens having been forced at spear point to join the royal army, their homesteads having been stripped of any gold or items of value, their livestock having been claimed in the name of the king. Some of the farms had been burned to the ground. More than once he had come across the corpses of defiant highlanders who had tried to stand their ground against the king's knights, once the defenders of the people, now their oppressors. He could not shake the feeling that he was fleeing, when what he should have been doing was standing and fighting. His rabbit skinned and dressed with thyme, he spitted it and placed it over the flame. He then leaned back against the rock in the stone semicircle in which he sat, and scowled at the fire in thought. He realized that the voice in his head that was rebuking him for fleeing sounded very much like his father’s, or that of one of his brothers. It certainly spoke with a familiar tone of disappointment, and with the expectation that he was about to choose the wrong course of action. Angas came from a long and famous line of knights. His father, Lord Raghnall, was a hero of the wars and well-loved by the people of Wolfridge. By the time of his death, he had become the king's most trusted advisor, as had his ancestors for generations. The Crieff family were known for their valor and skill in battle, as well as their unwavering loyalty to the crown. Raghnall had undertaken the training of his sons himself. Angas and his siblings were each only five years of age when they were given their first bow, and six when they got their first longsword. Training was a part of each day. Rest and meals were earned, not given. Raghnall ran his household like a military camp. As the youngest, Angas did his best to keep up with his four brothers, but he had learned from a very young age not to expect encouragement or praise. Being born a Crieff, they were told, meant being born into duty. Those bearing that name were responsible for doing everything in their power to become worthy of the knighthood and the role of the people's protector. Angas had also learned not to expect assistance. Once, at the age of eight, while undergoing survival training in the woods with his brothers, he had struck out into the forest alone to hunt. Each boy was expected to catch his own dinner. What Angas has not expected, however, was to stumble right into a slumbering forest troll. It had been squatting asleep among the fir trees when Angas tried to scramble onto its mossy, stone-like back. Angas gave a yelp of surprise and fell back onto the forest floor as the hideous creature rumbled awake. Before the troll had even turned around, Angas was on his feet and running. He was small and fast and quickly out of the troll’s reach, but it gave chase, swatting aside young trees as if they were blades of grass. Angas ran on, unaware of how much time was passing and having completely lost his bearings in his blind terror, while the slavering troll followed relentlessly, drawing nearer and nearer. Suddenly, the troll gave a roar of anger. Startled by the noise, Angas tripped over a knot of roots and fell onto the soft needle-covered forest floor. He turned around and began to scuttle backwards, but stopped. His father was there and had already removed the troll's right arm. Another few strokes of his Raghnall’s longsword, and the troll's head fell at Angas' feet. Angas sat, panting and staring wildly at his father, unable to speak for the pounding of his heart. He expected to be admonished, or even punished for his carelessness in stumbling into the troll, but his father simply wiped his sword off on the troll’s carcass and sheathed it, then walked over to the troll’s head and picked it up, presumably to burn it in the campfire. As he walked past Angas on his way back to camp, Raghnall stopped. Without looking at him, he asked "Where's your bow, Angas?"
C (Part 6) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 3: The Falcon's Letter (continued) - Angas gave a start at the question, then his heart sank as he realized he had dropped it somewhere in the forest as soon as he saw the troll, and he looked down at his knees, unable to bring himself to say anything. "Go and find your bow, boy. And next time, at the very least draw your sword before you turn and run," said Raghnall, then walked away towards camp. Angas spent all night searching in the dark for his bow, tripping over roots and scratching his face on branches, furious at himself the entire time. Stupid! he shouted at himself in his own head in anger and shame, stupid stupid stupid!! Why didn’t I draw my sword? Why did I drop my bow? Why? He did not stumble upon his bow until the first rays of dawn began to filter through the trees. He then returned to camp, where his father and brothers were already awake. No one asked where he had been, or even acknowledged that he had been absent. Angas never found out if his brothers knew about what had happened in the forest that night, for he never spoke of it, and his father never mentioned it in front of him. But from that point on, Angas made sure his was the first arrow nocked or the first sword drawn in battle. Like his brothers, all Angas wanted out of life was to be worthy of knighthood and the Crieff name. To him, that meant not only prowess in battle, but patient endurance of hardship. He was also brought up to believe that a knight's duty lay not only in service to the king, but to the people as well. At the age of twelve, he was sent away to the city of Blackhallow to be apprenticed to old Ysac, the royal falconer and master of falconry. Despite being of noble blood, Ysac's family had dedicated their lives for generations to the breeding and training of falcons, as well as to the training of young nobles in the art of falconry. Despite his difficulty in showing it, Angas became quite fond of the peculiar old falconer, who seemed to derive endless amusement from the boy's relentlessly stern manner and ever-present frown. Ysac became the first friend Angas ever had, and when he turned fourteen, Ysac gave him Torcadall as a gift. At the age of sixteen, Angas became the youngest man ever to have been inducted into the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge, but the occasion was a bitter one for him. Raghnall had been killed only a few months earlier while thwarting an attempt on the king's life, and his two eldest brothers had already gone off to war, never to return. By the time Angas was twenty, his last living brothers had been killed on the field of battle, and he alone of the Crieff family remained. The people of Wolfridge mourned along with Angas. His family had stood out for generations as beacons of hope and exemplars of bravery and heroism in dark times. They opened their hearts to Angas, greeting him in the streets and openly cheering him when he passed, and although he remained as dour and taciturn as ever, he worked harder than ever to earn their praise. It was shortly after this time that the people began to notice a change in the king’s behavior, though they were careful about who they shared these thoughts with. Over the following months, the king had begun hiring scouts and spies en masse, and intelligence was flowing into the castle like a river, as if the kingdom were preparing for war, yet no members of the court or the military seemed to be aware of any impending threat to the country. Then one day, the raids and arrests began. Suddenly, sedition seemed to be everywhere. Whispers abounded of a mysterious outside threat of some kind that had infiltrated the kingdom and plotted against the throne. Soldiers were sent into homes throughout the country, presumably under orders from the king, with all valuables therein confiscated under the aegis of this strange new inquisition. At the same time, the king enacted a program of limited conscription, forcing entire families into military service, and the ranks of the armies began to swell. The populace grew anxious over this as yet unnamed outside threat while nervously trying to justify their king’s increasingly draconian behavior to themselves and each other. Yet Angas continued to carry out his duties without protest, as he believed his father would have him do. It wasn’t until the public execution that Angas at last began to question his loyalties. One day, it was announced that the Count of Boden had been arrested on charges of treason and conspiracy against the crown. Many who heard the news were shocked - not only did this accusation seem to have come out of nowhere, but it meant that even noble blood was not proof against the king's suspicion. As soon as he heard the news, Angas rode like fury from his post to the capital city of Gen Gurum, but to no avail. He had arrived at the town square just in time to watch the executioner's axe fall down onto the neck of Ysac, eighth Count of Boden, in front of a cheering crowd. Angas left the town square in a daze. He had just enough presence of mind to stable his exhausted horse, then after doing so began to heedlessly wander the streets, his head full of fog. He soon found himself in front of a tavern he visited whenever he was in town, The Pig and Peregrine. The tavern was quite full for the time of day. The execution had drawn a crowd, and folk were reluctant to return to work, preferring to use the occasion as an excuse to have a drink and a gossip. Angas entered and took his usual seat at the table in the corner. He noticed that the mood in the tavern was subdued, but there was hushed and fevered conversation at every table. Public executions in Gen Gurum weren't rare, but none in recent memory had caused such a maelstrom of rumor. It’s that underground rebellion, muttered the tavern patrons. They plot to overthrow the king. They say that the Count had been their leader... Angas felt his hands balling into fists. Dunderheads, he thought. His eyes were aflame and the fog in his head began to rumble with thunder. What rebellion? Who put forth these accusations? What daft fool killed him with their lies? Suddenly he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder, and a pint of ale appeared on the table in front of him. He looked up to see Marta, the proprietress of the tavern, looking down at him sympathetically. "You know none of it's true, pet,” she said warmly. “Pay 'em no mind." She then leaned in a bit closer and said quietly, “They’s afeared is all.” The next day, Angas rode to his cottage, and found the letter. That was one week earlier. Now Angas sat among the stones in the drizzle. His meal was finished, the fire was put out and the bones of the rabbit were buried. Angas stared at the ashes of the fire, watching the raindrops leave their tiny craters in the grey, wondering if his decision was the right one. He had left it all behind for a letter. He knew it was daft, but he couldn't bear to wear the colors of the knighthood for one more day. You've left your people, your king, and your duty behind, he heard his father and his brothers saying. Did you at least draw your sword before you turned and ran? But Angas had enough sense to know it would be his neck on the chopping block soon. There was no honor in such a death, and you can't be a knight of the people without a head on which to put your helmet. ...Of the people, he thought. Whose knight am I? The king's? The people's? A sudden noise shook him out of his contemplation. Footsteps, distant but loud. He grabbed his bow and scrambled up one of the large pointed stones of the outcrop. Walking along the path at the foot of the mountain were two trolls, each carrying a club over their shoulder the size of a young tree trunk. Trolls.
C (Part 7) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 3: The Falcon's Letter (continued) - A light of white-hot hatred entered Angas’ eyes. Trolls. He could already taste their blood. With a mad war cry, Angas slid down the other side of the outcrop and began running down the hill towards the trolls like a man possessed by a demon of rage. The trolls turned their plate-sized bloodshot eyes toward him hungrily. One of them grunted something trollish at the other one, then started stomping up the hill towards Angas, its tusks a sickly yellow in the light of the setting sun. In a flash, Angas nocked an arrow and let it fly, followed immediately by another. Each arrow struck the troll square in its left eye with an unpleasant burst of green fluid. Go on, you scum, thought Angas, as he nocked a third arrow. Start laughing. True to form, as Angas had seen in many a now-deceased troll in the past, the troll began to laugh menacingly as it reached up and slowly yanked the arrow out of its eye. Trolls do not feel pain, and their regenerative powers meant that its eye was already growing back. Angas shot the third arrow, which flew with such force that it pierced the back of the troll’s skull. Laughing even more loudly, the troll reached up to pull the arrow out of its head again, but before it could Angas fired two more arrows, this time at at the troll's right eye. The troll stopped laughing gave a grunt of confusion as it realized it had been blinded. But it was too late. Angas' longsword flashed a berserker’s signature in the air, and the troll's head fell to the ground, followed by its club, then its body. Angas managed to wrench himself away from the joy of hacking at the monster's decapitated carcass, and he forced himself to turn back to where the second troll had been. The other troll had moved down the path and was looming over a small figure who Angas couldn't clearly see. With another war cry, Angas started running down the hillside. "Turn around, you devil!" he screamed at it as he barreled towards it brandishing his bloodied longsword. But the troll did not turn around. Instead, it slowly began to topple backwards until it fell dead with a crash onto the path, revealing the figure in front of it. Angas, still in the grip of his berserker rage, kept on running until he reached the corpse, then leapt onto it and began to stab and hack madly at its neck. "Peace, Sir Angas," said the figure, "this one won't regenerate. I have used a special rune which will prevent that. We had best burn the head of the other one, though." Angas looked up suddenly at the voice, like a wild animal interrupted in mid-feed, his eyes still wide with fury, his entire body spattered with troll blood. “Who are you!?” he shouted, swinging his longsword around to point at the stranger as he tried to focus on this new voice through eyes still clouded with the red mist. He saw a figure about a foot shorter than himself, dressed head to toe in strange light grey armor with a seashell motif and covered in multicolored opals and runes. Her entire face was concealed by a yellow mask with a strange eye symbol carved into it. The figure held up her hands in an attempt to calm Angas. “Please, Sir Angas,” she said in a strange accent that Angas did not recognize, “my name is Rilin Telthas. I’m working with the Falcons.” Angas, still panting from his exertions, struggled to make sense of her words. “...The resistance,” continued Telthas. “I sent you the letter. I’ve come to warn you, Sir Angas. The path out of the mountains teems with soldiers and knights, and they are searching for you. You are a wanted man, Sir Angas.” Angas hopped down from the troll’s corpse, having at last calmed down despite the stranger’s odd appearance. He wordlessly wiped his sword off on the grass, then stood back up and turned to stare into the mountains to the north, as if seeking a new road through them. He felt relaxed and clear-headed as he always did after a proper troll-cull. When a minute went by and Angas still did not speak, Telthas said “I can guide you to Galdurheim in safety, if you will trust me.” When Angas still did not reply, Telthas went on “I sense you may yet harbor doubts about us, Sir Angas. Pray ask any questions of me that you would and I will do my best to allay them.” Angas sheathed his sword at last and turned to face Telthas. “Of course I have no doubts,” he said, and as soon as he said it he realized it was true. “Lead on.”
C (Part 8) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 4: The Last Checkpoint - "On your way. Next..." The checkpoint guard returned the identification papers marked with Merchant Guild's official seal to the old driver of the cart and stepped back, waving him through. The old man gave a flick of the reins and his cart piled high with sacks of potatoes pulled away from the checkpoint and out the northern gates of the city of Veles, towards the Kestral-Hoarfrost border only a few miles northeast. The next cart in the queue, this one bearing a large pile of securely lashed wood, rolled forward in its place. In the driver’s seat of a large wagon three places back in the queue was Valerja, her face concealed by the deep hood of her cloak. She flicked the reins and her wagon moved forward with the others. Large crates marked with the names of different vegetables were stacked on Valerja’s wagon, and artfully concealed in a cavity in the center of the cargo sat Kish. Inside his pinewood cavern, Kish shook his head to himself. They were now two days out of Anfangstadt and headed towards the Hoarfrost Lands, of all places. He had had several days to understand the situation in which he found himself, and he still found it difficult. Such fuss, he thought, over a pretty stone. I think. Or politics, or something similar.. Outside, he heard Valerja whisper, "Two more carts, then us." Kish knocked twice on the floor of the wagon to signal that he heard. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the Star of Damas. He turned the glittering stellated orb around in his hand, allowing the scant light that had filtered into his hiding spot to shine through it. Such fuss, he thought again, as he drowsily replayed the past two days in his head. "I am Valerja," she had said, "and you have something of mine." In the darkened room behind the smithy, Kish took a step backwards from the woman who had saved him. Had she gone through the trouble of staging that dramatic rescue just so that she could rob him? His mind started to race as she removed her cloak, revealing a full suit of boiled leather armor over gray tunic and trousers. By her sides swung two short swords in their scabbards. Aside from being taller than Kish by at least a head, she was better armed and clearly no stranger to combat. What was more, Kish was cornered. He began to wonder how thick the windows were, in case he had to jump through one. The thought of it made the shoulder he injured in his fall from the palace window flare up again in pain. But the woman called Valerja did not seem intent on violence, and had walked to one of the grimy windows to peer out of it, as if to keep watch. "Am I mistaken?" she asked a moment later when he did not respond. Kish tried to calm himself. "Something...of yours?" he said as neutrally as he could. "You are a thief, are you not?" said Valerja matter-of-factly. Kish found it slightly jarring to hear the term uttered so calmly, accustomed as he was to hearing it shouted instead at the back of his fleeing head. "I had my reasons for being in the palace at that time of night," said Kish steadily. "Invited guests do not climb out of windows," she said simply. Kish's mind whirled. Had she somehow been watching him? "And you, Lady...Valerja? What have you to say for your own presence at the palace?" he asked defiantly. "I should think it clear enough to divine by now, sir," replied Valerja tersely. "Kish," said Kish. "So you were searching for...something? And you believe I have it?" "Mr. Kish," said Valerja. "I saw which room you were in. I know what was hidden there. It was stolen from me a very long time ago and I have been on its trail ever since. How you knew it was there or how you even heard about it in the first place I do not know, but I can fathom easily enough that you had found it, and were about to be discovered with it. That is why you chose such a desperate escape route, because something forced your hand." "Milady has the eyes of a hawk," said Kish in as friendly manner as he could muster, as he began to shift his stance as subtly as he could. "Mr. Kish,” she said again, turning from the window and locking eyes with him, “if I am mistaken and you do not have the jewel, then I can only apologize. But you cannot imagine the gamble I took by rescuing you. So I ask you now: if you have it, please. Return it to me." In the weak light that filtered in through the window Kish saw Valerja’s face clearly for the first time, and was taken aback. Her eyes were sapphires, and spoke of wisdom and fearlessness. Her long platinum tresses were tied back in a ponytail, and contrasted fascinatingly with her olive skin. But it was not her beauty that struck him, but rather what he read in her face. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than he was, but she was clearly carrying some sort of burden of responsibility far too heavy for one of her years. There was no threat to him in her eyes or her voice. She merely spoke her mind, and trusted Kish to make his own judgment. Kish removed his backpack and opened it. He took out the Star and held it out for Valerja to take. The change that came over her was remarkable. With an intake of breath, she took the stone in both hands and held it to her bosom. She shut her eyes and embraced the stone as if welcoming home a lost child. A moment later, her eyes opened again. “Thank you, Mr. Kish. I am greatly in your debt.” she said, and the relief in her voice and her eyes was so poignant that Kish thought he might never forgive himself for doubting that the stone was hers. "They...they called it the 'Star of Damas,"" said Kish. "Some call it that, yes." "It is important to you, I see," Kish said. "An heirloom, maybe?" "Far more. Far, far more," whispered Valerja. Kish had a sudden realization. "So that is what you were doing in his carriage. You were waiting for him." "Indeed," said Valerja. "Tosckar was there that night to acquire the jewel. I was planning to kill him once he had." "I...am grateful you have since decided to alter your approach..." said Kish, hesitantly. "Fear not, Mr. Kish. I have sought a chance to bleed that man for many moons now. I would have slit his throat had he brought me the jewel with a ribbon around it himself." "Just Kish, please,” said Kish, feeling as though one of them had misunderstood the other. “Is that man really an assassin for the king?" "He travels about in the guise of a merchant, but his true nature is otherwise. He is a frequent guest at court, where ‘tis said he has the ear of King Naron," she stared at the Star, which glittered in the wan light. "He took this from me himself, years ago, and I have trailed him ever since. And I know that wherever he goes, death follows." Kish thought back to the palace and the mysterious merchant, whose every whisper sounded like a threat. "I listened to their conversation," he said, "the duke and that Tosckar. He was there for the stone, all right. He must have gotten wind that the duke had it. Only he didn't have it any more, I did." He gave a dry chuckle. Valerja's face was grave. "I hope you are not fond of your duke..." she said. "I am not," said Kish flatly. "...because those who have been found or are even suspected to have been harboring the jewel have been imprisoned, executed, or assassinated. I am afraid your duke must certainly be next." "Assassinate a duke? Someone would notice, surely. His chair would be empty at royal feasts, for a start." "Sadly, that is not the case. The king had the count of Boden publicly executed but a few weeks ago for 'treason.' He has become desperate in his search for the jewel." She went back to staring out of window. "And now that it has escaped his grasp by a hair, he will send all his men to get it. And the duke, if he yet lives, will likely put up a noisy show of support, and send his troops as well. But none are more dangerous than the king's knife, Tosckar." "I see," said Kish politely as he put his backpack back on. "And he looked like such a posh fellow. Well, I suppose I had best lay low for the time being..." "Hold," she said suddenly, turning to him, "you saw him? Did he see you?" "Eh? Well, we may have locked eyes briefly across a crowded room, but I doubt he would remember my face as anything more than a vertical blur..." Valerja walked up to Kish. "Then you are in grave danger," she said, and the seriousness of her tone made Kish realize for the first time he might have become involved in something troublesome. There was a knock at the door. Kish's daggers leapt into his hands as his heart leapt up into his throat, but Valerja calmly walked to the door and opened it. Blushing furiously, Kish resheathed his daggers, reminding himself that the king’s guard do not knock. Into the room walked a middle-aged man dressed in blacksmith's garb, whose brown beard was slightly singed around the edges. Without greeting either of them, the man said "Who is this?" pointing at Kish. "Peace," said Valerja. "He is a friend. Conall, it is done! I have the jewel. This boy stole it for us." "Did he now, by the Farmer," said the man called Conall, impressed. He looked at Kish, who was busy trying to bury his annoyance at being called a “boy.” "Then we've no time to natter,” said Conall. “The cart's outside." "Hold, Conall. He must come with me," said Valerja. Kish started. "Eh?" he said, "Come? Come where?"
C (Part 9) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 4: The Last Checkpoint (continued) - Valerja turned to Kish. "Forgive me, Kish. But you must flee. You will not see sunset if you stay. If Tosckar has seen you but once, he could draw you from memory if he wished. You risk your life and the lives of those you love every minute that you tarry here." "But I've never set foot further than Iron Town. Where would you have me go?" said Kish with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "There is a group called the Falcons," said Valerja. "They endeavor to depose Naron. If you come with me, I will petition them to grant you shelter. There is no safer place for you right now." Kish's head was spinning. A few hours ago he was asleep in the duke's wine cellars, and now he was fleeing for his life and about to join a rebellion. "She speaks the truth. There's room enough for the pair of you in the cart," added Conall. "I'm certain you will be handsomely rewarded once they catch wind of your deeds..." Kish's head stopped spinning. "What's this? Reward?" "Of course. The movement has powerful friends with deep pockets. You are certain to receive the value of the stone in compensation, and far more than if you had managed to fence it. And if there's anything or anyone you leave behind, tell me where they are and I give you my word I will protect them with my life." "I have no such things or people," he said. "Let us go." Two minutes later, Conall had hitched his white charger, the one on which Kish and Valerja had arrived, to a large cart disguised to look like one of his traveling forges. Inside sat Kish and Valerja side-by-side, together with a sack of provisions Conall had stuffed in after them, as they slowly proceeded towards the cart-filled road out of Anfangstadt. "You have placed quite a great deal of trust in that man," Kish said to Valerja just loud enough for her to hear him over the sound of the wheels on the cobbles. "You needn't fear. He is a Falcon and trustworthy beyond measure. He would fain gut himself than betray them or us," said Valerja. "I have never heard of these 'Falcons,' where do they call home?" said Kish. "There are hidden cells throughout Kestral and beyond, all dedicated to thwarting the mad ambition of King Naron IV of Kestral. There are also peasants who are attempting open revolt on their own,” said Valerja, with a note of concern in her voice. "Those who do so, however, are ruthlessly cut down." "By the Harrower, how long has this been going on?" asked Kish, surprised. "A few years now. The Falcons seek to organize the rebellion, but the king's armies grow with recruits each day. He is plotting something more than just the subjugation of his own people. And he has been frantically seeking my jewel, though I know not why." In the darkness of the cart, Kish sat with his mouth agape. "He wants it but you don't know why?" he asked, astonished, "Is it not magical? Some artifact of power forged by the gods?" "It is... not magical..." said Valerja, "but I am sworn to protect it with my life. As for the Falcons, they believe that the king seeks the jewel, which they see as reason enough to keep him from having it. They have agreed to help me recover it, and I in turn do what I can for them." Kish never thought beyond the streets and alleyways of Anfangstadt. He doubted he would be able to recognize the king in a well-lit room, even with his profile on every coin as reference. But he had noticed that there were fewer soldiers in the city of late, which was a boon to him and those of his trade. He felt a pang of guilt that he was not able to drum up more concern for those affected by this tyrannical king...his king, he supposed...but it all sounded like a fairy tale to him. "I see," lied Kish, "but where exactly are we headed?" "Conall will take us to a farm outside the city, where he will provide us with our own horse and cart, as well as papers..." "Papers?" said Kish. "Forged documents of identification, to allow me to pass through checkpoints and border crossings. Conall is a very skilled forger. There is no time to forge papers for you, however, so you will have to remain hidden." said Valerja. "From thence, north through Darden Forest, through Veles, then into the Hoarfrost, where we will at last out of the king’s reach for the time being." "Eh?" said Kish for the third time that morning, "the..." "We must tryst with one of the Falcons near the Veles checkpoint two days hence, so we must make haste." It was then that at last Kish realized that he was trapped inside a box bound for the Frozen North. In the dark of the inside of the cart, he stifled a groan and put his face in his hands. Despite his internal protestations, however, he knew he had no other choice. After all, he thought to himself, I did say I had wanted a roof over my head and a room with female company... Two hours later, the cart finally arrived at the farm. They switched to a larger wagon full of vegetable crates, Valerja taking the reins, Kish hidden in the back, and they continued north on the road that led through Darden Forest. This time, Kish was able to glimpse the lands they passed through via gaps in the crates. He saw many sights he had never seen before as the wagon proceeded alongside the many carts comprising the brisk traffic between Anfangstadt and Kestral's other hubs of trade. He saw a forest for the first time in his life, and even spotted what he thought was a deer in the distance, watching the road with deep suspicion. They passed through the occasional checkpoint without incident, a testament to Conall's forging skills. That night, they encamped in a clearing. Valerja gave Kish some herbs of healing for his bruised shoulder, but she would say very little about her life before meeting him, or about the nature of the jewel (about which she wouldn’t speak at all). Kish, who hadn't slept in a full day, gave up and fell asleep. They continued on their way the next day, exiting the forest by the early afternoon. What Kish saw once they had cleared the trees worried him, unfamiliar with affairs of state though he was. The wagon passed field upon field of royal soldiers, some encamped, some traveling, some on manoeuvers. Seemingly endless ranks of pikemen, archers, heavy cavalry, and war machines. At one point, Kish spotted a phalanx of royal airships flying in the distance. The following day, they continued northward and reached Veles by mid-morning. Valerja gave Kish the Star of Damas for safekeeping before the wagon entered the long queue for the checkpoint at the city's northern exit. The sun was bright, but as they had travelled quite far north, the air was beginning to get chillier. Kish sat back in his little chamber among the vegetable crates. Despite the danger of discovery, he had quite enjoyed the past two days. He was well-rested and well-fed, and seeing sights he had never seen before. He smiled to himself in the wagon. And soon, he would have enough money to... Suddenly, the wagon juddered into movement, shaking Kish out of his reverie. It was their turn. One last checkpoint and they were in the clear. He lay back and did his best impression of an onion. Outside, he heard the guard ask for Valerja's papers. He listened as she wordlessly handed them over... There was a pause... Kish waited for the guard to pass them through. It felt to him as if it was taking longer than usual... Then suddenly, just as he began to feel anxious, he heard the guard say "On your way, then. Next..." He heaved a sigh of relief as the wagon began to move forward again. The road out of Veles split three ways outside its northern walls: west, northeast, and east. The wagon headed up the wide northeastern road into the thick woods that ringed the city and continued all the way to the border. From there, it would be but a matter of an hour or so before they crossed into the Hoarfrost Lands. Kish wondered if these Falcons would let him stay there for a while, until this rebellion business had died down, or at least until he collected his reward. As Kish's mind wandered, he noticed through one of the gaps in the crates that the sky over Veles had suddenly flashed bright red. He sat up and crawled over to look through the gap in time to see another flare rise up over the city. Two red flares, he thought... "Valerja..." he said, with a rapidly rising sense of panic. "Brace yourself!" she shouted, then with a cry of "HA!" at the horses, she flicked the reins and the horses broke into a run. The wagon charged forward faster and faster as Valerja drove the horses on, while Kish did his best to keep the crates from falling onto him. But it was too late. Coming into view ahead of them was a wooden barricade that had been laid across the road, around which stood a half-dozen soldiers. Valerja pulled on the reins and the horses slowed to a trot. "Halt!" cried one of the soldiers. "Dismount at once! You are under arrest on suspicion of smuggling a wanted criminal!" Through the gap, Kish saw another six soldiers emerge from the forest and approach the wagon from the rear. Inside the wagon, Kish drew his daggers...
C (Part 10) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 5: Search and Seizure - Kish's heart beat more and more quickly as he watched the soldiers emerge from the surrounding trees and gather behind the wagon. "What is the meaning of this?" cried Valerja in an odd false accent to the checkpoint guards blocking the road in front of the wagon. "I have done no wrong!" "Dismount at once!" shouted the soldier again, "you are under arrest!" "Please," Valerja called back from under her heavy hood, "I wish only to pass with my vegetables. I must sell them ere they rot on the cart!" “Get her off that cart and clap her in chains," was the response of the soldier in charge. "Sir!" replied a subordinate, and Kish heard the sound of a sword being drawn. "Stay where you are!" said Valerja clearly and slowly. Somehow, Kish understood that the message was meant for him. As softly as he could, he placed his daggers down onto the floor of the wagon and reached into his knapsack. Outside, he heard the subordinate snarl "Oi, get down from there, you!" Kish felt around inside his knapsack until he found his small bamboo blowpipe and a small pouch of dust. He poured the dust into one end of the pipe, then slid his knapsack back on. Then he drew his green hood back over his head and waited. Meanwhile, two dull thuds from the front of the wagon indicated to Kish that Valerja’s boot had found the hapless soldier’s head and that his arse had found the ground. “Do not touch me!” shouted Valerja in a voice full of feigned panic over the sniggering of a few of the soldiers. “I’ve had enough of this,” growled the soldier in command. “Draw your bloody swords and get her down from there! And you lot at the back, get up onto that wagon and begin your search!” At this, two of the soldiers at the back boosted a third onto the crates on the wagon. The soldier bent down and lifted one of the crates, which was empty, and passed it down to the soldiers waiting below. He turned to take another crate when he spotted a gap between the upper and lower layers of crates. “What’s this?” he muttered to himself, bending down to peer into the gap. A puff of soft white powder blew out of the gap into his face. “We’re ready,” said one of the soldiers on the ground after a few seconds had passed. But the man on the wagon did not move. “Oi, we’re ready. Hamish!” said the soldier on the ground again. Still the man did not move. “Hamish!” said the man again. Unseen by the soldiers on the ground, a hand reached out among the crates and gave a gentle push to the man called Hamish, who slowly toppled backwards over the edge of the wagon, falling to the ground with a clatter of armor. The other soldiers leapt back, murmuring and drawing their swords. The captain and the others at the front, alerted by the noise, all turned to see Hamish slumbering in a heap on the road. Then a moment later, one of the checkpoint guards shouted “Captain!” Valerja had taken advantage of the distraction to dismount, and was standing on the ground behind them. Her two blades, a pair of slightly curved short swords, were drawn. The sword in her right hand was pointed at the head of the captain. “FLEE!” she shouted. Once again, Kish understood that the order was for him. He stood up, lifting a crate of potatoes, and tossed it overboard at the cluster of soldiers, who were still gaping at Valerja. He then grabbed his daggers and leapt over the side of the wagon before the crate landed. He alighted with a grunt and in a flash was away towards the forest. Behind him, Kish heard numerous shouts from soldiers as Valerja attacked to cover his escape. He felt wretched leaving the fighting to her, but he knew he had to protect the stone (and himself) from capture. Another soldier cried “He’s running into the forest!” just as he reached the tree line. He plunged into the thick pine trees and plowed forward in a cloud of green needles. He wasn’t at home in nature by any means, but he was relieved to be out of the open with plenty to climb. He did his best to keep ducking and dodging as he ran, so as not to create too large a path for his pursuers. After about half a minute he came upon a large, sturdy pine and scurried up its boughs. He then sat among the branches peering out through the needles and catching his breath as quietly as he could. A few seconds later, he heard one of the guards stumbling through the trees towards his location. He watched as the soldier, evidently better at tracking than his fellows, came closer and closer to the tree in which he perched. Finally, the soldier stopped in front of Kish’s tree and looked around, then up towards its higher branches. He ducked under the thick canopy of green that skirted the lower part of the tree and peered upwards into the boughs, at which point Kish dropped, cursing, onto his head. They tumbled winded onto the needle-strewn ground, and by the time the soldier had reopened his eyes Kish was kneeling on his chest with his daggers crossed on the man’s throat. Kish had a repertoire of menacing voices and intimidating expressions crafted over years to help him survive. “Sh, sh, sh, sh,” he hissed, glaring wildly into the man’s eyes with a well-practiced look of madness. The “man” that stared back at him with wide-eyed terror turned out to be no more than a tall ruddy-cheeked boy of no more than sixteen or seventeen summers. “N...n…” he muttered, shaking. Lovely, thought Kish gleefully, this must be one of the recent recruits Valerja spoke of. Kish’s mouth slid into its widest, most manic grin. “You’re no soldier, are you,” he whispered menacingly, “dear me, no, you’re no soldier. A farmhand, maybe? What’s a lad like you doing larking about in soldier’s fancy dress in a place like this, so far away from the homestead? Oh dear, oh dear...” Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes as he lay on the forest floor, goggle-eyed and quivering. “Now, now, hush now,” whispered Kish, “be a good lad and stay quiet and you’ll have a lively story to tell all the other churls in the village one day.” At this, the boy seemed to calm down slightly. Suddenly, Kish heard more noises emanating from the forest closing in on him. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he tried to focus on his options. Suddenly, he heard someone unsheathing a sword behind him. “D-drop your weapons and come with us,” said another tremulous young voice. Kish looked down at the soldier under him, his grin even more manic than before. This one sounds even younger, if that’s possible, he thought. “Well, well...” he said in his most menacing dark-alley-at-midnight voice, “another lad playing at soldiers, is it?” Keeping his daggers crossed on the one soldier’s throat, he turned his head around slowly until he was looking over his shoulder at the assailant behind him. Another youth stood there, shakily pointing a longsword at Kish’s back. With his right dagger still pressed against the boy’s throat, Kish raised his left dagger and pressed a switch on its hilt. The blade of the swordbreaker dagger split three ways, creating a W-shaped fork. In one smooth, swift motion, Kish calmly reached back with the swordbreaker and caught the cheap iron blade of the young soldier’s longsword in its tines. With an expert twist of his wrist, Kish snapped the blade of the longsword in half, the larger part of it flying off harmlessly into the brush as if it had been thrown there. This was too much for the young man, who dropped his now-useless sword and started backing away, screaming for help. Kish swore and leapt to his feet off the supine boy and charged further into the forest. Kish knew that his daggers had a slight advantage over the soldiers’ longswords as long as they were among the thick branches of the forest, but the soldiers were closing in on him and he knew had to regain the element of surprise if he was to take on multiple enemies, bumpkins or no. This time, however, it was only a few seconds before he ran into two more slightly older and seemingly more experienced soldiers, both of whom had their swords already drawn. They advanced on him, and Kish backed away. He continued to lose ground until he suddenly stumbled backwards into what he saw with dismay was a clearing, in which waited yet another soldier with sword drawn. The two other soldiers soon followed Kish into the clearing, and a moment later the other two younger recruits joined the group. Kish was surrounded. “Hands above your head,” said the soldier who had been waiting in the clearing, “you’re coming with us. Dougal, your rope.” The boy Kish had been threatening earlier took his rope from his pack and handed it to the one who spoke. The boy’s face was beet red, but whether it was from embarrassment, rage, or simply because he was still winded Kish wasn’t sure. “Your lordships,” Kish said, hands on his daggers, “what are the charges, pray?” “Shut your gob!” spat the soldier in charge. “Count yourself lucky we have orders to take you alive, or for a bronze coin I’d spit you myself here and now!” “Is that right?” asked Kish politely, “I would hate for you to be chastised on my account.” He calmly drew his daggers, “Not now your military career goes so well. Why, someday you might command a whole cohort of bumpkins!” “I’ll not tell you again,” said the soldier through gritted teeth, “be silent. You are under arrest. If you resist I’ll have you cut down where you stand, orders or no.” The other soldiers shuffled uncertainly as Kish’s grin came out again. “And which one of these great heroes of the croft will you send to do it?” he asked, gesturing around the circled soldiers with one of his daggers. “Which one of these mighty knights of the empire, eh?”
C (Part 11) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 5: Search and Seizure (continued) - He brought his menacing tone out again as he turned around and looked at the each of the other soldiers in turn. “Cut me down, you say? It’s a nasty business, cutting people. Requires a certain temperament. Anyone can stick their neighbor with a sword. Most beggars won’t. It’s not in everyone, to pierce another’s flesh with a blade and watch all their red come out. How about you, Dougal?” he whispered, pointing to the youth suddenly, who was still evidently shaken by his recent ordeal, “how about a chance to get your own back? A chance to spill some of my red?” He turned back to the leader. “Or will you be reserving that privilege for yourself, o brave peasant captain?” The leader threw the rope onto the ground and drew his sword again. “I’ll have your head, gutter scum,” he hissed. He charged forward with a downward slash aimed at Kish’s skull. Kish raised his swordbreaker in time to stop the blade, and the force he felt in the slash made him realize his taunts had been all too successful. The man tried to cleave Kish’s head again, and again Kish blocked the blade in time, but the man withdrew his sword and swung yet again before Kish could counter, this time with a backhand slash the side opposite Kish’s swordbreaker, forcing Kish to block yet again. Kish cursed under his breath. I was right, he thought, this one is no bumpkin. The man was larger than the other soldiers and much larger than Kish. He had hoped to use the soldier’s size against him, but he hadn’t been expecting him to have any skill with the sword. This one’s a proper soldier, thought Kish. No wonder he’s so cross. Again and again the man struck, forcing Kish backwards. “Well struck, Sergeant!” shouted one of the other troops, and the others began to cheer him on as well. More sweat began to trickle down Kish’s temple. He needed to find a way out of the clearing, but the soldiers ensured he remained surrounded. Once again, the sergeant struck at Kish’s side, forcing him to block across his own torso with the swordbreaker. This time, however, Kish managed to score an underhand jab at the sergeant’s sword arm with his right-hand dagger. But the sergeant seemed not to notice, and stepped backwards with a barely a grunt, transferring his sword from his right hand to his left. Kish, seeing the murder in his eyes, decided the time was right to beat a hasty retreat by creating his own opening in the circle by finding its weakest link. He turned to Dougal with with as menacing a look as he could manage. “One side, country boy,” he growled. But this time Dougal did not move, but held fast with sword raised. Well done, lad, thought Kish, but what a time to find your spine. He heard the sergeant and the rest of the troops closing the circle around him. Suddenly, a voice called out from the trees: “Servants of the king, stop where you are and drop your weapons. You are surrounded.” More than a dozen men and women emerged from the forest into the clearing, each wielding a bow with a nocked arrow. One of them, a tall, red-haired man, stepped forward, arrow aimed directly at the sergeant’s head. He nodded towards a group of the bow-wielders “You, you, and you, tie them up,” he said, then “Are you called Kish?” Kish nodded, daggers in mid-air. “We’re with the Falcons,” said the man. “Valerja!” shouted Kish suddenly, “She’s at the road! We were attacked!...” “She is...safe,” said the man. “We will take you to her.” A few efficient minutes later, the soldiers stood bound and gagged in the center of the clearing. “Let’s go,” said the red-haired man. The other Falcons led the soldiers through the dense woods, with Kish and and the red-haired man bringing up the rear. “Pleased to meet you,” understated Kish, once the shock of his sudden rescue had finally lifted. “I’m Kish, but you already know that.” “Angas,” said the man. “So you’re the Falcons. Are you their leader?” asked Kish. “No,” said the man. After no other conversation seemed to be forthcoming, Kish said “Well, thank you for rescuing me. I’m sure I could have fought my way out of that, but I appreciate your involvement nonetheless.” But the gloomy red-haired man continued forging through the branches without taking the conversational bait, and Kish gave up. A few minutes later they broke back through the tree line to the road near to where the wagon was. Kish saw Valerja standing next to it speaking to an exotic-looking stranger. A half-dozen other men and women, presumably also Falcons, kept watch around the area. “Kish!” shouted Valerja upon seeing him. She started to make her way towards him, and Kish saw that she had been injured. He ran up to meet her. “Fates, are you all right!?” Kish exclaimed. She appeared to have suffered wounds in her abdomen, and she had large cuts on her sword arms that were still bleeding. “You need healing!” “Fear not! I am well!” said Valerja. “And you, Kish? You are unharmed?” “I am fine, and so is this,” said Kish, taking off his knapsack and handing it to Valerja. She opened it and removed the Star of Damas. With a smile of relief, she placed it into her own bag and handed Kish’s knapsack back to him. Behind them, the red-headed man and the exotic stranger caught up. “Greetings!” said the stranger through an unusual yellow mask. “I see you have met Sir Angas.” “I have. Talked my ear off, he did,” said Kish. “Telthas, this is Kish. He has done us all a great service at enormous risk to himself. He accompanies me to Galdurheim, that I may petition the Falcons to give him shelter and compensation.” Kish bowed to Telthas. “Greetings to you, Sir Kish,” said Telthas, also bowing. “We shall be traveling with you to Galdurheim.” “A pleasure,” said Kish. “That is...a fascinating mask.” “It is a symbol of the organization to which I belong,” said Telthas. “I am a member of the Order of the Abyssal Eye, the Seatemplars. And what is it you do, if I may ask?” “He’s a thief,” said Angas bluntly, giving Kish a look of stony-faced contempt. “Wh-wha…” stuttered Kish, nonplussed. Rallying, he drew himself up and exclaimed in his most mock-insulted voice, “How dare you besmirch my name in so cavalier a fashion, sir! I am nought but a freelance collector of curios, I would have you know.” Angas did not respond, but walked away and began to give orders to the other Falcons standing nearby by. “Let us make haste, for a patrol is approaching. We will speak more on the way,” said Telthas, her gold-colored mask disguising her facial expression. She and Valerja turned and headed back to the wagon. “...the greatest bloody freelance collector in the Lowlands.” muttered Kish to no one in particular, and went after them. The Falcons had already fed the horses and removed all the vegetable crates from the wagon, leaving in their place several sacks of supplies, equipment, and other goods. There was also a pile of large strange animal pelts, black of fur but with red spines on the back of the neck. “Black cat furs, to keep you warm,” said one of the Falcons to them. “Bought from the Black Cat Riders of the North. You will need these soon enough!” A few minutes later, Kish, Valerja, Telthas, and Angas had said their farewells to the Falcon cell and were back on the wagon and headed towards the border. The Falcons were staying behind with the prisoners. Valerja drove while Kish sat next to her, one of the Black Cat pelts already over his shoulders, while Telthas and Angas sat in the back. “Once again, I am in your debt,” said Valerja, “I swear I shall see to it that you are suitably rewarded!” “Erm, you’re welcome, of course,” said Kish hesitantly. Something had been bothering him. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Valerja said nothing. She was driving the wagon normally, with no sign of pain or discomfort. The blood on her sleeves and armor had long since dried. “I saw your injuries. They were not slight, Valerja.” continued Kish. “Forgive me,” said Valerja. “All will be explained. For now, I ask that you wait until we are at Galdurheim. Behold, the Landamari Stone!” She pointed at a great gray stone the height of a tower, decorated with dimly glowing blue runes, carved out of a mountainside across a valley from them to the East. “The Great Sentinel!” said Telthas behind them. “The Hoarfrost Lands at last!” As soon as she said this, a gentle snow began to fall on them. Kish drew his Black Cat fur around himself more tightly, trying to see into the increasingly obscured distance ahead. Angas said nothing and stared into the distance behind the wagon towards the lands they were fleeing. And in the valley below the mountains that housed the famous Landamari Stone, several dozen pairs of shining topaz eyes, their owners concealed by forest, watched the travelers as they made their way deeper into the Hoarfrost, and waited.
C (Part 12) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 6: Galdurheim - Kish lay on a feather bed in a chamber in the elven temple at Galdurheim, staring at the ceiling, his head half-buried inside a giant pillow stuffed with what he thought must certainly be the down of celestials. The bed they had given him was so much more comfortable than any he had ever slept upon that he often felt as if he were floating in mid-air. Kish had spent the last six days in Galdurheim being treated like a hero by the rime elves, or at least like a very important guest, while he awaited the decision of the council of Falcons on whether or not to give him sanctuary and how much they would pay him for the Star of Damas. Aside from the large and luxurious bedchamber, he had been gifted with several sets of splendid new elf-tailored clothing (his old clothes had been discretely cleaned, mended, folded, and returned to his room). Temple acolytes brought him food and wine whenever he asked for it, and sometimes before. Kish was given free run of the temple, which was more like a small city than a mere place of worship. He had spent many hours exploring its nooks and crannies and marveling at its endless surprises. A hallway might suddenly open onto a vast marketplace filled with goods from all over the Hoarfrost Lands and beyond, or onto a plaza where rime elves held lively debates over principles of magic, or simply onto a small but colorful garden with a bench at its center. Whether it was due to elven magic or elven architecture, he never felt hemmed in or claustrophobic in the temple, despite not having left it in days, and no matter how much time he spent wandering, he always found his way back to his bedchamber without getting lost. In short, Kish was warm and safe, well-rested and well-fed, and living in more comfort than he had known his whole life. He wondered how long it would last, and where he would go after it was over. His mind wandered, as it often had over the past few days, back to Valerja. He had only seen her twice since they arrived at the temple, and both times she had to rush away on Falcon business. He wondered what that entailed; he never did get the chance to ask her more about her role in the organization. Despite her prowess in battle and her strange healing ability, Kish was worried about his friend. He hadn’t seen Telthas at all since they arrived. He hadn’t seen Angas either, but that suited Kish fine. The taciturn man had barely spoken to any of them on the way to the temple, but he seemed to regard Kish with special disdain. Bloody knight, thought Kish. Ponce off back to the castle if you’re so disgusted by the company. He sat up on his bed. On the dresser across from him was the sapphire kestrel statuette he had stolen from the duke. It glittered merrily at him in the sunlight that poured into the room through the beautiful blue-tinted stained-glass ceiling, quietly reminding him of where he came from. Once I get my reward, he thought, his kind will never be able to look down their noses at me again. I’ll never have to sleep an alleyway again, never have to steal again... Never see her again, came the thought, unbidden... The statuette continued to sparkle under the noon sun. There was a knock at the door... ********** Angas stood in a large grassy courtyard in the temple with his bow nocked, his arrow pointed at a distant blue globe of magical energy a rime elf had conjured as a target. The rime elf, whose name was Filarion, stood nearby watching the human with interest. He had asked to have the loan of Angas' Falconsight Bow the previous day, and had just returned it to him restrung with some kind of silver elven bowstring. Angas' annoyance at having his bow tampered with was quickly replaced with awe as his fingers hovered next to his ear. The bowstring yielded to his strength, yet once nocked seemed to tug at his fingers with impatience. He aimed the arrow at the magical blue globe and released. The arrow flew with a strength five times greater than his old bowstring of silk and sinew was able to generate, and lodged itself in the globe with lightning speed. "Good shot!" exclaimed Filarion. He waved a hand, and the orb flew through the air towards Angas. He made another gesture and the orb disappeared, dropping Angas' arrow at his feet. Angas picked up the arrow and placed it in his quiver. "I do not know what this string is made of, but it is brilliant," he said. "I thank you." The young rime elf beamed at the compliment. "I do not get to study bows very often, you know. They're quite unpopular here. The Unkari like them, so we do not. But I think they’re fascinating. I have been training myself in the art of the bowyer, but it is slow going." "You clearly have a talent for it," said Angas as he examined the string closely. Filarion's smile grew larger. Angas looked up at the courtyard within the elven temple. Despite being inside an enclosed building in the Hoarfrost Lands, the courtyard looked and felt like the well-tended grounds of a palace in the spring. There was even a copse of trees on the far side of the yard, evergreens that grew nearly to the height of the faraway ceiling. He wondered if it was all a work of architecture or mere illusion. He had yet to meet this head of the Falcons, who also governed Galdurheim as its Sorceress Regent, but he was told that the meeting would be soon. He had questions to put to her, particularly the question of why a rime elf from the Hoarfrost Lands was one of the leaders of a peasant uprising in a neighboring country. He could not shake the feeling that this Sorceress might be nothing more than an agente provocateuse. He knew he had a role to fulfill in the coming struggle to rescue Kestral from its evil monarch, but he didn't know what that role was. What he did know was that every day they dallied in this elvish garden of delights was another day both the king's army and his madness grew, and another day the realm fell further into chaos. As if reading his mind, or at least the expression on his face, Filarion said "Patience, my human friend. The sorceress must see to the fruition of many plans, and labors to gather information from the four winds. She would be loath to waste the time of such an important guest as yourself by summoning you ere she had something useful to impart." "Important?" said Angas, "What could she want from me?" Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him. "Your pardon, Sir Angas." Angas turned to see a young acolyte bowing respectfully. "Sorceress Illassa has requested your presence in the council chamber in ten minutes." ********** Ten minutes later, Angas arrived at the council chamber and let himself in. The chamber was a long room near the center of the temple, dominated by a large rectangular table. There were many chairs, but the only attendees aside from one or two servant-acolytes were Telthas, Valerja, and Kish, seated together at one end. Standing at the head of the table was an older rime elf he had not yet met. Her blue-white hair had been woven into a golden circlet set with rubies that matched her eyes in color and shine. She wore a dark blue cloak embossed with runes in silver and gold, over armor that shone with a teal chrome sheen. Unlike all the other rime elves Angas had met so far, the blue-green skin of her countenance showed subtle signs of age. "Welcome, Sir Angas,” she said, “I am Illassa Freidi. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Do please join us." Angas stared for a moment at the sorceress. Her face seemed to radiate wisdom and fill the room with light. The ruler of Galdurheim was not what he had expected from his scant knowledge of the denizens of the Hoarfrost. Illassa smiled at the young knight, who realized he was staring. Blushing, he took a seat next to Telthas across from Kish and Valerja, all of whom greeted him warmly. Telthas and Valerja seemed not to have noticed the redness of Angas' face, but Kish was grinning broadly at him. "My apologies for the sudden summons," continued Illassa. “I had been waiting on various pieces of information and consulting with the council of Falcons, as well as acquiring certain items to help us in our efforts. We have much to discuss, and little time. First and foremost, I wish to extend my gratitude to you all for your services to the Falcons." She turned to Kish. "First you, Master Elliel. Your petition for sanctuary and compensation has been granted. For retrieving the Star of Damas and restoring it to its rightful owner at great personal danger, on behalf of the council of Falcons and in my power as sorceress regent of Galdurheim, I hereby award you one bar of pure Lunesilver and the key to the city of Galdurheim." Telthas gasped. Kish stood up and bowed. "I thank you, your ladyship," he said smiling politely. "Er...may I ask what that entails, exactly?" "It means that you may dwell in Galdurheim as long as you wish, and call it your home. You may keep your current quarters, or you may wish to choose from another, but it will be given to you as part of your reward, together with the Lunesilver." "...which should fetch about...20 million gold on the open market, I reckon," added Telthas. Kish's polite smile was gone. He slowly leaned backwards and fell numbly onto his chair with a thump, gaping vacantly into the middle distance. "And for you, Sir Angas," continued Illassa, "for your successful rescue operation in Veles, I would like to offer you full membership in the Falcons and a place on the council of Falcons, if you would have it."
C (Part 13) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 6: Galdurheim (continued) - But Angas said "I cannot. Not yet...not until I know more about your organization and what your intentions are." "Sir Angas..." said Telthas, but Illassa said "I understand. Please inform us of your decision as soon as you can. In the meantime, let us discuss our next step." "Our next step," said Telthas, turning to Valerja, "must be to head to the Abyss! We must heed the wisdom of the Pateras Tagma!" "I am sorry," said Valerja, shaking her head, "there can be no discussion. The Star stays with me." "Our elders have foreseen a tragedy of cataclysmic proportion if the jewel falls into the wrong hands! It must be destroyed!" Telthas beseeched, turning to Illassa. "Hold," said Angas, "I came to discuss the fate of Kestral. What is all this about a jewel?" "This jewel. It is called the Star of Damas," said Valerja, producing the gemstone. "It is...very important that I do not lose it." "The king of Kestral seeks it," said Illassa. "It is a part of his plans, somehow." "It is a sleeping disaster!" exclaimed Telthas. "This jewel, this man Corbinian Tosckar, all has been foretold in our tomes!" "Tosckar..." said Angas. "I know that name..." At the mention of Tosckar, Kish snapped out of his reverie. "The king’s personal-merchant-assassin, you mean? He was...foretold?" "He is not as he seems," continued Telthas. "He professes to work only for the king, but in truth he has been corrupting and controlling him somehow. We believe he has, in effect, been ruling Kestral for years now." At this, a knot began to tighten in Angas' stomach. "Controlling? How...how can this be? What of the king's advisors?" "If they do not cooperate in the king's paranoid delusions, they are exiled or forced into hiding..." said Illassa solemnly. "...Or killed," said Angas quietly. "Indeed. It is his hand behind the recent events in Kestral. We do not know all of his motives yet, but one thing is for certain. Nearly everything he does, almost all the chaos he has sown, was to get his hands on the Star of Damas. And once word reaches him, as it likely has by now, that those possessing the Star have fled to the Hoarfrost Lands, then we will be in danger even here. Even as we speak, his armies are on the move, and his influence begins to extend even beyond the northern Kestralian border." "I have witnessed his work," said Valerja. "He has been forcing many peasants into the royal army, while plundering their chattels. The army is now bloated and useless, full of children and farmers...that's it, isn't it..." She looked up at Illassa. "He means to cripple the country, not strengthen it." "I agree with your assessment, Valerja," said Illassa. "In addition to stealing the jewel, he wishes to weaken the country." "For invasion, you mean,” said Angas. “Likely then he is from Elheim or Gao Tesi. The war goes against them, and they are desperate..." "I do not believe this to be the case." said Illassa. "I must show you something..." She walked over to a side table and brought back three large feathers of iridescent blue-green, which she placed on the table in front of them. "Over the past year, I have been having strange dreams, warning me of an impending disaster, yet I do not possess the Oracular Vision, and what is more, our Oracle had not reported any similar premonitions of disaster. "Over time, the dreams became clearer and clearer, and I realized that they are not premonitions at all. They are communications. A woman’s voice sending a warning and a vision.” “A warning? Who from?” asked Telthas. Illassa shook her head. “I know not. Every night, she sends the same message: ‘When the star rises in the time of the fifth feather, the Zerua will bring down the sky.’ “...then a vision of a vast army of airships and flying beasts, awaiting the order to attack.” The room was silent, as each person pondered the message and the vision. Eventually, Angas spoke. "Whatever these ‘Zerua’ are, the Kestralian army is not prepared for an attack from the skies," he said. "We have few airships and they are not fitted for air combat.” "Indeed," said Illassa. "Kestral would be conquered immediately, and the Hoarfrost Lands would quickly follow." "This must be where the Star of Damas comes in," said Telthas. "They must need it to advance their plans somehow. Yet I do not believe this to be a matter of mere warfare. The disaster foretold by the elders of the Order of the Abyssal Eye is far direr!" "More dire than the fall of my homeland and the death of countless innocents, Telthas?" retorted Angas angrily. "Of course we work to stop this as well. This can all be prevented if we destroy the jewel!" "Never," said Valerja. "I have sworn an oath that I will protect this jewel and see it to its destination, and I will fight against its destruction until my final ounce of strength leaves me. It is my duty. I am sorry." At the mention of duty, the knot in Angas' stomach tightened further. I, too, swore an oath once, he thought. "...And the feathers?" interjected Kish. "Six months ago, I awoke from one of these dreams of warning to find the first of these feathers next to my pillow, and twice more since then. There is no possible way the feather could have been left there by an intruder. I believe these were sent to me by this foreign Oracle as a sort of token of trust.” “Three feathers," said Valerja. "And we have until ‘the time of the fifth feather.’ How often have they appeared?" "One appeared six months ago. The second appeared one month ago. The third appeared seven days ago," replied Illassa. "I believe their appearances are tied in with recent events." They all stared at the feathers, which lay on the table, scintillating innocently. "Valerja speaks the truth, Dame Telthas," continued Illassa. "The Star must not be destroyed, even if it could be, which I doubt. We spent many, many years seeking it together. We found it at last, but it was taken from us by force..." "Illassa..." said Valerja. Kish looked at her, confused. "Tosckar knew he could not harm Valerja, so he harmed me, and forced Valerja to relinquish the stone. And now we have it again, we must allow Valerja to fulfill her duty. It has a much greater purpose." “But what purpose could possibly be greater than the lives of millions, Sorceress?” asked Telthas. “What could even be worth the risk?” “I...cannot say, Dame Telthas,” said Illassa. “I am not among those who know.” Telthas’ mask went from Illassa to Valerja. Valerja lowered her eyes. “You don’t know?” asked Telthas incredulously. “Neither of you?” “I can remember only that I must recover the jewel and protect it at all costs, until I am able to bring it to a certain place,” said Valerja. “But I cannot recall any more. My mind has faded with the years. Either that or there is something else preventing me from knowing or revealing more than I should. All I understand is that I am bound to my duty to recover the jewel and bring it home. Only then, will I be able to rest.” Kish was astonished. “Rest? Many years? What do you mean, Valerja?" he asked. "I have...lost count of how old I am..." said Valerja. "But I am very old indeed. I have lived for hundreds of years." Kish's eyes widened. "So...once you bring the jewel to your home..." "Yes. Once I have fulfilled my duties, I will finally be allowed to die." said Valerja. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Kish looked at her in horror. "What? Why?" Valerja opened her eyes and turned to him. She smiled, but Kish could see the same look in her eyes that he saw the first time he saw them, the look of someone carrying too heavy a burden for too long. "My friend," she said, "I have lived for too long. My body may be eternal, but my heart and my mind are not. I must fulfill my duties while my head is yet clear." Kish was speechless. Why would anyone want to die? Why did I have to give her the stone in the first place? To lose another friend, so soon after meeting...he cleared his throat and tried to conceal his consternation. Illassa smiled at Kish. “I know it is difficult to understand, Master Elliel. But Valerja is human, and humans are not built for the gift of immortality. I too want what is best for her,” she said kindly. “Forgive me, Valerja, Sorceress,” said Telthas. “I did not know of your struggle. The warnings of our elders concerned me.” “On the contrary, Dame Telthas,” said Illassa. “There is wisdom in your words. We know very little about the jewel. It is not magical, but possesses some sort of power. Its true purpose has been locked away, yet there are those who are aware of it and seek to use it somehow. That is why our next step will be to consult with the Pateras Tagma, the head of the Order of the Abyssal Eye.” Despite her mask, Telthas’ relief and gratitude was palpable. “You will also consult the library of the Order, which is the greatest repository of arcane knowledge in the Abyss and beyond. We must learn more about the nature of the jewel and why Tosckar seeks it. Once we have, we will be better equipped to make a decision. Are you agreed, Valerja?” "Agreed," said Valerja. "At the very least, we will be further out of Tosckar's reach in the Abyss." "Thank you," sighed Telthas. "That is all I ask."
C (Part 14) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter 6: Galdurheim (continued) - Kish looked down at the table in front of him. Angas said nothing. "It is settled, then. You two shall leave at once for Kersos. I have written a letter for the Pateras Tagma, please deliver it to him with my apologies for not coming in person." She handed the letter to Valerja, who placed it in her pack together with the Star of Damas. "I will not be joining you, for I must continue my work. I believe I have nearly developed an artifact that may enable us to fight these 'Zerua' on our own terms, but we will need the Order’s assistance. It is all in the letter." "Understood. We will send word as soon as we arrive," said Valerja. "Er, excuse me..." said a voice, and Kish was surprised to hear that it was his own. "I...I should like to petition the Falcons for membership. I feel as if I could be of assistance. Somehow." Valerja turned to Kish, a look of surprise on her face, but Illassa smiled at him. "Master Elliel," she said, "this is not a decision to be made lightly. It is a dangerous life, bereft of comfort or safety." "I believe this conflict is my conflict as well. There are those who I wish to...in any case, I'm not quite ready to retire," said Kish, blushing. "I would like to go with you to the Abyss, if I may." "In that case, with the power vested in me as a member of the Council of Falcons, I proclaim Master Elliel Kish to be a full member. Welcome to the Falcons," said Illassa. Kish nodded as solemnly as he could, but his mind reeled with the implications of the conversation. He finally had everything he had ever wanted, and he had put it aside. Then he noticed Angas' face. He was frowning, as always, but there was clearly something on his mind. Illassa seemed to notice this as well. "Do not be troubled, Sir Angas," she said. "There is much we are doing to rescue Kestral and its people from the darkness. With your aid, the Falcons shall restore the light of hope to it." But Angas’ hand was balled up into a fist on the table, and on his brow was a thunderstorm. "I..I did not know..." said Angas, "I did not know he was being manipulated. I thought he had merely gone mad...and what of him now? Where is the king now?" "I do not know,” said Illassa gently, “but rest assured that our numbers are many, and include servants and lords. We will free him from Tosckar's grasp as soon as it is safe to do so. In the meantime, I would ask that you remain here in Galdurheim and join the Falcon war council." Angas said nothing for a moment. Suddenly a rime elven soldier who ran into the room. "Sorceress!" he shouted, "We are under attack! A great army of Black Cat Riders approaches from the south, led by a group of Kestralian airships!" The four of them stood up. "We have run out of time. Andra!" shouted Illassa at one of the acolytes, "The haldakristals and the gatesilver! Hurry!" "We can fight our way out, Illassa, fear not!" said Valerja. "There is no need," said Illassa, as Andra returned with two fist-sized blue gemstones and two small suede pouches. "I have made travelstones for you." Telthas gasped as Illassa placed them on the table. "But these are beyond the art of any alive today!" she exclaimed. "And two of them!" "It was quite difficult," said Illassa, "but we must discuss it another time. These will transport you instantly to your destination." She unstopped one of the suede pouches and poured the silvery dust inside onto one of the blue gems. The gem absorbed the magical dust and took on a violet glow, and a large rune appeared on its surface. "Once you see the rune, raise the stone in your hand and call out your destination, and you will be transported there instantly." In the next instant, several things happened at once. Something in the expression on Angas’ face began to set off alarms at the back of Kish’s mind. Before he knew it, time seemed to slow down as his instincts kicked in, setting his body into motion. As if through treacle, he saw Angas reach across the table to pick up the activated travelstone. “NO!” he shouted, lunging across the table, his hand flying towards Angas’ to strike the travelstone out of it, just as Angas picked it up and shouted: “GEN GURUM!” There was a flash, and both Angas and Kish were gone. Elsewhere, in Sorceress Illassa’s bedchamber, a fourth blue-green feather manifested itself in the air, and slowly fluttered down onto her bed. A Cast of Falcons - Chapter Seven: The Broken Crown - There was a flash, and both Angas and Kish were gone. "Fool!" shouted Valerja in shock, but a strange smile played on Illassa's lips. Telthas noticed this. "Sorceress, did you have a hand in this?" she asked, confused. "I did not," she replied, "though I did feel in my heart that he would essay something foolhardy, as did Master Elliel, it seems." She turned to Valerja and put her hand on her shoulder. "However, my heart also tells me that this is not a disaster. I believe Sir Angas has gone where he believes he is most needed. His loyalty to the king shall not betray his loyalty to our cause." She took the remaining haldakristal and placed it in Valerja's hand. "But there is no more time to talk. You two must depart for Kersos now. Leave the Kestralian army to us." She emptied the remaining pouch of gatesilver onto the haldakristal, and the glowing rune of travel appeared on its surface. She then took Telthas' hand and placed it on top of the activated travelstone. "Go!" said Illassa, stepping back. "KERSOS!" shouted Valerja and Telthas together. A light from within the travelstone enveloped them, and they vanished. Illassa nodded with satisfaction at the empty air, then turned to her aides. "Andra, have General Dranuran meet me on the parapets. Mornfrid, come with me. What is the status of our defensive preparations?..." ********** With a soft flash of blue light, Angas and Kish materialized inside a small room of grey stone. They both looked around, slightly disoriented. Angas was the first to recover from his confusion. Ignoring Kish, he drew his sword and walked out the door. Kish shook his head. He realized he was now holding the travelstone, now discharged. He pocketed it and charged after Angas. "Oi, what do you think you're playing at?" he hissed angrily, as he walked through the door into a long stone corridor. He turned and spotted Angas striding purposefully down the hallway, and ran after him as quietly as he could. "Is this the king's castle?" he whispered at Angas' back. "Are we in Gen Gurum?" But Angas continued pacing down the long corridor. "Stop ignoring me, you bloody prat!" Kish growled in frustration. "Do you mean to get us executed? Answer me!" At last, Angas stopped and turned around. "Follow me not, thief," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Go back to the Falcons, or the sewers, or wherever you plan to live out your days." "Ah, there it is," said Kish in bitter triumph, "typical bloody toff. Too good to associate with common folk, eh?" "You're not common folk, you knave." said Angas. "You're who I protect the common folk from. When they told me I had to rescue a thief, I was against it. Thieves should be hanged, not rescued." "Oh, thank you very much! I never asked for a rescue. I was doing quite well on my own." "No you weren't. That sergeant would have had you. If we hadn't stepped in, you would have been slaughtered. A waste of time it was, rescuing the likes of you." Kish could barely contain his fury. Taunts and menacing speech were part of his arsenal, but he was unused to being on the receiving end of it. "No it wasn't, you bloody fool. I had the jewel, remember? I was trying to keep it out of the hands of the army. If you hadn't bothered rescuing me, we'd all be in it up to our eyes." "Sod the jewel," said Angas angrily. "I went to the Falcons to save my country, but all they talk about is some sparkling trinket. They’re not falcons, they’re magpies." "Save your country?" said Kish. "How? By barging into the king's castle and slaughtering your way to the throne room? What will that accomplish, save landing your head on a pike?" "It is my duty. It always was. If I had known that the king was being controlled, I would have done this sooner. He must be alive, and if he is alive, I will save him!" He turned to proceed down the hall, but Kish stayed where he was. "Where is everyone?" he asked suddenly. Angas stopped and began looking around slowly. They hadn't come across a soul since they had arrived. As he turned, he began to see more signs of vacancy. A thick layer of dust lined every surface. The wall-sconces lining the hallway were empty, leaving the corridor dim despite the fact that it was midday. He sheathed his sword. He had expected to have to fight Tosckar’s cronies on his way to the throne room, but it looked as if nobody had been in the castle for days, or even weeks. He broke into a run. "You owe me a bar of Lunesilver," muttered Kish, and ran after him.
C (Part 15) A Cast of Falcons - Chapter Seven: The Broken Crown (continued) - Another flash of blue light announced the arrival of Valerja and Telthas in the Abyss, on the outskirts of the city-state of Kersos. "Incredible!" sighed Telthas, seemingly unaffected by the instantaneous travel. "There it is...the home of the Order! The travelstone lives up to its reputation." Valerja shook her head and looked around. The Abyss was nowhere near as cthonic as its name suggested. A powerful enchantment over the entire country allowed land-dwellers to walk and breathe freely in the underwater domain, provided that they did not stray too far from the cities. The streets of Kersos were lit by large pearls in lamppost-like cages that illuminated its coralline paths and turquoise-tiled buildings. She sighed. A part of her knew that what she saw was beautiful...yet she could no longer remember how to react. Then she turned, and beheld for the first time the Temple of the Cult of the Abyssal Eye. What she beheld was less a building than a giant organism that seemed to pulsate in its own purplish light. It was surrounded by a fence of giant, jagged teeth, giving the impression that a devil-fish was about to devour it from below. Eyeballs the height of a man, disembodied yet somehow alive, swiveled on giant spikes as if they were keeping watch. The shock of the building's hideousness was so great that Valerja didn't even realize she had drawn her swords. All at once, every eyeball in sight swiveled toward her. "What...what is this demonic place?" whispered Valerja, her knuckles white around the hilts of her swords. "This is the home of our order, Lady Valerja," said Telthas. "Forgive me for not warning you. Its appearance is unpleasant, but that is a necessary part of the work we do. Please follow me." Telthas walked up the steps to the entrance without a trace of discomfort. Valerja hesitatingly sheathed her short swords and followed. In the months since they met, Telthas had spoken little of the order to which she belonged, save that it was an extremely secretive group dedicated to the acquisition of arcana and the battle against evil. Telthas herself had proven to be a warrior of great valor and a repository of knowledge on magic and magical creatures. If it hadn’t been for this, Valerja would never have followed her into an edifice with such an evil facade. They arrived at the door of the temple. Telthas pulled on a rope, and a deep, sonorous bell sounded somewhere inside the structure. A moment later, a small hatch opened in the door, revealing a grate through which an eye presented itself from behind a small section of a mask similar to Telthas'. "Who dares to draw the attention of the Cult of the Abyssal Eye?" came a voice from behind the door in an accent similar to Telthas', but filled with menace and loathing. "It is I, brother," said Telthas. "Admit us, it is urgent! We must speak with the Pateras Tagma!" "Telthas!" said the voice, this time without a trace of evil. "You have returned to us! But who is that with you?" "This is Lady Valerja," said Telthas. She turned to Valerja. "The letter please, Lady Valerja," she said. Valerja took the letter from her backpack and handed it to Telthas. "Here," she said, sliding the letter into the grate, "please take this to the Pateras Tagma as quickly as you can!" The letter disappeared into the hatch. "I go," said the voice, and the hatch shut with a snap. "Forgive us," said Telthas to Valerja, "but ours is a very secretive order. Very few outsiders are allowed within the walls of our temple." "He said 'Cult' of the Abyssal Eye," said Valerja. "Yes. This is what the other denizens of the Abyss call us. They revile us, but it is all necessary for maintaining our privacy, without which we cannot conduct our work and protect the Abyss," said Telthas with pride. Valerja looked up at the symbol of the eye etched into the archway above the door. To spend a life in service to those to hate you, she thought. Who would choose such a life? Who would commit themselves to such a duty? A few minutes later, the front door opened. A knight in seashell armor and wearing a golden mask similar to Telthas' beckoned to them to enter. "Thank you for waiting," said the voice of the mask from before. "Please follow me. The Pateras Tagma wishes to see you." ********** Ten minutes later, Illassa joined General Dranuran and his battalion of conjurers on the parapets of the elven temple. What they referred to as the "parapets" was actually a giant concentric pair of rune-covered stone rings the circumference of the entire building, magically hovering above the roof and rotating slowly. "All townsfolk have gathered in the building and all temple defenses have been invoked, sorceress," he said. Around them, blue magical energy arced to and from the stone rings to a giant orb of magic in their center. Above them, the faintest hint of blue in the air indicated to the eagle-eyed that the elven temple's magical shield was up and at full power. Below them, thousands of elves lined the balconies and walls, preparing their spells and eyeing the Black Cat hordes approaching from the distance. Illassa looked upwards at the five Kestralian airships approaching the temple from the south. "The fox. He is far out of the range of even our most powerful spells," she muttered. "It is perplexing," said General Dranuran. "There are no human weapons that can pierce our wards, and each of our spectrals can destroy fifty Black Cat mercenaries without getting out of bed. But he must be here for the star. He cannot be here to parley, surely." Suddenly, a magically amplified voice cut through the cold Hoarfrost air. "Illassa!" came a voice from above. "A sorceress? Congratulations! You were a mere spectral when we last met." She focused on the source of the voice, and her elven eyes made out a familiar figure standing on the deck of the foremost airship. "Corbinian Tosckar! Your presence here is an act of war," she said, her own voice magically amplified. "You and your mercenaries will leave at once or prepare to be slaughtered." "My mercenaries?" came Tosckar's taunting reply. "Do you think those filthy pissants are with me? How vulgar! I have come on a mutually beneficial trade mission." "You have nothing we want," said Illassa. "Begone." "I've come a long way, now. I really must insist," he replied, the knife-edge in his tone suddenly manifesting. "Sorceress," muttered Dranuran. "Please return to the temple. I fear he is plotting something." Illassa nodded, and turned to reenter the building. "You aggrieve me, Illassa. I'm afraid you leave me with no choice..." said Tosckar as she walked away. Dranuran remained on the roof, squinting at the tiny figure in the sky, when his eyes suddenly widened. "Sorceress!" he shouted, turning and running at Illassa full tilt, tackling her from behind. She flew forward and hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a clank of armor. Where the sorceress had been standing a moment earlier, a ruby-colored beam of intense light had suddenly appeared, several yards in diameter. Whatever the light touched, stone, flesh, or metal, dissolved instantaneously. The beam passed through the giant stone ring, through the roof below, and into the temple. Then, as quickly as the beam had appeared, it disappeared. A fiery explosion shot up through the holes in the temple, and the sky was lit by a pillar of fire and noise. "General!" shouted Dranuran's battalion. Illassa stared in horror. Only the top half of Dranuan’s body had cleared the area of the red beam of light. Another beam shot down elsewhere into the temple, once again effortlessly penetrating the magical shields. Once again the stone ring was pierced, and once again an explosion flared up from the depths of the temple. The stone ring, thus breached, lost its magic and fell onto the roof of the temple, and all was screams, fire, and chaos. ********** Kish and Angas continued to run through the network of stone corridors of the vast castle. Kish trailed behind Angas, who seemed to know his way around. No matter where they went, the halls were empty of life. Kish also noticed a conspicuous absence of valuables. Weapons, paintings, nearly anything that could be carried by a man had been removed. The castle had clearly been looted. On and on they ran without encountering a soul. Angas felt sick to his stomach. Who could have done this? Was it Tosckar? The Falcons? Where was the king? Eventually they reached a set of large wooden double-doors and Angas stopped. "Throne room?" said Kish. Angas nodded. They were near the center of the castle. The silence was palpable. Something told him there was danger on the other side of the door. He reached for the door handle and tried to quietly turn it, but the great doors were locked. He then took a few steps back, intending to ram the doors open. Just as he was about to run, Kish interposed himself between Angas and the door, holding his hands out, with an incredulous look on his face. "Hold!" he whispered. He turned around and bent down to the keyhole, removing a few tools from his armwraps. A few seconds later, there was a click. He then stepped back and gestured to Angas to try the door again. Angas went up to the handle and turned it once again, and this time it yielded. He quietly pushed the door open, and the two of them peered into the gloom inside the throne room. In the small amount of light that followed them in, they saw a strange sight.