by D. H. Aire
Tapestry
Chapter 14
The house lay on the outskirts of the Provincial Capital of Lyai, the Empire’s Northeastern Province. It was neither the grandest nor the most humble. Yet, where bargains could be had and debts were left to be paid, the merchants’ auction could be found.
The old woman who lived there had passed away without heirs to cover her debts or her Imperial taxes. No elite merchants from Lyai came for the sale, only one wizened old man, a licensed representative. This did not please the Debtor’s Man in charge of the sale. However, the Faeryn journeyman mage, who had been hired to walk through the house, although young, might be able to improve matters.
It was the mage’s task to make note on any chance enchantments, unremarkable talismans, or banes. Enchantments significantly added to value of even ill––crafted looking items.
The elfblooded mage paused to look at the odd tapestry hanging from the dining room wall. The Debtor’s Man looked at him greedily, but the youth simply shook his head, assuring him that nothing of magery lay here.
It was too much to expect of the old lady who had lived here. “Found a few more of its like in the attic, perhaps one of them,” he urged.
The Faeryn mage sighed and turned away from the tapestry’s scene which had drawn his attention. “I take a look at them soon enough, but so far I detect nothing emanating enchantment.” The tapestry should fetch a fine price even without magery, he reasoned as he continued to look about. Displayed was a striking scene of battle, an advancing Imperial charge racing to meet a ghastly dark horde.
Glancing back, frowning, the mage abruptly stared at those warriors leading the charge. That was what had puzzled him. They were not
Imperial forces, but foreigners in black livery, one of whom was clearly a
woman with long blonde hair. He thought it strange that the woman seemed to be clearly leading the charge. He felt that there was something he should recognize about the scene, then shook his head. Where had he ever heard a story of black liveried warriors? In time it would come to him, he was sure.
There was a knock at the door. The Debtor’s Man smiled in relief at the arrival of more merchants, all the better to outbid that old miser now examining the cutlery.
“Come in! Come in!”
The blonde-haired woman entered ahead of her companion. She was remarkably well-dressed in the latest Imperial style. Her male companion, however, was less fashionable. His cloak, although finely made, ill-concealed his rugged jerkin and trousers. Least fashionable of all, the man bore a simple walking staff.
He asked, “We’ve only just heard. Has the sale begun?”
“It is called for one hour hence. My name is Hanrahan. I am the Imperial Debtor’s Man. Please look through the house in the meantime. May I ask what Merchant House you represent?”
The man replied, “We represent an endeavor from across the border in the Crescent Lands. I am Jeo d’Aere and this is my partner, Se’and.”
Hanrahan beamed, handing them each a sales offering sheet. “You have come far and such a sale as this place offers will be perfectly exotic to those in the City–States.”
Se’and chose to ignore the obsequious man and showed little
interest in the items displayed in the foyer; although, Jeo seemed fascinated by the craftsmanship of each piece of furniture in the study. He knelt and looked underneath the tables and bookshelves, studying the joining and fittings.
That activity drew the Faeryn mage’s attention. The elfblood paused as Jeo asked Hanrahan if he could turn over one of the side tables. Frowning, he replied, “Feel free... But should you damage it, you shall buy it.”
“It will come to no harm,” Jeo promised, gently moving it to the center of the room, then turned the table on its side.
Se’and shook her head and entered the dining room, then saw the
tapestry. She stopped and stared, then rasped, “Jeo, come look at this.”
“In a moment, the craftsmanship here is exquisite. They used no nails.”
The Faeryn mage remarked, “Nails would have been unseemly and marred the stain the craftsmaker applied.”
Nodding, the foreign merchant replied, “No doubt.”
“Jeo, you must come see this.”
Sighing, he returned the table to its proper place. “Oh, very well.” He marched into the dining room, then leaned on his staff and stared. “My, oh my...” He coughed, “I don’t suppose one finds its like very often.”
Hanrison hastened over. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s one of four up for sale. Items thirty––three, thirty––four, thirty––five, and thirty––six.”
Se’and mused, “Four? Are they all from the same period?”
“Would you care to look at them?”
She paused, replying, “Hmm, tapestries are not at all what we had in mind for our stock... But it would not hurt to look.”
He frowned as he noted the catalogue price. Not at all what he had in mind either, but he knew that in this he would defer to Se’and’s expertise. He looked at the displayed scene as Hanrahan and Se’and went upstairs.
The older patron glanced up from his examination of a set of plates and remarked, “Little market these days for battle scenes. Quite gruesome to have to view while dining.”
Glancing at the other man, he nodded, then heard the young mage say, “I have been trying to remember which battle it depicts.”
Debtor’s Man
Chapter 15
“Not good with Imperial history?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, I recognize the Imperial standards of Aqwaine and the Llewellyn there, which suggests one of the great battles in the Northlands. But those black liveried folk leading the charge makes me think this is out of legend.”
He looked briefly back at the tapestry. “Why is that?”
“Those warriors are obviously foreigners. The plain black livery denotes no royal house or standard. I’ve heard of no mercenaries out of the Northlands or the Crescent Lands who would not display their devices. Then again, those swords – such an odd choice of color. So fanciful.”
“Likely this is only legend, then.”
The elfblood frowned uncertainly. “No doubt.”
The Debtor’s Man called for him. “Can you come up here and help me with these things? They’re heavy!”
“Manual labor is not what I’m being paid for,” he muttered to himself. “Excuse me, good sir.”
“I’ll come with you,” the old man said, “perhaps the other tapestries will be more suitable.”
Watching them go, he leaned on his staff which suddenly sparkled as a voice whispered in his mind, :Fascinating depiction. If you would be so kind as to touch the fabric I shall scan it for authenticity and age.:
He stepped forward and brushed its surface with the fingertips of his right hand and muttered, “Also scan the dyes used chemically.”
:Acknowledged... Dating material to three hundred ninety––seven point six three five years. Scanning the threads... George, the dyes used have produced particularly vivid colors. Fading is minimal.: A series of chemical formulae flashed through his mind. :With the exception, as you will note, of the swords borne by the Cathartans leading the charge.:
George Bradley glanced warily over his shoulder, then at the staff and
whispered, “It seems odd that the swords should have faded practically to black.”
The computer staff in his hands disagreed. :That so many of the dyes used have held their color so long and vividly is more remarkable, George... The swords were obviously intended to show a sheen. The ebony color they are now makes their swords not even resemble steel.:
Perhaps that was it. But perhaps not, and he so loved unraveling such mysteries.
Se’and and Hanrahan had climbed up into the attic. Wooden chests, likely filled with old clothing and the tapestries filled the narrow room. She partially unrolled the top tapestry and saw dwarves battling a black dragon, then looked at the next, ano
ther scene of battle, but depicting powerful elvin mages loosing enchantments upon their enemies.
“There is really not enough room up here to view them.”
“Very well, I’ll let the young Faeryn earn his keep.” Hanrahan shouted downstairs for the elfblood to come help him.
Meanwhile, Se’and opened the nearest chest. It was filled with a lad’s clothing. She moved on to the next and when she opened it, found a smaller chest nestled within. Opening it, she found a tin canteen, cups, and utensils, suitable for traveling. What a strange thing for an old woman to have.
She glanced at her offering sheet and saw the item unlisted. “How much for this?”
“Hanrahan, what does she have there?” the old merchant representative hurriedly asked as he struggled to ascend to the attic. “Hey, be careful down there!”
The Faeryn replied, “You’ll fall! Let me help you.”
“What?” Abruptly the man was rising into the air. “Hey, what are you doing?!” He was settled gently to the floor as the mage ascended the ladder.
Hanrahan rasped, “The lad was just looking after your best interests. My fair lady, show your intrepid rival the box you are interested in.”
She did. The old man was unimpressed. “You want it. It’s yours... Now let me see those tapestries... Ugh, more battle scenes. No market. No profit.” He began rummaging through the clothes chests. “This is more like it.”
Se’and asked, “So, how much?”
The Faeryn shook his head as the Debtor’s Man smiled thinly. “Now lad, be so kind as to get these downstairs, while I negotiate.”
“I suggest you go down first. This may take a while.”
Hanrahan nodded, “After you, my lady.”
Se’and came stomping back down the stairs with Hanrahan stating the offering price intended to begin the bidding. Jeo was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. “Oh, very well, I will pay the list price without qualm, but you will throw in the small chest and its contents!”
“Lady, the cups have to be worth an Imperial Gold!”
“Don’t give me that... You heard our friend up there, ‘no market, no profit...’ And those tapestries must be delivered to our accommodations by this evening!”
Frowning, the Debtor’s Man sighed, “Done.” Then he shouted over his shoulder, “Faeryn, deliver all the tapestries, personally, by this evening!”
“What?” the elfblood shouted, then lost his concentration. The tapestry he was levitating struck the floor with a resounding thud.
Hanrahan screamed back, “Of course, you shall, you young lout! Why do you think I hired you? Oh, these Faeryn think themselves so talented!”
Se’and and Jeo looked at him coldly.
The Debtor’s Man scowled, then muttered softly, “Faeryn come cheap. Promise to tip him well and the tapestries will arrive on time in pristine condition.”
A tapestry came floating down the stair, the young mage marching behind it with his right hand raised. It settled beside Se’and. “You have a cart, lad?”
No lady, but I can get one.”
“Half an Imperial cover the cost?”
The Faeryn grinned, “Certainly, my lady.”
“A gold for delivery, if they all arrive in good condition.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Your name, lad?” she asked handing him a card with address of their lodgings.
“Dustin ap Talik Faeryn.”
“This evening, then. Now, Hanrahan, to our accounting. We have a few more places yet to visit today.”
Deliveries
Chapter 16
They returned to their accommodations late in the afternoon, having spent the day going through the Lower City. Packages had been delivered and were piled up against the wall and two very exhausted looking servant boys hastened to rise from the divan chairs. “Se’and, you’re back! I mean,” the older looking lad hastened to add, “Masters! You have returned!”
“Yes, Farrel, we have! And you had best have completed all your tasks, too!” Se’and shouted as she closed and barred the door firmly.
Once shut, George shook his head wryly and muttered to his staff, “Ward.” The staff began to glow, radiating a protective field that would curb any intrusion or attempt at spying. George set it in the center of the room; sitting down in one of the plush chairs less than five feet away, weary.
In this land of elvin magery, spying through scrying was an expected norm. Anyone attempting it would conclude that as a wealthy merchant, he had secured an enchantment against such attempts. In this case, they would not be far from the truth. The technology the computer staff employed seemed very much like magic on this fey world.
With a sound of disgust, the youngest lad pulled off his livery, then started to throw off his servant garb. “Please, Raven... You are getting them wrinkled!” Se’and said exasperatedly.
Grinning, the girl threw aside her trousers, stretched her arms then shimmered, changing into a tawny furred beast with a black mane. She padded up to George, who leaned forward and hugged her. “I missed you, too.”
His shape changing foster––daughter licked his face with her raspy tongue. He chuckled, while the handsome servant, Farrel, touched short cropped blonde hair and bristled at the confining straps that bound her bosom tightly beneath the servant jerkin and livery. “I have come to hate this, Se’and. Couldn’t you play the boy and leave me your role?”
With a laugh, Se’and replied, “You are doing well enough.”
“Je’orj, please can’t we end this farce? I know all the reasons that it’s best I play the lad, but…”
“Oh, this was not my idea, so I would prefer being left out of it!” None of this was his idea, not once since the moment he had been fallen through the elvin Gate at the dig in Europe to this distant long forgotten colony world.
Fri’il strode up to him and wrapped her arms about his neck. She kissed him soundly. “Now, is that any way to speak to your wife?”
He awkwardly disengaged her arms from around his neck. “Fri’il,” he grated.
“As one Cathartan bonded to him to another, Fri’il,” Se’and hastened to forestall the argument, “You know your duty. We protect his life with all our strength and guile!”
The younger woman awkwardly loosened her under––bindings with distaste, “That doesn’t mean that I have to like it.”
Se’and sighed. “Milord, tomorrow we should visit the Guild shops in the Merchant District.”
“Oh, joy,” George Bradley replied having grown tired of playing the role of merchant. Yet, the Demonlord, the long ago elfking of this world, stalked him – sought to kill him for reasons beyond George’s ken. The Demonlord was the nemesis of this Empire of humans and elves, as of all things human. Now that they had reached the capital of this eastern province, the Demonlord’s minions were closer than ever to killing him... almost had twice in recent weeks. That had led to this scheme to lose their pursuit, which resulted in his elfblooded friend, Balfour, who he had been training in human healing techniques, leading two of their bonded Cathartan escort away. If all went as planned, this would confuse any further pursuit, then he could go off in disguise and meet them in the Imperial Capital.
It felt strange only these past few weeks to be without them.
Se’and seeing his introspective look remarked, “Do not give me that, Je’orj, I know you will eagerly examine every object they make – even if only from curiosity. It is the ‘archy––ol––ogist’ in you that delights in looking at all things primitive.”
“One thing I will say for this world. It may be barbaric culturally, but technologically it continues to surprise me.”
Fri’il ruffled his hair, “Admit it. You have come to enjoy becoming a barbarian.”
With a sigh, he shook his head.
She grinned at him.
There was a knock at the door. Fri’il quietly cursed, shifting her bindings, and straightening her jerkin. Se’and quickly picked up Raven’s cloth
es and carried them into the next room. George concentrated. Staff ceased glowing, dropping the shield.
Fri’il walked to the door and partially opened it, finding an elfblooded youth. “Yes, how may I help you?”
“The name’s Dustin. I’m here to deliver Lady Se’and’s tapestries.”
“He’s expected, Farrel,” Se’and said, returning to the main room.
Taking her hand off her dagger hilt concealed beneath her jerkin, Fri’il motioned him to enter. “Do come in, good sir.”
The apprentice Faeryn said, “I’ve your tapestries downstairs. I could use some help.”
Fri’il glanced back at the tawny furred Raven, lying at her lord’s feet. Her eyes flashed as she mouthed, “Lazybones.”
Raven grinned wolfishly as Fri’il turned to follow the young mage. “Of course, good sir.” She closed the door firmly behind her.
George knelt and scratched his foster––daughter’s ears. “You got out of that nicely.”
The beast’s eyes shone with mischief.
The cart was less than remarkable. The horse that drew it was even more so. A street urchin sat watching the cart and its contents. “See, it’s all ‘ere, M’lord. Like’s I promise!”
Dustin chuckled, “The ward spell likely helped.”
The lad had his right hand hidden behind his back. “Wot ever da ya mean, m’lord?”
“The sting from a first touch will go away in a day or two. The second
now, hmm, you had best see a healer…”
He showed his hand. “Swears I didna!”
“Good, then when I’m done here, you will get the copper I promised you!”
The lad sighed, “Aye, m’lord!”
Fri’il hesitated as he offered her his hand to help her ascend the cart. “I’ll need you to push each one off, then I’ll bespell them forward. I should be able to handle two at a time.”
She shook her head as he began waving his hands in a spell pattern, yet muttered no words. She shoved the topmost rolled up tapestry forward and suddenly saw it rise. He nodded to her, still waving his hands. Pushing the next, she felt it taken up by unseen hands, then she climbed off the cart. Dustin gestured and the two tapestries entered the suddenly opened hotel doorway. She followed him as the street boy gaped.
