by Dan Gillis
“Yes, yes. I couldn’t find anything so you took care of the rest of the guards. Then we left after they were all downed. You led us to this horse stable and here we are.” She was getting tired of restating the obvious.
“Wrong! That’s where you’re mistaken Firah! You grabbed that dagger and used it in the most brutal and vicious manner that I think I've ever seen a knife used. It was terrifying.” Firah was nonplussed. Was she talking to the same man? How could their memories be so different?
“Are you mad? Look, I’ve had this dagger for a long time. I bought it here, in Khyvla, two years ago. I always carry a dagger with me for protection … and, well, for other things.”
“It’s not just the dagger! You threw a stone into a crowd of Ashori and broke their power! With a stone! How could you forget about all this?!” He stood there and stared at her with a determined if not sincere look on his face. How could their stories be so different? She was sure what she said was true. Something was wrong about the situation. One thing Firah knew for certain: she was no killer. She felt bad enough when she had to hurt people when stealing from them.
“I don’t understand what is happening, but maybe this will help. Look, its silver-iron as it has always been, not black.” She removed the knife from the belt sheath and showed it to him. The dagger blade gleamed silvery metallic in the early morning light. His expression changed again to intense concentration. He was clearly trying to piece together a puzzle that she knew nothing about.
“Do one thing for me then.” He stood away from her and continued, “Try to throw it away, even to drop it.”
“That is a ridiculous request, but if it will ease your mind and stop all this confusion.” Firah held the blade outward, her hand gripped tightly around the hilt. She slowly opened her fingers and the blade tumbled to the floor in a clatter. He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“May I hold it?” She picked up the blade and held it out for him to take. Cautiously, he held the slender weapon. His body seemed to relax somewhat, although his brow remained creased in thought. He passed the dagger back to her quickly. He paused for a moment and then paced about the floor. The young girl replaced the dagger and stretched her back; suddenly the activities of the previous night were catching up to her. Firah yawned and slumped down into a pile of hay. For a long while she watched Shien move this way and that, which made her feel even more tired. Her eyes drooped and she decided to rest them only for a minute. It would only be an hour or so till curfew lifted. After a few moments, she was completely asleep.
Her companion did not stop his pacing for the remainder of the morning. Nor did his eyes leave her or the blade.
***
“Zyr?”
The inviting voice was sweet and alluring. The monk slowly blinked his eyes and tried to focus. Darkness gave way to blurry soft candlelight. His mind was slowly unfogging from the effects of unconsciousness. Zyr focused his mind and began reviewing recent events as they occurred in his memory. As a physician, Zyr knew that blows to the head, particularly around the base of the skull, were potentially irreparable.
He hoped that his gamble had paid off, and it seemed it had. However, judging by the situation, he knew that every contingency could not be planned for. Even his best laid plans had been fraught in ruin before.
Gradually, things began to take shape around him as he quickly began to appraise the surroundings. He was in a large room which was decorated with all sorts of wall hangings and tapestries. Small trinkets or artifacts adorned different parts of the room. There were two windows set into stone encasements, each easily as tall as a man and ornately decorative. He was lying on a large black stone table at the center of the chamber. He tested his ability to move but found himself firmly bound. Off to his right side, several cloaked forms stood in quiet readiness. He assumed they were all Ashori and would form powerful weaves at any sign of aggression. Beyond them lay the only exit from the room.
He reached out to the Root lightly and found nothing there. He felt a strange feeling lying upon the black table. It was a total absence of life and spirit.
He turned his head slowly, looking for the source of the voice he had heard earlier. From the shadows a form appeared and moved smoothly towards the prone healer. As it moved closer the form became more defined. It was a woman whose beauty was commanding and seductive. The very sway of her gliding steps reminded Zyr of a bird of prey or stalking Gnarel. He observed her features with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. It was possible that this woman was her, but it had been over fifteen years and many things would change. No, he would hold his judgements until he was certain. An examination of their motives would be most telling. The woman’s face was veiled from view, which intrigued Zyr more as to his suspicions of her identity. If only he could be sure.
“It is Zyr, isn’t it?” she spoke as she moved ever closer. “Your name is not unknown in the city. I am Nuril. It appears you have taken a wrong turn this evening. What is your business in Khyvla?” Zyr stared hard at the veil in silence. The voice was very different but his senses were still alight like the storms over Tamers Reach.
After a tense moment, a form from the right broke ranks and raised a hand to strike the monk across the face in payment for silence. In one blurred motion, the woman had moved and the Ashori was staggering, choking back a scream of pain. A long slender stiletto blade had passed through his hand and imbedded itself into the man’s shoulder. The aggressor’s limb was now pinned uncomfortably and he stepped back quickly, nearly retching in pain. Zyr noted the wisps of smoke trailing from the blade.
“No one touches him.” Her voice was suddenly commanding and harsh. It carried a warning so palpable that the cloaked ones knelt to a knee and sought forgiveness in unison.
She regarded the ritualistic display briefly, and then spoke venomously. “You will leave, now. If I see another foolish upstart this night, I will rend your hearts in the utmost agony.” After she finished, they quickly departed and closed the door behind them. No one questioned her motivation for being alone with the monk. If they had they would not have dared to vocalize it.
“Well,” she said in a mocked cheerful voice, “those are no longer necessary, I believe.” She nodded her head subtly toward Zyr and the fiery bonds dissipated. He reached over and touched the raw flesh where the bonds had made contact. The bands of fire were meant to be painful and to hold the enemy, but not to kill. He sat up slowly and swung his feet over the edge of the dark tablet.
“An interesting way to inspire fealty,” he spoke as he slipped to the floor. Blood rushed through his body and he stepped gingerly as his equilibrium returned. She remained at the foot of the table, observing him behind the veil.
“It is the only way to motivate the simple minded. Come, sit with me by the window.” She turned and moved towards an ornate seat at the end of the room. Next to it was a deep-set, gilded window which overlooked the south eastern domains of Khyvla. A small candle rested upon the casement and illuminated the gilded framework. The soft glow of the early morn silhouetted the peaks and foothills beyond the city.
Zyr remained standing next to the table. He reached for the Root again and detected the faintest thread. The effects of the table seemed to be fading. He was not sure now what to expect. So far, she had betrayed no foreknowledge of knowing him, much less a familiar greeting. True, she had spoken his name, and yet, it seemed that she avoided any connection to him. An empty seat sat across from hers, which he likened to a cozy thread in a spider’s web. Slowly, Nuril untied the threads which bound her deep red robe across her shoulders. As the stool had no backing, she let the robe fall across the top and settled down comfortably upon the lush material.
Though her face was still veiled, her delicate shift revealed much about her beauty. It was a thin form-fitting garment and hinted at every curve and line beneath. The neckline was cut low, and soft white skin glowed in the shadows. Despite the charms she was initiating, Zyr was intent on the features beneath the veil more
than upon lusts of the flesh. She turned her head toward him slowly. They simply stared across at the other, the moments sliding by like a dagger across a whetstone. Finally she broke the silence.
"There is nothing to gain from refusing the hospitality of your host. Am I so dangerous to a man such as you?" Her voice was light and sweet. Zyr noted the contrast from her earlier words with the cadremen. He chose to remain silent. "Very well, if you wish we shall disregard the formalities."
The cadre leader turned and faced her guest. She rested an elbow upon her crossed legs and lifted a finger to her cheek. "What possessed you to attack the Ashori of this cadre?" Her voice had changed again. It was sharp like a blade and cut through the space between them.
"I had no idea self-defence was indictable." The monk kept his responses short to avoid giving any leverage to his opponent. Her hand lifted from her cheek to emphasize her next words.
"Surely you cannot lay blame upon the men of this cadre. Their actions have always been in the best interests of the city."
Zyr's retort was quick to the task. "Perhaps you mean for themselves or you. Regardless, the true issue at hand is why are you here, leading this cadre?" Her form was perfectly serene sitting there regarding him from behind her veil.
"The business of the Blade of Ahtol is none of your concern. Know that you interfered in the apprehension of a dangerous individual. Once you took it upon yourself to harbour her, you became an obstacle to be removed. Count yourself fortunate to have survived the incident. Now, with a formal statement of apology you shall be released with a reprimand. Leniency, you will learn, is not outside our creed." He studied her carefully. She was turning the conversation away from his enquiry. Bluntness, it would seem, was called for in such times.
“Defence of those outside the Root is something you should know …” Zyr stabbed a knowing glare towards the woman, “Jyril.” Her fingers which had been pressed together in thought separated for a quick movement. He thought he had scored a subtle strike in her verbal game. However, her fingers slipped together into a vice like grip. She peered just over her clamped hands and emitted a small laugh.
“You speak in riddles, sir. Is that some sort of title or a slander?” Her body had straightened and she regarded him with a cool air behind the dark veil. She was resisting his attempts to unmask her. She was manoeuvring as well; he could sense the game changing. She concluded her entrapment. "Know that if you refuse our attempt at treatise then you shall be released to the Khyvlan authority and endure the full weight of law." She sat in perfect stillness as her words trailed through the air. She was weaving a web to ensnare him, and he sensed her dark approach through the shadowy veil. It was obvious; no proof could be garnered for his defence. First, there were no witnesses and, second, there would be no evidence of a fire thanks to his counter-glyph and she would have cleaned up the rest since the attack. Her position was solid and near flawless. Either way, she was attempting to steer the conversion away from his investigation.
“I regret that you feel my dealings had intent of malice,” he began slowly. He had to be extremely careful now. “I assure you my actions were unselfishly motivated. I would be sure to note my gratitude for your stopping your servant from striking an innocent and unarmed man; I’m sure he also thanks you for the favour, instead of being investigated by local authority. After all, I am sure the authorities would have no reason to want to investigate the Blade.” His face was dead calm and expressionless, revealing naught but innocence. Her two pointer fingers flicked upward and met. Pressing them together, the pale skin grew white under the pressure she exerted. Zyr knew he routed her argument, but she was merely testing the waters.
“Clearly, it was better for him to suffer judgement now than bring disgrace to the cadre.”
"Indeed," he responded. Her poise was so delicate and her voice like sweet honey; the monk knew lesser men would have been ensnared by her conniving charms. Her every quality centered on the game of acquisition. She was skilled in the art of deliberation and hidden truths. When he had heard rumours that Nuril was Tehsa he had no choice but to act. Nuril was fully ascended through the ranks of the Defiler cadre, and she had survived the destruction of the marbled halls of the Order, years past. Yet, more alarming were the implications of betrayal. The information was sketchy and yet, full of implications if it proved true. That was why he had to be sure. Mother help him if it proved true.
Nuril sensed his lapse in concentration and manoeuvred quickly. “Now, considering the matter of your attack on my bondsman…”
“It is not a concern," he interjected, "considering he was not harmed. Yet, I am caused great pain by these obvious marks left by the fiery bonds of my captor. Really, was such force required? I would have gladly come upon receiving summons from one so familiar to me.”
Her head cocked slightly. He sensed tension in her limbs, and he knew she could feel the victory slipping from her. She abandoned the line of questioning and shifted to a full defence.
“Whatever gives you claim to my acquaintance? We have never met before this night.” She tilted her head to the side and cast her gaze toward the dark horizon which was shifting low to purple-blue in its anticipation of the morning sun.
“The Lady Nuril is well known in these parts to everyone, especially as the occupant of the One Seat, which honour I believe has never before been bestowed upon a woman. Surely, only a true Convert or Seeker of law and justice could succeed where you have. Your training must have been rigorous.” He accentuated his references to the broken Order through a simple open-handed gesture. It was a common acknowledgement amongst those of that place. He had her against the wall and was ready to land the final blow. He began to move slowly through the room, around to the long black tablet where he had awoken. Tracing a finger across the cold stone, he could feel the rage and heat emitting from the woman. She would know now that he suspected her true intent here in Khyvla. Her web had failed. It was no mere fly she had caught. Tehsa would have remembered. It was time to strum the last chord.
“Listen well, Nuril. The plans of this cadre are known and will not be ignored. You cannot control a power as potent as this Ahtol. You will bring our world to ruin!" He brought his open hand down in emphasis upon the cold stone. He opened the faintest weave to the Alacritor aspect. He found the stress line within.
"Spare your simple-minded rhetoric. You have no idea what true potency is. It's because of naive thinking such as yours that we scrape by upon the whims of an unseen and crippled entity. You wander the land following spectres, mere whispers! We shall mete out power as we see fit and not limit ourselves to fragments. Think of it! The possibilities are limitless!" She was looking not directly at him but at a woven map which hung upon the far wall.
Zyr was not yet certain of her identity. However, he was fixed upon his purpose and opened his mouth to speak a final time. If it was her, he would leave no doubt to his purpose. His mind mused briefly upon the symbolism nestled inside his leather pouch. The die was cast.
"You say I am misguided and of a simple mind. How presumptuous to think you know all the workings of Aerluin. Your lust of power draws focus away from what is real and what you lost. You should know I have wandered these many years in search of someone who disappeared. I have had strong confirmation that she exists, and dwells here in Khyvla. I promise you she will be found. I also swear to you that she will come to answer for the grievances of the past. That I swear in blood!”
Opening the floodgates of the Alacritor Root, Zyr felt a massive surge of power thunder through his body, almost taking him over the verge of consciousness. He let the power course through every muscle and aspect of his soul. Nuril's eyes shot wide as she turned suddenly to face him. The power shattered his stalwart resolve, as was the case when he opened himself unguarded to the pure fragments of Aerluin's might, that tears flowed from his eyes. In a quick movement he brought a glowing fist down upon the obsidian slab with tremendous force. A massive crunching sound vibrated the walls a
nd foundations of the tower. The table split across the middle cleanly, the massive slabs crashing to the floor. The echoes of tumult seemed to multiply upon each other, reverberating around the circular room endlessly. The backlash of released energies and splintered stone had lacerated his hand and lower arm. Zyr stood there bowed, his hand dripping seeds of lifeblood upon the dark remains of the altar.
Green tinged energy flows surged throughout the room which had escaped upon the rending of the stone. Nuril was now standing and moving toward him slowly, her hand outstretched. The green flows began to move and twist toward the master Ashori. Sensing the danger, Zyr leapt over the altar remains straight to the window adjacent to where she had sat.
All at once, all things seemed to move slowly.
Twisting through the air, the green trails snaked rapidly toward Zyr. He knew he had one opportunity for escape, and it was a risky, possibly fatal venture. Yet, his luck had run out in the oral skirmish. Death awaited the unwary, and he had overstayed his time here. As he readied his final manoeuvre, he looked to Nuril. Her veil was fluttering from the energies which curled and wrapped around her slender body. He saw her eyes flash in fury toward him. They were blood red and shone with intense hate. It was his Jyril's face but with the eyes of a demon. Then time remembered itself. Everything moved quicker than a heartbeat.
Zyr shot through the tower window, glass exploding while grasping at the tapestry curtain as he passed through, blue-white energy trailing from his fingertips. Deep jade energy struck through the space he had been like great tentacles, then coiled about to pursue the monk. Clinching the curtain tightly, Zyr twisted himself around and swung his legs hard toward the sheer tower wall. The tapestry slowed his momentum and then finally gave way to the exertion, but it had served to bring the Monk close to the vertical surface. He reached out with his pulsing hands and pulled himself to the stone. The green bands streaked after him in a flash, altering course through the shattered window frame. With moments to react, Zyr knew he would not survive without the ability to counter the opposing power; for that he would need his limbs which were currently engaged in preserving his life. There remained only one painful but obvious choice.
