by 5kops
What is it that we seek, my lord? The silver dragon thought. She was about to continue but the angel cut her thought off.
"The One wishes to test the wits of His faithful servants, Silverwing" the angel explained. 'He wishes to see how well you can gather the information He seeks without a true definition of what you arc looking for. "
Silverwing heard her brethren silently questioning the angel. It seemed to her that each question only led to more cryptic answers.
In frustration, Silverwing let out a resounding roar meant to draw silence. "And if we find this source, my lord. . .?"
'Then you will destroy it!" the angel answered.
With that, the presence was gone.
2
Variel 32"d, 2020 A.D., Year of the Sword (Mortal Timeline)
THE SOARING crystal spires of the Arcane Institute, the graceful ancient architecture of the Bre'Dmorian Citadel of the Hand, and the prosperity of a city accustomed to high mercantile traffic had made the Dukedom of Aresleigh the second-greatest city in Arsgoth. Over the past decade, the city had grown exponentially, rivaling Natalinople, the ancient capitol of the kingdom, in sheer size and grandeur.
All of Aresleigh breathlessly hoped that King Roderick II would take note of the grand city's large port and defensive positioning by announcing his new residence there. Fed by this hope, rumors spread throughout the region that it was only a matter of time before the king announced his move and named Aresleigh the new Arsgothian capitol. Beneath the whispers, the people of Aresleigh didn't expect much; however, it didn't hurt to prolong the rumor and remain in the speculative spotlight of the entire kingdom.
Aresleigh was split into two districts that skirted the Bay of Dawn, spanning outward from the coasdine two miles to the east, and three miles from north to south. Though the port metropolis was six square miles, its seventy-five thousand inhabitants were spread throughout the inner and outer cities. The expansive population required coundess miles of thick, mortared walls to protect it and was separated by three massive gatehouses, one for each direction in which a paved road left the illustrious city.
Aresleigh was truly the Jewel of the West.
****
The crisp morning air began to warm and beams of light pierced the clouds on the first day of fall. To an observer watching the eastern gatehouse—an imposing stone structure housing a pair of knights, four squires, and sixteen guardsmen to deal with incoming merchants—it was a normal day. And so it began as a normal day for a squire of the Bre'Dmorian Knighthood; the air became warm, the sun beat down as a long line of merchants filed down the King's Road, and the gate's custom officers processed incoming goods.
Areck of Brenly groaned as he watched an argument between three merchants become a heated discussion. It was a frequent early morning occurrence as people inched into the great city, a seamless mass of unwashed bodies all seeking mercantile business. Drawing his brows together in a tight frown, he slowly moved toward the trio thinking of better uses for his time.
Though he was in his ninth year of service to the Bre'Dmorian Academy, Areck spent each morning immersed in guard duty as a sub officer at the eastern gatehouse. The position granted him a measure of pride and respect. He wondered for a moment why he was proud of this duty as a customs officer, which was an honor among ninth-year students and highly sought after position within his class.
It isn't that guard duty is glorious, he thought. In fact, it wasn't glorious at all. All day long he watched merchants come through the gates from the outlying hamlets and thorps, trying to sell their wares and make a living.
Maybe the fact that this gate gets the most traffic makes it so desired by the others, he mused silently. Of the three outer gates, the eastern gate amassed the most people. Due to the high volume of passers by, Areck assumed that people who lived in the outlying areas of Aresleigh must accrue great wealth with all their trade.
The daily routine always made him think of an ever-rippling river of randomness. Then his more pragmatic side would point out that his days at the gatehouse tended to be lawful and orderly, except for the rare occasion when a capsized wagon or broken wheel slowed the steadily moving throng.
As Areck passed by several guardsmen confiscating contraband from a seedy-looking trader, the argument between the three merchants grew to shouting. It frustrated him, having to deal with arguments, since most broke out over trivial matters.
Deciding that patience was a virtue, Areck stood for a moment and watched the merchants argue. Satisfied that he understood what was going on, he began to assess the situation, which involved a bucking mule and a pair of carts. He could see from the ripped bags of flour what had transpired: the mule had kicked the flour cart and tipped it into a second cart earning a load of sweet cakes. Not only had both carts tipped, but several bags of flour had exploded, ruining both merchants' inventory.
No wonder they aren 't pleased, he thought grimly, sweeping his finger across some of the gooey remains.
A colorful expletive taking the One's name in vain, aimed at the lineage of one of the merchants, brought Areck's head up. Quickly, he stepped between the men and raised his hand. It was one thing to be angry; it was another to curse in God's name. He was greeted with silence.
Areck looked at his commanding officer, a rotund knight-captain of middle years, for reassurance. To his surprise, Lord Bowon Silver shield extended his arm in Areck's direction, nodded, and held Areck's would-be reinforcement back. He guessed that his commander must have been hoping to see a good fight erupt and now that his hope was dashed, was leaving him to rectify the situation.
The young squire groaned as one of the merchants broke the silence with another curse. He knew he had to act before the bad situation turned ugly.
"Gentlemen!" Areck said.
"If ye fed that darn beastie, then it wouldn'a been buckin' in the first place!" said a beady-eyed man Areck recognized as the miller Sanderson.
"Bah! Ye no good cheat!" screamed a peasant, his fist shaking righteously in the air. "If ye hadn'a been crowding the streets so bleedin' much, ye wouldn'a spooked my poor Betsy! 'Tis yer broken cart wheels 'ere that done all this damage!"
"Why, I'm the finest miller in these parts!" Sanderson retorted. "I'm thinkin' ye don' understand who yer speakin' to!"
"You blathering idiots," the baker said in frustration, "I don't care about your malnourished mule or your ruined flour. My concern is that these sweet cakes were meant for Lord and Lady Ebony!"
Areck studied the three men, trying to decide a course of action.
"Now if you will both stop your arguing for five minutes," the baker said shrilly, "you can each explain how you plan to pay for my wares, which are ruined."
The others looked at the baker incredulously then simultaneously turned to the squire to mete out justice.
"Milord, me flour was ruined by 'dis man," the miller pointed to the peasant. "Tis no fault o' mine, and I expect to be paid!"
"Milord, you's a sensible man," the peasant said. "You's a witness. Dis 'ere man be followin' my poor Betsy too dern close. Tis 'is own fault 'is flour was destroyed! Just look at me cart!" The man was near tears.
"Squire, these men are obviously drunkards. He," said the more eloquent merchant, who spit a wad of tobacco to the ground and pointed at the miller, "might have been following too closely." The baker then pointed at the peasant. "And, this man's cart may be ruined. However, what I am delivering is of the utmost importance to Lord Ebony. I demand compensation!"
Areck raised his hand for silence. "Do the three of you respect the laws of the merchants' guild?" he asked.
Each man bobbed his head quickly; to refuse the guild's laws was to drop a noose around one's neck.
"Good," Areck looked each man in the eye. "I happened to be watching when the three of you entered the city and will offer an objective opinion." Areck paused and looked at both the peasant and the miller. "You, sir, know the etiquette when bringing your animals into
such a crowded city. Our laws firmly state that all loss pertaining to livestock are the responsibility of the owner."
The miller smiled until Areck continued. "However, Miller Sanderson, you were following much too closely and you're lucky this mule didn't aim for . . . more precious cargo."
The miller opened his mouth, but Areck held up his hand for silence. He turned to face the baker. "You were also traveling too close, sir. If you follow the by-laws of our city, you know that it is your duty to both cover your wares and keep your own cart more than one full length behind another. Thus I determine that the fault in this matter belongs to each of you."
"But, my lord, you cannot . . .!" The baker and miller began to argue, disgruntled scowls on their aged faces.
"As I have already said, it is the law to keep your livestock under control to keep a proper distance, and to keep all fresh wares covered. As an officer of this gate, I could charge all three of you the clean-up cost, a ten-silver penalty for following too close, and another penalty7 for not following proper etiquette when entering the city," Areck said, letting the threat hang.
Mouths snapped shut.
"Each of you has lost valuable supplies this morning," Areck said. "And I know none of you want to argue my decision, am I correct?"
Areck could tell the baker had misjudged the situation and was wishing that he had never asked for a knighdy sentence. There was an uncertain look on the peasant's dirt-stained face. It was well known that by asking for a customs officer's aid the men were bound by whatever decision was made, even if that decision was profitable for no one.
"Since the greatest faith comes from loss," Areck began confidendy, "and since there seems to be loss on all sides, I wish to offer a benefit to each of you."
All three men were practical merchants and dropped their gaze to the ground, knowing well that the day's loss would be less than compounded gate penalties.
"Sir," Areck said, nodding towards the baker, "I am of the opinion that to produce your goods you need a reliable supplier of flour?" The baker nodded solemnly. "Would I also be correct in assuming that you come to Aresleigh each morning to deliver your goods to more than just Lord Ebony? If so, is it possible that you seek a means of transportation both to and from your place of business?"
"Yes, my lord," replied the baker. "Miller White died last summer and I have no constant supplier. And, as you can see by my being here, my search for a good laborer to haul the product has been less than fruitful."
"You, sir," Areck pointed to the peasant who owned the mule. "When you come through these gates each dawn your cart is barren. There isn't an abundance of work for laborers this time of year, am I correct?" The peasant bobbed his head excitedly. "This man needs a man with a strong back, able to pick up resources each dawn, bring them to his bakery, then deliver fresh wares back into the market."
Miller Sanderson began to protest then gave the idea some thought. The squire had managed to keep the baker supplied with flour, possibly give the contract to the miller, while ensuring that it was logistically possible to get supplies to and from the market each day.
"Milord, I see where ye's goin' with dis fine suggestion," the miller piped in. "I would definitely be willin' to assist 'dis fine gentleman 'ere by sup-plyin' him 'igh quality flour at the lowest possible prices. Not to mention, I also need me a laborer to 'aul flour into the city."
"I dunno what ta say! Me Betsy be da finest pack animal in 'ere Aresleigh!" The peasant was overcome with emotion, his skinny frame bobbing with excitement. "I had come ta sell 'er off today, times bein' so rough 'dese last months. If dese 'ere gentlemen will 'ave me, I can haul deir supplies for 'em!"
And people say that suffering has no part in the eyes of God. Areck chuckled to himself, remembering the old adage. Only in suffering can we see the greatest miracles . . .
The insistent drumming of words broke him out of his reverie. "My lord?"
"My lord, are you all right?" The three merchants looked concerned.
Areck nodded his head in embarrassment. He silendy scolded himself for daydreaming on the job.
"My lord," the baker began, "We spoke while you were . . . uh . . . locked in thought. With your permission, your words are agreeable and we wish to clean up so that we may discuss the matter fully."
"I wish you a good afternoon, gentlemen," Areck said, saluting. "May Starsgalt's blessing continue to shine on each of you."
With a curt nod, Areck bowed and returned to the gatehouse. When he looked back, the merchants had cleaned what mess there was, moved their carts to the side, and were walking toward the Twisted Oak Inn.
Areck smiled at a job well done. It was just one of the many small miracles he saw each day.
Lord Silvershield was still sitting when Areck approached him. Areck guessed that his commander wanted to see how he dealt with the situation. Though he could not be sure, Areck thought his elder knight had an uncommon smile of pride—a thought he quickly shook away. A squire's superior did not encourage unnecessary actions or manipulation to appease peasants. Areck remembered his professors lecturing on how to keep strict order at a gatehouse, especially during the morning, so traffic could flow along efficiently.
Lord Silvershield stood and approached his squire. He slapped Areck on the back and laughed. "I cannot think of a young man more deserving than you, lad. You have an ingenious mind!"
Areck frowned uncertainly. He didn't understand what his superior found so funny about the situation.
"You have served under my badge for five years now and you continue to amaze me," Lord Silvershield said, still chuckling. The knight-captain had been with Areck long enough to understand his squire's modest nature.
Areck nodded, not knowing if this was a reprimand or a critique of his decision-making.
"Stop looking so dour, Areck," the knight-captain said. "Every day I watch you sort through issues such as this. I am continually astounded that a man with the tongue of a noble remains in the service of the Academy, as you do."
Areck gawked at his commanding officer. What would the other squires think if they heard such talk? The thought made his face redden in a fit of embarrassment. Lord Silvershield chuckled again.
"The point is, you will make a fine knight, lad," Lord Silvershield said with a beaming smile. "It is to your credit that you do not always turn to steel to mete out justice. Compassion will one day make you a great leader. It is because of your sense of justice and honor that I will be proud to sponsor you next year."
Areck tried to contain his excitement. A sponsorship into the knighthood! The young squire knew many who did not think he belonged in the Bre'Dmorian ranks, and Areck was comforted by the support of his mentor.
He was jarred from his excitement by an avuncular blow to his right shoulder. "Well, lad, enough of this old man's ramblings; it's time to get back to work. Those three set us back quite a bit this morning," Lord Silvershield said as he strode away.
Areck looked out the gates, saw the milling throng of people trying to enter the city, and knew Knight-Captain Silvershield was right. His interference with the merchants had held up the entire line. Areck frowned in concentration as he followed the commander through the gates and began issuing commands.
As the eldest squire assigned to the eastern gates, Areck was responsible for the small force of squires and guardsmen that manned the colossal en-tryway. Lords Silvershield and Umberton determined the daily routine and let their sub officers run the show. It was beneath a knight of the crown to directly partake in such affairs. Therefore it was no surprise that Lord Silvershield walked past several more arguing merchants into the gatehouse, and sat down to play chess with his counterpart.
"Derrick! Choal!" Areck shouted towards a pair of guardsmen surrounded by a group of people pushing their way to the front of the line. "Calm those people down! We'll be accommodating their needs within the hour.
"Squires Wolfer and Krys, get out there and reform those lines!" Are
ck called, pointing to a second group of unruly peasants. "The rest of you, help me sort through the people who have been waiting patiently; it's time we get these masses moving again!"
The squires and guardsmen snapped to attention and waded into the frenzy of people. Upon seeing Brc'Dmorian colors, the crowd eased a bit.
Areck guessed that it would take the rest of the day to reform the throng of peasants into proper lines. Putting his head down, Areck of Brenly went to work.
****
It was mid-afternoon when Areck first noticed the plume of dust approaching from the east. Though he could not see the source, he guessed it was a fast approaching rider.
Tbey must be traveling at a full gallop to create such a cloud, Areck thought, his eyes following the King's Road, which connected Aresleigh to Natalinople.
Areck guessed that the rider was still several minutes away. He pulled a man-at-arms aside and asked that he alert Lord Silvershield to the situation. Whoever was in such a hurry would require a commander's approval for quick process. The guardsman bolted inside the gatehouse where the two knights sat at their game of chess. In the meantime, Areck turned back to a woman bent with age, bearing mugroot—a vile component consistently used by the Arcane Institute.
As Areck pulled the soft leather cover from the cart, a sulfurous smell wafted out so strong it made his eyes water. Areck flung the cover back over the product without further investigation. He had heard the rumors, that the herb's oily residue wouldn't come off the body for days, making the unlucky victim smell like rotten eggs. Deciding that there were no illegal wares in the cart, Areck hurried the old woman through the gates and into the city, hoping never to smell that noxious scent again.
He turned to find Lord Silvershield and Lord Umberton exiting the officer's quarters, looking to the east.
The rider drew close enough to exhibit the royal colors: dark blue livery trimmed with silver, a golden dragon emblazoned on both tunic and cape. The royal courier reigned in an exhausted black thoroughbred and maneuvered through the throng of people. The man's cloak was heavy with dust, his once elegant clothing bedraggled and dirty-.
