Kemora Quickfeet, well aware of the familiar red-haired human following from a distance, wanted to curse her luck over the tireless pursuer. She thought the poison had finished things. The rogue needed to be on board the Doranil Star without delay. It would not do to be delayed by a fight or show up at the guild looking like she had just been in a struggle. Watching the red hair moving among the crowd behind her, Kemora figured she had only two things going for her. The first was that Montanya hadn’t made an aggressive move against her yet, and likely wouldn’t act too quickly as long as she didn’t realize she had been spotted. Second, the chiaso likely didn’t know Kemora’s destination. As long as the halfling didn’t act too suspicious, and made her path next to the wizard guild seem random, it might be possible to get into the guild before Montanya caused a public outburst.
Montanya’s intent focus indeed kept her unaware of her proximity to several important landmarks. Her old instructor would have chided her for her blind determination. The chiaso believed she hadn’t been spotted as she allowed the halfling to walk a good distance ahead. Montanya knew it might be folly to confront the thief in public. She hoped to follow the rogue to some quieter place where she might take her down by surprise and expose her deception. The human was still mindful of the poisoned stiletto. While she might have survived the first attack, she had to be ready for a similar lethal attack if she allowed the halfling to be forewarned of her presence.
Her narrowed mind barely registered all the people entering the castle of the Brotherhood of the Circles. Kemora looked like she might walk past the impressive structure on the opposite side of the street. Montanya realized her mistake too late, as the halfling in human disguise suddenly turned hard and went right for the front door. Montanya took a few jogging steps forward before changing her mind and lurching to a stop. Kemora showed an invitation to the door guard. Anything the chiaso attempted against the rogue now would be in a crowded street under the eyes of numerous guards.
Montanya’s greenish-blue eyes abandoned her scowl as they widened in alarm. The guard waved Kemora past, but the disguised halfling turned and pointed down the street at her pursuer. The guard motioned for a second constable to join him, and they called out for the leather-clad woman to approach for a few questions.
Montanya wasn’t about to stick around and see what they wanted to ask. She could have tried to explain her story, but she doubted they would take her word for it. The chiaso bolted with the two guards in chain mail running after her. Fleet of foot as she was, she didn’t have to run far before they gave up their chase.
With the pursuit gone, she took a circling route which ended up aiming her back towards the castle. She had time to recall the stories on the streets related to some festivities going on at the guild. Montanya didn’t hear all the details as much as rumors but it dawned on her that the halfling may have grabbed that disguise for just this occasion. What mischief was the little rogue planning? What could happen if Montanya was the only one who knew about her, but did nothing? It was never as much a priority in Montanya’s mind of simply trying to warn anyone; the woman wanted to personally stop the rogue and be a hero in her own eyes.
When she arrived at a back wall of the estate, away from most eyes, she determined to commit to a rash action. There was an oddly built section of wall which offered her a place to climb by squeezing against two nearly opposing surfaces. Montanya put most of her loose belongings into the bedroll tied around her torso. She withdrew a set of leather gloves and slippers used exclusively for grip. She prepared to retie her hair, when she paused to consider the torn pink fabric. The nineteen-year-old silently considered that precious reminder of her parents, murdered so long ago. Pausing to feel the fabric against her face once more, she then resumed her task. She tied her long, red hair into a bun and secured it with that strip from her mother’s dress.
She had been trained to scale surfaces with few handholds, yet this was her toughest challenge ever. Her mind convinced her body this was just another exercise in a life of physical training. Montanya started crawling up the wall, squeezing herself between the turn of stone. Lithe and muscular, she grunted as every effort pulled her closer to the top. Her body had very little fat to carry, between her life of hard training and her recent days of starvation. Rising out of the shadows, the chiaso came to appreciate the leather gloves more as she got to a portion of sun-baked stone. The heat of the wall could be felt through the animal skin. She told herself that stopping or falling was not an option. Part of her mind worried that if she fell and survived, she would only fall further the rest of her life until she died a nameless young woman in some deserted building. She tried to bury all her fears that her life might be destined to come to a bad end. Loose granules of stone stung her eyes and sometimes her hands or feet would slip a bit, but she kept climbing. Montanya gritted her teeth as she pushed herself ever higher. She never looked down. She could never look behind her, this day or any other day in her life.
Montanya gasped for air when her hands caught the top. The young chiaso flipped over the wall and landed on a walkway running along the inside. It was lucky for her that no sentries walked the walls. In a wizard guild, they generally didn’t worry about intruders scaling the walls as much as those who might fly out of the sky.
The sight of the Doranil Star, parked on dry stone pillars far from any body of water, amazed her. The woman was no judge of ships yet she realized the impressive size of the vessel. Upon seeing the crowds of people boarding the ship, she knew the halfling rogue must be headed there as well.
Montanya had to get aboard, but how?
Her means came in the shape of one of a number of ropes hanging down to the ground. While most people boarded the ship from the starboard side, the port side was being used to continue loading last minute provisions and baggage to the observation deck. Most of the people working that side had moved forward, leaving a few aft ropes hanging unattended.
Montanya didn’t hesitate, though she faced another tough climb. The woman walked across the yard like she had every reason to be there. She reflected on a saying of her master, that sometimes the most obvious place to hide something is out in the open. Montanya moved like she had a purpose, hoping to blend in with all the ground help. When she thought she could be reasonably sure that no one was looking, she grabbed the nearest rope and began hauling herself up.
* * * * *
With the young apprentice dismissed, Jentan Mollamos stood alone inside his cabin. The mentalist rearranged his bags from where the student had set them. The bags weren’t very heavy and in truth the mage often used smaller bags to carry magically shrunken clothes. He could have easily carried his belongings himself, but why should he when there was an apprentice to berate?
Jentan Mollamos cast a look about his quarters, insuring that he was indeed alone. The room had a large wardrobe closet, which seemed a necessity for the number of outfits he carried for occasions. A porthole let in light from one side of the vessel. Even with the window he had privacy, for there were no walkways outside of the hull at the first sublevel. Above him was the top deck, often called the sundeck, while below his level was the open observation deck.
The well-provisioned room stocked oil lamps and candles for illumination. The solitary bed hid under a deep layer of soft blankets. The bed would have been generous enough for two people; yet unknown to Jentan’s guildmates there would be four sharing this room. A work desk against the wall near the porthole offered inkwells, paper and quills. A wooden carving hung upon one wall. It was in the shape of a shield, with two open, outstretched palms prominent on it. This was one of the holy symbols of Ganden, the God of Honor, Duty, Service…and thus not an unusual decoration.
Jentan idly wondered over the whereabouts of his escort for the journey. He expected Kemora to arrive first, under human guise and with his personal invitation. Instead he found himself alone in his quarters, except for the two companions he “carried” with him.
From out of o
ne of his pockets he withdrew two small figurines, finely detailed though carved from clay. There were arcane methods to cast a spell which locked a living animal into figurine form, whereupon it would rest in stasis, untouched and unaware of the passage of time. The spell woven here was entirely more complex. It took a greater effort and cost to weave arcana in a way which would do the same for beings of higher intelligence.
In his hands sat two small figurines carved in a very good likeness of Revwar and Savannah…except the resemblance was more than just coincidence. The safest, most reasonable way to sneak the two on board the ship involved locking them in that same stasis, hidden in Jentan’s pouches. The mentalist had walked right past Korrelothar with the elder mage having no clue that two highly wanted suspects were helpless and within an arm’s reach.
Jentan favored arcana relating to the mind for one reason: he liked to control others. To the middle-aged human, the most appealing aspect of his art was to make others do his bidding. He felt a rush of power just holding the helpless figurines of his cohorts in his hands. While in that state they could not free themselves of their own will, or have awareness of anything of their surroundings. If the mentalist so desired, he could spend the rest of his life using the powerful wizard and cleric of DeLaris as pieces on a chess board. Such feelings intoxicated him.
Although Jentan Mollamos relished those thoughts of control, he stood more to gain by going through with their plans. If their band succeeded, the known world would bow at their feet. Anything left of the races after the new conflict would be forced to obey their commands or die. Two goddesses blessed the endeavor, and would be rewarding him well for his part. He would gain much with the help of these allies.
The human mage paused before undoing the enchantment trapping them in figurine form. His eyes glided over Savannah’s curves. The figurine wore her customary holy armor. For all his control over people, he had not yet conquered the woman in bed. There existed no love or any respectful reason for his need to bed the cleric, only a means by which to control a companion. Savannah represented another prize for conquest. The mentalist smiled a cold smile, gently rubbing the tips of his thumb over the clay figurine’s ample chest curves. He might be forced to wait a long time before she allowed him to her bed, but at least he had been able to take advantage of this one moment to touch her in a place that would normally bring about swift punishment.
With a sad sigh he placed the figurines on the floor, a few paces apart. It was time to end his self-delusion. The words of an arcane mantra rolled forth from his handsome stature, coalescing into a mist that shrouded the two figurines. A burst of wind blew outward as the small objects expanded into human size.
Revwar and Savannah stood there in the flesh, slightly lightheaded from the whole experience. The blonde cleric steadied herself against the wardrobe, while the elvish wizard stretched and flexed. The two looked about the cabin to orient themselves.
Mollamos assumed his charming grin. “Welcome to Doranil Star. As one of your hosts I hope you enjoy your stay.”
* * * * *
“Cast off!”
The voices shouted from below. Trestan and Cat had not wanted to rush to their cabin when there was precious little space at the railing. Still carrying their bags, the companions packed against the starboard rail to view the castle they were leaving behind. A mass of people lingered around the docking platform to see them off, watching loved ones and acquaintances ascend to the sky. Members of the wizard guild, old and young, smiled in anticipation of seeing the vessel make its flight. Several clerics and acolytes of the church of Ganden also remained behind, though for the most part their arms and mouths moved in prayer for glory of their god. Many noble family members or servants in their entourage waved brightly colored scarves at their departing lords and ladies.
Color and sound filled the air, yet the quiet, unmoving presence of the divine chariot commanded all the attention. Trestan and Cat waved back at richly dressed people who might normally turn their nose up at them on the streets. In the yard below, ropes dropped or reeled back up to the ship. The boarding stairs slid away from the ship as mages of the Brotherhood of the Circles used spells to guide the action.
Trestan glanced around. He saw Korrelothar standing at the bow of the ship amongst important nobles. Amidships at the helm castle, he saw a cleric talking with members of the wizard guild. That group nodded and smiled, making arm motions that seemed to indicate things would be underway anytime. He held tightly to Cat. They shared a brief kiss over the moment. Lindon wasn’t even noticed as the minstrel squeezed past them heading for the stern. The red-bearded musician heard the song of the ship playing across his mind as he carried his mandolin along the railing.
Sondra stood in the holy center of the ship, watching the Chosen. She could not see the excitement from outside, though the shouting could be heard. The Chosen sat in a wide circle around a cauldron of holy water. Submerged within the cauldron were the sacred holy items that would help channel the needed power. One cleric sat facing a complex set of instruments on one wall. The instruments connected with the steering wheel and other levers on the helm castle. Near this cleric’s head a pipe carried voice commands to and from the helm. Orders and directions for flight would come down from the helm above, and this cleric would be the focus that would combine the efforts of prayer into the necessary actions of flight. The Chosen sat upon comfortable cushions, but the rest of the floor and walls were bare wood. A few incense candles burned along with gold-gilded oil lamps.
Something on the instrument panel changed, and words were spoken through the voice pipe. The word for flight was given.
The Chosen raised their voices in prayer, reciting mantras of their faith in complete unison. The words wrapped around the deck until they were part of it. Sondra could feel the vessel vibrate as it came alive. She felt movement that could not be seen. Sondra felt a little heavier as the deck initially rose, just as Mother Evine had told her she would. It rose slow and smoothly. If Sondra had any doubt that the ship was lifting off of the stone pillars, she had only to listen to the noise outside as people cheered louder.
She ran a hand through her wheat-blonde hair as she smiled. She whispered under her breath, so as not to disrupt the harmony of voices around her. “Praise be to Ganden!”
As the vessel lifted a few feet over its stone supports, people were struck opposing reactions. Some became silenced with awe that the large ship was actually taking to flight. Most cheered in thunderous volumes out of excitement. People standing blocks away from the castle stopped what they were doing to witness if the craft was finally rising over the city. Many on the streets who could only see the masts draped with the sunscreen canopy gasped as they saw movement. The last divine chariot enamored the hearts of the local people. Everything stopped as crowds pointed skywards.
Kemora entered Jentan’s suite without warning. The halfling in human disguise still held her unconcerned poker face despite the wands and spells that nearly blasted her unexpected entry. Savannah, Jentan, and Revwar relaxed after recognizing their partner, resuming a crowded view through the one small window. Kemora got through the door and shut it quickly, not wanting anyone outside to have a glimpse of the uninvited elf wizard or the armored cleric of DeLaris. The rogue threw her bags down and removed her magical mask, resuming her true form.
“Sorry for the delay,” she offered, “That red-haired wench from the streets happened across me again but I lost her.”
The other three offered mumbles in reply as they continued to crowd the small window. The rogue asked, “Am I missing anything interesting?”
A chorus of unimpressed “nay” came back at her. Kemora huffed over the mages and cleric refusing to show interest in the rare vessel, despite having their attention glued to the porthole.
Elsewhere, Montanya felt a rush of emotion as she felt the vessel lift upwards, but it was more akin to a sinking despair. The initial lift of the vessel almost sent her toppling as she felt a su
dden weakness in the knees. Scared, she cracked open the supply room door where she hid, sneaking a view of the crowd at the rail of the observation deck. Everyone’s back was to her as they watched the towering spires of the wizard guild sink below. Montanya gasped as she saw the highest pinnacle banner from the loftiest castle tower drop out of sight. Somehow she was floating in this great vessel up in the sky! What had she gotten herself into?
Trestan hollered in excitement as he watched the world fall away from them. Cat continued waving to the dots on the ground below. The two companions had experienced flight before, but it still exhilarated them. In the back of his mind Trestan felt mortified at what would happen if the vessel suddenly fell, yet for some reason his body turned that feeling into excited verbal exclamations to prove he was still alive.
Lindon had the best view of the retreating castle as he stood near the stern. The crowd had parted for him as his fingers danced on mandolin strings. The minstrel could see the Highwater district on the horizon. As he played, he recalled how his talent and the gift of Korrelothar’s bamboo flute had taken him so far into a new world. He wondered if the other unfortunate residents of Highwater could hear his notes from this lofty perch and know that someone had succeeded in aspiring to a better life. Regardless of his recollections the minstrel focused on the moment. The music of the divine chariot expressed itself through his tones. The mantras coursing through the decks seemed accentuated with the minstrel as Lindon hummed along their tune. The people were caught up in the moment, and Lindon helped to give that moment a voice of its own in melody.
Korrelothar made his way through the press of the crowd to the helm castle. He approved their course towards the ocean as they flew low enough that the nobility could make out their individual keeps among the rooftops below. The passengers enjoyed an unobstructed view of Orlaun in its grand entirety. White masts dotted the sea blue harbor. Westward they could see expanses of farmland interrupted by roads and minor holdings. The great aqueduct system could be seen running in a maze around the city, as well as its origins drawing a line into the northern mountains.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 21
