by J. J. Newman
Elias walked through his living room into his kitchen and cut himself a slice of day old bread and some hard cheese, poured himself a tankard of ale and went back into his sitting room to eat. The room was furnished by two large cushioned chairs facing his hearth, and little else. Elias lived alone, and company was rare. He didn’t need much.
After his meal was finished he took a moment to wash the dishes he had just used, and then glanced out the window. The snow had stopped, but the leaden sky and frosty windows hinted at an intense cold outside. He strapped on a heavy brown leather jacket, a cloak and gloves lined with bear fur, both brown as well. He put on his heavy black boots, pulled his hood up and left his house.
Despite his warm clothing, the cold air stole his breath away and made his bones ache. City maintainers had cleared much of the snow from the streets, piling in up in large white hills against the buildings. Alleyways were blocked off, and Elias wondered idly how many homeless people would find that those alleys had become their tombs.
Evening was just beginning, and people still walked the cold streets, though in far fewer numbers than usual. Those out in the streets were only there because they had to be and did not linger long.
Elias paused for a moment, and then continued to walk when he saw what looked like a well to do man being followed by an obviously homeless man. The homeless man looked cold and desperate, and clearly sensed the means to a night at an inn awaiting him in the rich man’s purse. It was obvious to Elias what was about to happen. Elias quickened his pace, and before long he was one step behind the homeless man.
The rich man was still unaware that he had become prey, and Elias watched the homeless man closely, on the off chance that he had been mistaken. He had not. The homeless man reached into his pocket and produced a small knife. Before he could attack the rich man, Elias put a hand on his shoulder. The homeless man jumped in surprise and spun to face Elias, trying to conceal his weapon in the tattered sleeve of his thin, useless coat.
“Cold night, isn’t it?” Elias asked cheerfully.
The man looked nervous, his eyes darting around. He also looked desperate and miserable. “Yeah. Freezing.” The man’s teeth were clicking together so hard from the cold that Elias thought he might bite off his tongue.
Elias looked up into the sky, and sighed heavily. “It’s funny what something as simple as cold can do to a man. You don’t think about it much until it happens.”
The man eyed Elias suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“Rich or poor, the cold can get the best of both. We’re all the same when it comes to the cold, we all feel it. You’re not dressed for the weather, friend, so you feel it harder than most.”
The man nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s killing me.”
“You’re not wrong there. It’s the kind of thing that can really get into your head, isn’t it?” Elias gave the man a meaningful look. “It can even make good men do something terrible, even if they don’t want to, just for the chance to get warm and live another day, whether it lands him inside an inn or a cell.”
The homeless man’s eyes filled with shame and tears. “I’m just so cold. I...I didn’t mean to...I just...what are you going to do?” The man was freezing to death right in front of Elias’ eyes, not even attempting to deny what he had been about to do.
Elias removed his fur cloak and handed it to the man. “Take it.”
The man stared at Elias in shock. “But what about you?” he asked.
Elias smiled at the man reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, I’m headed somewhere nice and warm,” Elias produced a gold coin from his purse and gave it to the man, “You should too.”
The man began to cry softly, his lips pursing as he tried in vain to stem the flow of freezing tears. The man seemed to try and find words to express his gratitude, but all he could say was “Thank you.”
“Don’t drink it all away and that should get you through the worst nights. Be well.”
Elias walked away without another word. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved in that mugging, that was not his life anymore. But he had sensed that the man was not your typical murderer, just a sad man in a cold and desperate place.
Elias quickened his pace, wanting to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. His coat was thick, but not thick enough. Every time he passed a shop he considered stopping in to purchase a new cloak, but he didn’t think he could force himself to come back out into this weather again after getting inside someplace warm, and he doubted the shop owner would be happy to let him spend the night.
His brisk pace helped to generate enough heat to see him arrive alive at his destination, though chilled to the bone and feeling half-dead. Elias opened the door without bothering to knock, and entered the clinic. Tyrier met him on the other side of the door.
“You idiot. Where the hell is your cloak?” Tyrier asked as Elias entered and swiftly closed the door behind him.
“Forgot it,” Elias replied.
Tyrier sighed, and shook his head. “I take it you got my letter?” he asked.
“No, I thought it would be a nice night to take a walk,” Elias replied sarcastically. He removed his boots. “How did it happen?” He asked softly.
“He just got old, Elias,” Tyrier replied sadly.
Elias nodded, not sure of what he should say, and feeling slightly awkward.
“Come on. Let’s get you by the fire. We’ll have a few mugs of warm ale and talk about father. Give him a proper Sydarin send off.”
Elias nodded again, and followed his older brother into the sitting room. Together, the Sydarin men honored their father in the only way they knew how. Tyrier, with boisterous stories of their father’s life, and Elias, with rapt attention and noncommittal silence.
Chapter Fourteen
Succubus
The man had white hair and was walking the opposite direction down the street than Tsaeris, and their paths would soon intersect before they passed each. Tsaeris recognized small details about the man even from the fifty or so yards that separated them. The man had angular features, and stark white hair. A Turindiel. A Tundra Elf. He hadn’t seen an elf since he had met Nerindar three years before.
As the distance shrank between the two, the Turindiel locked his eyes on Tsaeris’. The elf was older and had weathered, yet wise features. He gave Tsaeris a wide grin as he passed, but the smile did not reach his eyes. The grin seemed almost unfriendly, even manic, and left Tsaeris feeling uneasy. He turned around to look at the elf for a long time after he had passed, but the Turindiel did not look back. Tsaeris watched him until he faded from view then continued on, feeling the knot in his stomach slowly becoming undone.
The day was bright and the weather fair compared to the cold snap that had dominated the last two days. It was still cold outside, but it was no longer unbearable. Since the storm that had heralded the coming of winter, there had been little new snow, and the streets were filled with people. The City was starting to adapt to the cold.
A thin cake of snow covered the street and was stained a color somewhere between yellow and brown, a result of uncleaned frozen horse waste and mud. At least Tsaeris assumed some of it must have been mud. Despite the color, the sun still reflected fiercely off the snow and it made Tsaeris’ head and eye ache. He was really not a day person.
He reached the brothel where Cyra worked, and pushed through the door. The room was warm, and the air was filled with a miasma of pipe smoke; a staple of inns, brothels and taverns the world over. Not wanting to spit in the face of tradition, Tsaeris immediately fumbled for his own pipe and tobacco pouch from his belt. Before long he was adding large clouds of blue-gray smoke to the already smoky interior.
Things had gotten off to a rocky start between Tsaeris and Cyra when he had finally emerged from his three years below ground. Cyra seemed to take his years of not contacting her personally. It took him a week or two to win her over again.
The brothel was packed with people, as all places that of
fered both fire and booze were in the winter. Tsaeris looked in vain for an empty table, but gave up and took a stool at the bar. He ordered a shot of whiskey and an ale from the portly and angry looking woman manning the bar, and waited. Casually, he poured the contents of the shot glass into the tankard of ale. The woman and other patrons manning the stools all made disgusted faces at him. Tsaeris only shrugged in response, and took a long pull.
Before long, he saw Cyra come down the stairs holding the hand of an older gentleman. She smiled and flirted and the old man smiled with the few teeth he had left, and quickly exited the inn. The man looked very happy to Tsaeris.
Cyra noticed him at the bar after a few seconds. It always amazed him that no matter how full the place was, or where he was sitting, she always located him almost instantly. His hair and ears were even covered by a long leather cap. The woman must be a witch.
She didn’t come to him immediately. She walked over to speak with one of the servers. Tsaeris stared at the server for a second, wondering what he was looking at. It was shaped like a man, but had tough looking green skin, no hair and had two small tusks protruding from its mouth. He was an Orc, Tsaeris realized.
Tsaeris had never seen an Orc before, but he knew of them. He remembered what Elias had told him a year or so ago during one of the many ‘Boring Tavern Lectures’, as Tsaeris had come to calling them. They were always long and sleep inducing conversations, with Elias speaking like an old teacher who felt that everyone should be as interested in history as he.
“The Orcs were a tribal people,” he had told Tsaeris. “Peaceful for the most part, though sometimes their tribes would war with each other over territories. Years ago, when city Rangers had first discovered these people, they were terrified. They looked like monsters. The Orcs were welcoming to the Rangers, however, and they spent quite a bit of time with them. The Rangers came to the conclusion that the Orcs were a people near extinction, likely having been out competed by humans and other races. There were only several thousand left spread out in fifty tribes. They took news of their findings back to The City. The King and his council decided that the Orcs needed their protection.”
Elias had paused for dramatic effect, and looked Tsaeris in the eye. “He sent out an army. They spread out and gathered up each tribe of the Orcan people. The Orcs attempted to fight at first, but they were outnumbered, and at a technological disadvantage. There were taken back to the City, and forced to work for the king. They were not paid, of course. The King fed them, and, as far as he was concerned, he had saved their lives. They should be glad to work for the King, happy to do menial work. They owed The City everything.”
Elias had paused again for dramatic effect, and Tsaeris remembered sitting at the tavern table struggling not to appear bored and tired.
“Eventually the King decided he didn’t want to pay to feed them anymore, and that he didn’t really need that many Orc laborers. So he figured why not sell some of the Orcs to other nobles, and rich merchants? Surely they could use their service. And the enslavement of the Orcan people began, and continues to this day. Orcs are bought and sold, never earning for themselves. They are treated as simple merchandise. Yes, slavery is illegal in the City, but Orcs aren’t considered people, or slaves. They are simply pulling their own weight to be allowed to live among us. That’s the lie these people tell themselves to keep their conscience nice and clean.”
Tsaeris shuddered at the memory of the lecture, but was rather impressed with himself that he had remembered it. He realized suddenly that he had been staring at the Orc, and the Orc was staring right back. Cyra was giving him an angry look. Tsaeris looked away awkwardly, and sipped at his drink.
Cyra came over to him finally, and gave him a small punch to the shoulder. “You shouldn’t stare like that,” she said sharply.
“I wasn’t staring, I was thinking. He just happened to enter my field of view,” Tsaeris replied.
“I’m sure,” Cyra said, clearly not believing him, but not wanting to argue it.
“Since when has the brothel taken to slavery?” Tsaeris asked.
“It’s called indentured service,” Cyra replied.
“You can call a lion a kitty if you want, but I’m still not bringing it into my house.”
“What does that even mean?” Cyra said irritably.
“Call it indentured service, or whatever you like. Slavery is slavery. You can’t make it nice by changing the word, Cy.”
“Fine, call it slavery. It’s not like it’s my fault, you know,” Cyra replied.
“I know. Sorry I brought it up.” Tsaeris could see that Cyra wanted to say something to him, probably not something very nice, but she seemed to think better of it.
“You’re here early,” She said instead.
“Yeah. Haven’t seen you in a few days, and the nights have been busy. Figured I’d stop by while I had the chance. You working all day?” he asked.
“I’m switching to drink service now. The place is busy, and we need extra hands on the floor. I can’t really talk for long. When can you get a night off? Can’t be much work to do in this kind of weather.”
As a member of the Third Eye Initiative, Tsaeris was given a cover job. It gave him an excuse to be gone for days at a time without raising suspicions. As far as Cyra knew, Tsaeris worked at Sydarin Shipyards as a builder, which Elias and Tyrier had inherited from their father. As the most successful ship building company in Arindine, and absolute authority of the Ship Builders Guild, Tsaeris figured Elias and Tyrier must be a hell of a lot richer than they looked. Unfortunately, Tsaeris was actually required to work at the shipyard from time to time. It was hard and physical work, and Tsaeris was did not particularly enjoy it.
“You’d be surprised. It takes a lot of work to make sure the winter weather doesn’t damage the partially completed ships. But I might be able to get a night off soon. I’ll let you know when.”
Cyra nodded, and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I need to get back to work. Come back soon and let me know what’s going on, alright?”
Tsaeris nodded, and Cyra went back to work. Tsaeris finished his drink, and then wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. He had been hoping to spend some time with Cyra, but that was a bust. He guessed he would seek out Elias and see there was any work for him to do.
***
Tsaeris found Elias at the Tarnished Tankard. He was seated with two others. One was a man who looked to be in his thirties, who had green eyes, pale skin, and brown hair. His name was Agent Telyn, and Tsaeris liked the well groomed man, even if he did find him rather boring. The other was a woman that Tsaeris didn’t recognize.
Elias beckoned him over. Tsaeris walked to the table and sat beside Telyn who was sitting opposite Elias. The woman sat beside Elias.
“Good timing. Was just about to send for you,” Elias greeted.
“Well here I am. What’s going on? Who’s she?” Tsaeris asked, pointing to the woman.
“This is Agent Niivi.”
Tsaeris couldn’t take his eyes off of Niivi. Her hair was long and silky black, her ears holding most of it from her face, all save for two long strands of bangs that seemed manufactured to accentuate her milky white skin. Her features were fair and very beautiful. Her body was well toned and even sitting there she exuded an aura of strength. She looked to be about Tsaeris’ age, maybe a few years older. Tsaeris knew he was staring, but couldn’t pull his gaze away. It made it harder when he realized that she was smiling almost shyly at him. He gripped his knees tightly under the table.
He was sure he would have kept staring at her for a long time, had Elias not snapped two annoying fingers in front of his face.
“Right here, Tsaeris. Do you see me?” Elias sound sharply.
“Huh? What?” Tsaeris said dumbly.
“Put it back in your pants, boy. We’ve got work to do.” Tsaeris’ face turned bright red at that, and he looked down at the table.
After waiting a moment to make sure he
had things under control, Elias began talking. “A big event is coming to The City tomorrow. The Tundra Elves are allying with The City. It’ll be a public event in Market Square, and will be the first interracial alliance since the dwarves centuries ago.”
“You expect trouble,” Telyn said. It was not a question, and it was spoken without inflection or emotion. It was a simple statement of fact. Tsaeris was sure from previous meetings that Telyn possessed almost no personality.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but the Purity Union seems almost up in arms about this alliance,” Niivi said. Tsaeris had almost been hoping that her voice would be awful and gravelly. It was not. It was soft, musical and also strong. He tried to ignore it.
“What the hell is the Purity Union?” Tsaeris asked.
Elias answered. “Racists. They formed a union of bigots and believe in human purity. An alliance with another race is something they would never accept. They already hate that dwarves are allied with us, but that happened far too long ago for them to influence. They do like how we treat Orcs, however. Guess you can’t win them all.”
“What do you expect to happen?” Tsaeris asked.
“Not sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Either way, we’re going to go to the event and keep our eyes out. Telyn is here because he’s the most observant person I know, and doesn’t miss much. And Niivi knows a lot about the Union. Makes for a decent team.”
“And why I am here?” Tsaeris wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, but was excited that he was included.
“Well, you’re here to learn, Novice,” Elias said.
