by Jeff Wilcox
A bulging sack of coins tied to a human merchant’s waist caught his eye, and just as suddenly, the purse was in his hands. He turned it over and peered inside, not bothering to count the silver and copper coins. Then, tugging on the man’s tunic, he looked innocently up into the taller creature’s eyes. “Excuse me, mister, but I think you dropped this back there.” He pointed over his shoulder as he offered the pouch back.
“Oh, my,” said the man, “did I? It does seem to come loose too easily. Thank you, son. Here, let me give you this pair of gloves. They’ll keep your hands safe and warm. Thanks again, and tell everyone who gave you those gloves.”
Distracted, Wild accepted the unwarranted gift and went on his way, turning the gloves over in his hands. Some corner of his mind made his hands turn the leather objects over and inspect them. They were of decent quality, but nothing special. He tucked them into his belt.
“Master Wild!” he heard, and he turned around, but Kaiyr was nowhere to be seen. Then Wild realized he had merely been remembering the events aboard the Flaring Nebula, and he heaved a sigh, knowing what he would hear next.
“What are you doing?” Kaiyr had demanded upon finding Wild standing over the corpse of a noblewoman, holding the dagger the blademaster had just seen the halfling plunge into her heart.
Wild had blinked and cocked his head. “What? I just found this dagger in her body. It’s rather nice, wouldn’t you agree?”
At the time, the group had not yet determined that Sayel’s ring was the cause of this. They had tied him up, but he had eventually gotten loose. Then, upon finding the halfling over another dead body, the blademaster nearly shrieked in frustration at his and Caineye’s inability to keep their troublesome companion subdued for long.
“Wild,” the blademaster had said, his voice deadly and forgoing his usual civility, “you will return to that room and allow us to bind you, or my soulblade will end you for what you have wrought here. I will not allow you to continue killing.”
Wild had shrugged, and even though he now knew that it was Sayel’s ring exerting its influence over him, because of the magical compulsion, he still felt as though his actions had been justified, thanks to the workings of Sayel’s ring. “I don’t see a problem with it, Master Kaiyr. After all, you killed thirty-six elven children, and none of us complained.”
Taking a break on a bench underneath one of the trees Ik’durel kept well-tended, Wild rubbed the back of his head. It didn’t hurt anymore except when he remembered the way the blademaster had lifted him into the air and slammed him against the wall. Again, Kaiyr’s words rang out in his head. “You. Will. Never. Speak. Of. That. Again. If you do, they will be the last words you utter.”
Sitting on the bench, Wild idly wondered what it would have felt like to be impaled on the elf’s soulblade. Would it be cold, like a steel weapon—and he had been on the receiving end of a few of those—or something else? The soulblade looked like it was made of glass, but Kaiyr assured him that it was something altogether different, from a higher plane of existence.
His ever-restless hands dug into his pockets and produced one of the spoils he had earned in the fight with Sayel—one of the spoils that had not had a part in coercing him into doing things he would never have otherwise been able to condone. It was an enormous, flawless emerald that shone with more light than merely that which it reflected. Nonetheless, Caineye had sensed only that it was somewhat magical and had given it to Wild upon the halfling’s request.
Turning it over in his hands, he marveled again at how, next to the tree, the morning sunlight did not strike its faceted surface, yet it still sparkled vibrantly.
Wild was not sufficiently distracted even by this, as his troubled thoughts kept returning to the events aboard the Flaring Nebula and the animosity he felt toward Kaiyr. Wrapping the gem tightly in one palm, Wild relished the bite of its sharp corners as he wished he could rid himself of such unwanted, unnatural feelings.
And then the strangest thing happened. As he sat there on the bench, Wild realized that he did not, in fact, hate Kaiyr. The insight struck him so profoundly that he was stunned into staring into nothingness for many long minutes, and he did not emerge from his trance until someone in the surging crowds on the street bumped against his knee and apologized.
Still dumbfounded, Wild opened his hand. A tiny bit of blood had begun to dry on his palm, and he wiped it off on a handkerchief he kept tucked under his vest. Of more interest was the emerald, which Wild scrutinized warily. One of the sparks of light he had previously counted in the gem had disappeared; it was a smaller one near one corner of the trilliant-cut, green stone. Its disappearance gave the gem a slightly off-balance look, but only if Wild searched for all the strangely luminous points of the gem.
It was not long thereafter that Wild found his legs carrying him through the streets of Ik’durel once more. Now, however, rather than being weighted by his dark and heavy thoughts, his steps were light and springy, and he bobbed along with a little tune on his lips. The sudden lifting of whatever force that had so pressed upon his mind he welcomed as ambrosia to his spirit, and he let himself enjoy the day. Various baubles, purses, and, in particular, rings, came and went in his deft, little hands. He wasn’t sure if he always managed to give the right belongings back to their original owners, but he supposed they shouldn’t mind switching up their accessories once in a while.
So it was that the halfling stopped at a street vendor for a noontime lunch in the shade of a tree so enormous that Wild supposed one could touch the clouds, were one so inclined to climb up to its highest boughs. He paid for three sticks of three roasted frogs each and circled the tree, which had been accorded its own city block, as he nibbled at his meal.
“How rare,” he muttered to himself. “What tree has a distinct front and back but this one?”
Sure enough, this tree, nearly fifty feet in diameter and sitting atop a two-story-tall bundle of roots more than twice as wide, had been accorded a front door by its inhabitants. “Of course,” Wild chortled to himself. “Why else would someone carve out a tree like this but to make a temple of Alduros Hol?” His eyes rose to the holy symbol of the god of nature, which had been grown into the bark over the double doors cut into the massive bundle of roots.
Wild could feel the budding flower of his curiosity growing inside him, and he knew he would be powerless to stop it. So, he didn’t. With a quick glance around at the scenery—noting that the spires of Arvanos’s temple, where Kaiyr was today, were visible over the first row of buildings across from this temple—he stuffed the last frog into his mouth, wiped his hands on his trousers, and adjusted his rings, making sure that only his new, magical ring and the one proclaiming his faith in Alduros Hol were present.
The keeper at the door, garbed in the plain, brown and gray robes of Alduros Hol’s clergy, leaned over to greet the newcomer. “Welcome, child, to our holy temple. Are you here to witness the serene and nurturing power of nature?”
Wild bowed in return and extended a hand in warm salutation. Chuckling, he nodded and gazed up at the temple as if he had been away from its beauty for far too long. “Yes, I am, dear brother. In fact, I come from afar to see my old home once again.”
The keeper glanced down at the ring on Wild’s hand and raised his eyebrows. “I… I see,” he stammered. “My apologies, Father…”
“Wild.”
“Father Wild. Please pardon my rudeness.” He took the halfling’s hand tentatively.
Wild shook his head even as he heartily pumped the robed man’s hand. “Brother, you were not rude; I should have introduced myself first. I cannot expect anyone here to remember me. After all, in my time here, I was only a petitioner. It was only after I left the city to witness the glories of nature with my own eyes and under the power of my own feet and faith that I came to a higher understanding of Alduros Hol’s ways.” He released the other man’s hand and stood with his fists on his hips. “Ah, this tree is as lovely as ever. Say, Brother…”
“Erik.”
“… Erik, might you be able to direct me to the head of this branch?” Wild asked, using a term he had once heard clerics of Alduros Hol use to refer to their temples and churches. “Although I am not planning to stay long in Ik’durel, I would dearly like to remain closer to the Warden than the stone buildings around us would otherwise permit.”
Erik nodded and bid Wild follow him inside. The halfling grinned inwardly at his cunning, but he soon found himself distracted by the temple. At least he had not been lying to the keeper when he had said the tree was beautiful, and it was as simple and elegant inside as it was outside.
The root structure upon which the tree sat had grown in such a way—and had perhaps been aided with more than a little magic—to produce room-like structures within the confines of its own grain. The tree-temple’s doors opened up into a floor made of the tree’s natural wood. As Erik led Wild across the heartwood, the halfling noted the several doors leading off to the sides of the collection of roots, as well as a grand door that likely led into a main gathering hall. Two staircases flanked this larger portal, and they led to a balcony and altar, and then beyond to the upper levels of the temple, mostly dormitories.
Brother Erik introduced Wild to Father Coëty, a man in his middle years but still very robust. He would have towered over both Kaiyr and Caineye, who were no saplings, and he wore a wide and welcoming smile beneath his finely-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard.
“Well met and be welcome here, Father Wild,” Coëty said, grasping the halfling’s hand in his big, warm palm. Wild gave his arm a shake, and the big man laughed at the halfling’s vitality. “That is quite the strong greeting you have there.”
Grinning back, Wild nodded. “It is. Thank you, Father Coëty, for your hospitality. As Brother Erik mentioned, I am planning to stay in Ik’durel for a short time. This temple is the one which long ago turned me toward the path of nature, and if there is any way I can give back to it, I would be glad to serve within its walls during my stay in the city.”
Coëty extricated himself from the halfling’s firm grasp and put a companionable hand around the short man’s shoulders, leading him down a hallway in the upper levels of the temple. “Perhaps, then, I might be able to find a place for you here. Pray tell me what kind of skills you have.”
Wild let the tall human lead him to an office, where the two of them sat across from each other, Father Coëty’s desk between them. “Well, although I was for a brief time the head priest of a smaller church—more a shrine than anything, really—I am not a conduit for Alduros Hol’s divine power. I leave that to greater men than myself. My skills lie in numbers and words, and I am told I can handle them rather well.”
“A bookkeeper, then?” Coëty asked, receiving a nod in reply. “You know, we actually do find ourselves in need of your skills…”
*
Wild finally flopped down onto the bed offered to him by Coëty. It had been an exhausting day, but he was already looking eagerly forward to the next. After the events with the previous two temples of Alduros Hol, first outside of Viel and then in Andorra, Wild’s curiosity was spilling over as he wondered if the clergy at this temple, too, were a part of the nefarious organization that had taken over the religion. So far, he had found no indicators that these clerics had malign designs, but then again, Father Cobain had appeared quite normal until he had transformed into a werewolf.
Coëty had verily tossed Wild into the library and given him a no-helmet crash course in their bookkeeping system. Wild had been instructed to audit and then copy a pile of records and was promised room, board, and other services here while he was helping the temple.
He, of course, considered this of great interest; Wild soon discovered that the records he was copying were none other than finance ledgers which held all the information as to the temple’s cash flow. He hadn’t had enough time on his own to scrutinize them entirely, but he could be patient.
The halfling briefly gave thought to sending word to his companions as to his whereabouts, but then he thought better of it. Kaiyr was probably still distraught over… well, over everything, and while Caineye might wonder where Wild was spending his time, he might not appreciate discovering the halfling snooping about a church belonging to the druid’s religion.
Wild’s eye wandered over to the bookshelves in his room. There were quite a number of books lining them, and it was not long before he was on his feet and clambering up to read the titles on their spines. “You know,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out several volumes on Alduros Hol lore and dogma, “if I’m going to pretend to be a priest here, it might be useful to know what kinds of things to say… and not to say.”
With that thought in mind, he hopped down from the shelves and dropped a pile of books next to his bed. Then, selecting the first one that came to his hand, he flipped it open on his pillow and read himself to sleep.
XXXIII.
Solaria moved quickly through the surging tides of the busy street. Kaiyr, however, was swifter, and he caught up to her a block away from the temple of Arvanos Sinterian, under the shade of an enormous tree that had apparently been turned into Alduros Hol’s temple.
“Lady Solaria,” he said, breathless not from his run but out of concern for the nymph.
She had slowed to a halt, leaning over with her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. The task was made all the more difficult for her gasping, tormented sobbing. “No,” she managed. “Please, Kaiyr. I…” She trailed off and started walking away from Kaiyr, her footsteps heavy.
The blademaster paused with his arm outstretched, watching her go. When she slowed her pace slightly, just enough for him to notice, he understood and fell in behind her, several paces away.
She led him rather aimlessly through the temple district as she vainly tried to calm her nerves, Kaiyr could tell. She stumbled often, and he could see her shoulders shaking from time to time. But he understood her need to be alone with her thoughts, and so he contented himself with following in the sweet air of her wake.
At last, long after the sun had passed its zenith, Solaria turned back onto the street leading to Arvanos’s temple. A large park near the giant Alduros Hol oak temple offered shade and a place to rest on several benches. She led the way down several footpaths, and with each step, the sounds of Ik’durel’s bustling streets faded a little bit more until finally they disappeared altogether.
When the two of them at last had the solitude Solaria craved, she found a bench at the side of the path and sat down, smoothing her sun-colored dress out and fussing at the wet marks her tears had left on the fabric. Silent as was his wont, Kaiyr joined her but did not seat himself; rather, he stood next to the bench and stared into the trees, his eyes stoic.
“You must hate me,” Solaria said at great length, after the blademaster had stood sentinel over her for the better part of an hour. Her delicate fingers grabbed at the fabric of her dress in frustration and in anticipation of the confirmation that would follow.
But none was forthcoming. Instead, the elf with her took two steps so that he was facing her. Dropping to one knee, Kaiyr looked up into her violet eyes. “You know that is not true, Lady Solaria.”
She wrenched her gaze away from his, staring at the forest loam. “But… but I’ve taken her place. I stole her body without even knowing it! Kaiyr, I don’t know if I should even exist!” Her fists shook with frustration, and tears sprang from her eyes once more, to run down her smooth cheeks.
Kaiyr, too, let his eyes fall from her face, at first following the trail of tears down to her chin, then down her arms and to her hands. Finally, he lifted one voluminously-sleeved arm and gently placed his hand over hers. She tensed, and he feared she might bolt again, but after a minute, although she remained nervous, Solaria had made no attempt to rise. “Lady Solaria,” he said, his voice gentle, “yesterday, you said that I no longer frightened you. I beg of you not to fear me now. I do not bear you ill will.”
; “But I stand between you and Astra,” Solaria argued, but when her eyes flashed with frustration and caught his gaze, she could read in him only forgiveness.
“No,” the blademaster said at length, straightening only long enough to take a seat next to her. Solaria, feeling quite lost, let herself lean against him, lightly. “No, you do not. What happened to the Lady Astra was precipitated by her enemies, by my enemies; and there was more before that. The circumstances around your appearance are mysterious, indeed. Some fey creation, a Nemesis, came seeking Lady Astra after her death.” He looked down at her; although he enjoyed the warm, light pressure of her body against his arm, he made no move to reciprocate, keeping his hands in his lap. A small part of him whispered desperately to him to reach an arm around her and hold her close, but the rest of him rejected that idea. He told himself that, despite their similar appearance, Solaria was not Astra.
A sigh escaped his lips. “But you already know this,” he finished.
“Are… are you going to resurrect her, anyway?” Solaria asked, her voice small and her body trembling. “I… I would gladly give my life for your cause, Kaiyr.”
“No!” the blademaster shouted, though he strangled the word so it was not too loud. Nevertheless, Solaria jumped back and stared up at him. His expression turned gentle again, though, and he continued, “Please, do not suggest such a thing, Lady Solaria. I would not dream of bringing you harm for such a selfish desire.”
More tears came. “But Kaiyr, your life would be more complete if she came back,” Solaria protested. “I won’t accept your mercy just because you don’t want to kill me. Admit it, if Astra could come back, you would be a happier man! Why won’t you do it? I don’t even belong in your world!”
