“Traveller, if you or your Creator are out there watching… I could use your help.” The monster whirled on him, angry at being evaded, and charged. “HELP! NOW!” screamed the wiry thief, stepping backward and banging his heel up against the arena’s side.
Nothing happened immediately, and the hellish dog-thing was still coming. Desperate, Gribly crouched low and shoved his hands into the sandy ground, inventing a new use for his gift on the spur of the moment.
The hell-dog leaped at him. He ripped his hands out of the ground and stood up, causing the sand directly between them to shoot up in a hard wall higher than he was tall. The monstrous beast slammed face-first into it, crashing partway through and tumbling to a halt. The sand collapsed around it.
The crowd shut up like a charm, completely silent from shock. Whispers of “sorcerer!” made their way around the stands, and somewhere above him Gribly heard the harsh laughter of Dunelord Ymorio himself; the only one not cowed by the performance.
“An admirable try,” the power-hungry Sand Strider’s voice called out, “but useless. You’re going to die, little thief…”
Gribly spun around and stared into the stands. Near the top, Ymorio himself stood under a canopy with his fat, over-painted advisers and silver-clad bodyguards. His arms were crossed across his chest and his scars from his encounter with the mysterious assailant days before were prominently displayed. A hideous grin split his face. He knew he was going to win, no matter what.
Gribly spun back. The hell-dog was struggling to its feet, madder than ever.
Now would be a very good time, Traveller! No response. Time was up. The monster was up, snarling and coughing blood.
Coughing blood?
Gribly leaped forward, hoping to have the advantage of surprise. His feet were coated in heavy sand: perfect weapons with the help of his gift, that connected solidly with the hell-dog’s muzzle and knocked it to the ground. Gribly landed lightly, leaped over the animal’s prone form, and started to run away.
That was way too easy… he thought, and he was right. He spun around, ready for the next attack, and saw that his timely strike hadn’t hurt the beast at all.
A short, sharp bronze sword was lodged in the hound’s skull, thrown from above.
The lad noticed it at the same time as everyone else in the arena, including the enraged Dunelord. As one, hundreds of eyes looked to the sky, bewildered as to what had happened.
High overhead, a dark, flying shape plunged into the arena stands. It collided with the Dunelord and soon the two were locked in an intense struggle, man to man. Gribly stepped back, stunned, as he and the rest of Ymeer’s spectators watched Ymorio’s head snap back at an awkward angle and his body topple to the ground, mangled and crushed by the strength of his killer.
Lauro the messenger stood, unharmed, in his place.
The Dunelord’s bodyguards didn’t react immediately, either from shock or, as Gribly suspected, because they were on the nymph cleric’s payroll. In any case, Lauro was up there without a weapon, and Ymorio’s scimitar was caught under his limp corpse. The young soldier dodged a spear-thrust from one of the silverguard, then hopped nimbly up onto the raised fence in front of the royal canopy before leaping up into the air.
He didn’t fall, but instead kept leaping higher and higher, buoyed on strange, billowing gusts of air. So he’s some sort of wind strider after all, Gribly thought. He gaped, amazed that he had never seen it before: that confident gleam in Lauro’s eye, the way he treaded air like water. It wasn’t flying- not exactly- but it was close. Lauro would jump as high as he could, and the wind would carry him. When his motion slowed he would sink back to earth unless he could twist his body and make another lunge, mid-leap.
After three such maneuvers, the young warrior dropped out of the sky right next to Gribly, landing solidly (and, in the thief’s opinion, a bit off balance), arms splayed out and knees bent to absorb what little impact there was. Yes, indeed: Lauro was the wind strider.
“That, my friend,” Gribly exclaimed, “was way, way too close.”
“You’re welcome,” Lauro replied, walking over to the dead hell-dog and pulling his sword out of its head. Gribly stayed close in case some over-zealous guard got the wrong idea and attacked them. He’d stayed alive this long, and it wouldn’t pay to take any chances this late in the game.
He had never felt so relieved and so nervous at the same time. Thank you, Aura. Thank you, mysterious Creator I can’t see… To Lauro, he said, “I guess the old nymph came through, huh?”
“Nymph?” the soldier asked, looking surprised. “The cleric is a nymph?”
“Oh, guess he didn’t tell you that,” the thief smiled smugly. “I figured it out on my own and he had to show me.”
“Well, nymph or not,” Lauro acknowledged, “He’s come through well enough. I’m not sure I like this- overthrowing the rightful authority, and all- but I did it to save your sorry skin, and because where I come from we respect clerics as much as kings. I hope you’re satisfied.”
In the seconds they had spent talking, the arena stands had quietly been filling with bronze and silver-clad soldiers in the service of the Highfast cleric. What little resistance was met from the loyalist guards and nobles was put down quietly and efficiently.
“I’m fine so far, thanks for asking,” Gribly grinned nervously. “It’s what comes next that has me worried.”
Chapter Twelve: Unexpected Allies
The announcement of the Dunelord’s death was made to the public the next day. As many of the general population as could be gathered was huddled in the now-empty Royal Marketplace, hushed and bristling with excitement; some hostile, some expectant, and some just glad for a holiday, no matter the cause.
The cleric himself stood surrounded by his new silverguard on a balcony high above the massive throng, robes neatly straightened, belt neatly tied, and hair combed back behind his shoulders. His ears were left untied, proudly proclaiming his break from Ymorio’s tyranny… and shouting his own supremacy, no doubt. That was what Gribly thought as he stood behind the guards, next to Lauro in the passage behind the new ruler.
The nymph slowly raised his hands above his head, gazing out over the gathered crowd. They remained silent, wondering what to think of this inhuman character few had seen and not many believed in.
“I will waste no words,” the cleric said. His voice wasn’t loud, but the crowd’s reaction told Gribly they could hear the speech as well as he. “You know the cruelty you have endured; you, the ones on whose shoulders Ymeer was built. You know the injustice you have suffered.”
Not exactly true, the boy told himself. The injustice was real, of course, but he knew most of the poor wouldn’t lift a finger to build anything the higher class wanted built. They were comfortable being beggars, even if it made them miserable in the end. From the cries of support that echoed around the courtyard, though, it seemed as if the masses were eating up every word. This man- I mean nymph- could be an even more dangerous enemy than the Dunelord, if he wasn’t our friend… and we don’t even know that much, really. Gribly shifted uncomfortably, drawing a contemptuous glance from the perfectly composed Lauro.
The thief rolled his eyes at the uptight wind-boy, then turned back to concentrate on the cleric’s speech. He’d missed quite a bit of it in his musings.
“…And that is why, my people, that I have done what I have done. Under my rule you will prosper, not wallow in decay! I, Dunelord Argoz Greenwood, will bring the glory and brightness of the Forgotten Age to Ymeer. You, its people, will be the ones who stand fast and proclaim your freedom and power to the world! Stand now, and shout to the skies for this new age that I bring you!”
They’ll be standing, all right. And you’ll be standing on their shoulders, no doubt. This man was establishing himself as the next Dunelord, then. Well enough, if he would come through on his promises.
The impassioned cleric concluded his speech and motioned to his men situated in the square below. Gold
coins and sweet-treats were hurled out in sparkling showers over the crowd, who scrabbled for the prizes like farm chickens after grain. He certainly knew how to manipulate the public.
~
That night, a day and a half after Lauro had killed Dunelord Ymorio, the real orders of business were discussed. Lauro and Gribly waited patiently while Cleric Argoz dealt with the few nobles who still chafed under the sudden change in authority. He had a way with words, that was for sure. The thief had never seen a man- well, not a man, he knew now- who seemed so ready to please, and succeeded, yet always seemed to come out on top of any deal, any discussion, or any argument. He was a politician as much as a holy man.
“That will be all, my lords,” the aging nymph told the assembled aristocrats. He nodded cordially to them all, and the majority of them nodded back, satisfied. He commands them while still pretending to be their friend, Gribly noticed for the hundredth time. Perhaps he even believes what he tells them. He’s a visionary, too… or just too controlled to let his motives show.
As the line of sober noblemen and important traders filed out of the room, Gribly allowed his eyes to wander for the first time since coming there.
The assembly had met in a spacious chamber directly under the rear of the Highfast Shrine. The marble-sand walls almost sparkled under the brilliance of a thousand candles lit in a ring around the circular space. The myriad of little lights cast a flickering, somber shade over everything, splitting the line between light and shadow. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling with more candles; smaller versions of the ones in the Shrine above. A low, wide stone table in the shape of a circle was the only furniture, surrounded by an identical stone bench.
The perfect lair for this cleric, Gribly thought. He smiled, thinking sneakily of the empowering element in every inch of the hollowed chamber. It’s the perfect lair for a Sand Strider, too. A Sand Strider like me. Even now he could feel the enlivening current that seemed inherent in all marble-sand, pulsing excitedly beneath his roughly-sandaled feet.
Whatever happened tonight, he planned on winning. Looking over at Lauro’s grim, confident expression, he knew the wind strider had the same thought. It occurred to him quite suddenly and in a way he hadn’t thought of before, that, if it ever came down to a game of survival again, he absolutely needed the young warrior on his side.
With a clang, the iron door that led out of the chamber closed, leaving only the two gifted youths and the elfin cleric inside.
“Keep the entrance open,” Lauro said in a low voice. Cleric Argoz raised a bushy eyebrow at him. “I’m not taking any chances with you, Dunelord,” the soldier-messenger explained. “Cleric though you be, you’re a nymph and therefore inclined to just this sort of trickery. If I err in our dealings, it will be on the side of safety- not naivete.”
“Trying to convince ourselves, are we?” smiled Argoz unnervingly. He stared through a flame at the two wary youths. In his hands he gripped what looked like a golden staff; a sort of elongated candlestick with a white candle affixed to the top, ringed with thin gold loops and tiny curving shapes. “Despite the insult of your mistrust of my kind, I understand your urge for caution. Open,” he intoned deeply, and tapped his staff on the ground once.
The door behind him ground open and outwards, then all was still as he shambled over to the marble-sand table. The three of them now sat equal distances apart, looking for all the world to Gribly like a council of magicians or sorcerers plotting to rule the world.
When he said as much out loud, Lauro rolled his eyes in a very un-lordly fashion. Argoz smiled indulgently and answered his statement.
“None of us here are sorcerers, young one, me least of all. For one: if we were we would not be able to stand this place… especially this room. My bringing the nobles of the city- and, consequently, both of you- was to ensure that neither you nor the prince was a sorcerer or Pit Strider in disguise. That kind has tried to trap me before now, and will do so again in the future if I am not so careful.”
“Me or the prince?” Gribly gaped. He just wasn’t getting used to all these secrets, even now…
“Yes,” the nymph replied, “The prince. Only a man living in this Aura-forsaken desert wouldn’t know the name and characteristics of Lauro Vale, Prince of Vastion. When you spoke his name in my chambers two days ago, I became convinced you had met the prince himself. I excused myself from Ymorio’s presence and went searching for him at once- and, I might say, you were lucky I found him when I did.”
“You’re a prince????” was all Gribly could ask the older boy.
“Yes,” Lauro said simply. “But the fewer who know it, the better.”
“Indeed,” the cleric agreed calmly. “In this troubled time, the agents of chaos and disorder would spare no time in trying to take your life… if they knew where you were.”
“So, my friend,” Gribly commented dryly, “you’re on the run too?”
“Not exactly,” Lauro explained. “My father, King Larion, decided that this would be the best way for me to prove my royal blood… and my courage. He was right- Argoz has agreed-”
“Wait!” the thief interrupted. “You’ve been talking behind my back! Both of you!”
“We’re nobility,” shrugged Lauro, “We don’t have to tell you any of this.” His face was serious, but his tone was joking and friendly. Perhaps he wasn’t really so stuck up as he sounded most of the time.
“But our deal-” Gribly protested.
“-Is taken care of.” The cleric finished. “The prince and I have spoken some already, and while I cannot say we are friends, we have at least agreed to be uneasy allies.”
Very uneasy, if he’s asking you to keep every door open and every weapon in sight, the thief thought to himself.
“Well,” he began, “That’s… good, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” the cleric nodded, and turned his attention to the wind strider. “But the question still remains, Prince Lauro: why are you here? I am honored with your visit, however stealthy. I can even guess at your intentions from what I know of the prophets. But what is in your message you have not shown me, and I suspect it carries more importance than any of my guesses.”
Gribly’s head started to spin almost as bad as it had when talking to Traveller in his dream. Politics and Religion were too much for him to handle.
“You are truly foresighted, if you can guess my motives,” Lauro responded in his fancy nobleman’s talk. “I think now the time has come.” Drawing from the battered pack he still kept near him, he removed the complicated, dirty scroll Gribly had seen before, and handed it to Argoz. “This message was meant for Dunelord Ymorio, of course,” the prince told the nymph, “but as he has forsaken the natural order my forefathers established for all of Vast, I trust you will be better able to set that order in place once more.”
“I am a loyal cleric, my prince, in spite of my methods. You may trust me.” The nymph rubbed the tips of his long ears in anticipation, taking the scroll from Lauro and reading it hungrily. His face grew grayer and grayer the farther he read.
“Can you read Old Vastic?” Lauro asked Gribly aside. His tone didn’t suggest he expected a yes.
“No. I can understand common-write, but that’s my limit,” he responded, trying to act as if he was proud of the fact. Lauro snorted but didn’t comment. A long pause followed while Argoz read.
When the cleric finished scanning the document, he looked up, face ashen. Carefully rolling it up with precise movements of his long, pale hands, he returned the parchment to Lauro.
“I was aware that Ymeer had been overtaken by corruption long before now,” he said gravely, folding his hands inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe. “That is why I chose to come here after the old, sad man who was the Highfast cleric before me died. It has been my mission to save the city in any way since then.” The nymph took a long, hard look at the prince. “I was not aware that this… sobering state of affairs was so widespread.”
Gribly was watching Argoz a
s the cleric spoke, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Lauro flinch. “What does he mean?” he asked his friend. It was some time before the older youth responded.
“He means that the content of my father’s letter is disconcerting.”
“I know that, Prince Pudding-face. What’s in the letter to make you both so glum?”
The prince of Vastion took a deep breath before answering. “Once, long ago, my ancestors ruled nearly all of Vast, including the Giant’s Isle in the far west. Of course our supremacy is no longer so complete, but over the past several generations, the situation in the south has dangerously deteriorated. Our kingdom is now at the point of breaking apart, with men like Dunelord Ymorio hacking out small kingdoms of their own inside our borders, while pirates and barbarians harass us from without. It’s a volatile time. My father…” here his voice almost broke, and Gribly could clearly see the struggle it was for him to continue. Finally he managed it.
Brother Thief (Song of the Aura, Book One) Page 10
