Splintered Loyalties

by S. B. Sebrick

  "I've survived, despite their feelings about Outlanders," Keevan offered.

  "You didn't kill one of the Harbor Guild's own guards," Madol said.

  "No, I was just blackmailed into breaking the Watcher's power and accidently damaged the Great Crystal in the aftermath," Keevan countered, rolling his eyes. "No reason there for the Harbor Guild to wish me ill. None whatsoever."

  Madol laughed, a hearty bellow. "Very well, I will discuss it with Malik Morgra. Off the record, I'd say it would take something huge, like capturing Zerik or saving the life of a High Priest, to bring the council around to accepting Corvan's good intentions."

  "Well, the next time I see him, I'll make sure to mention that before he vanishes." Keevan promised.

  "I'll bet," Madol muttered, suddenly turning more serious. "Listen Keevan, I can't imagine what it must be like for you and Corvan. If I and one other Tri-Being were trapped in the Outlander domain, I'd want to stick by his side as well. But if you lie to Malik Morgra about the words you had with Corvan, like you did with me, Malik Morgra will see it as a betrayal."

  Keevan paled, gulped nervously and nodded. "Understood."

  "Now, we have another matter to attend to," Madol said, rising to his feet.

  "My punishment?" Keevan sighed.

  "Oh, I'd say the information you've provided gives you a free pass, once," Madol chuckled. "I wouldn't expect warm feeling from Hadrian tomorrow though. Expect to spend twice as long dueling Merkim."

  Keevan shuddered visibly, "Hadrian knows which training exercises I don't agree with."

  "More like, he knows which students don't agree with you," Madol corrected, shaking his head. "I know it can be painful, but you wouldn't learn anything if you spend all your time sparring with people less skilled than you are. In training, you learn far more by losing than winning."

  "Somehow, I don't think such knowledge will help much during my spar tomorrow," Keevan grunted, setting his wicker chair against the wall. "What other business do we have then?"

  "The Steam Gardens, remember?" Madol asked, opening the door. "You're to help the High Priestess oversee the acolytes of the lower districts."

  "Oh, right," Keevan said. With the day's events, he'd forgotten about the issue in the Forger's District that morning. "There's something I need to ask her anyway."

  "You will have that chance," Madol promised, leading the way as they walked across the courtyard. Pairs of Persuader students spared, lifted weights or jogged around the edge of the yard. A few of them glanced at Keevan in worry or condemnation. No doubt, Hadrian doubled their work load as punishment for one of his students not arriving for class. Keevan's stomach twisted nervously, another reason to not look forward to tomorrow's training.

  "Madol?" Keevan asked, desperate to distract his thoughts from the angry glares of his peers. "I meant to ask, why aren't woman employed among the guards or the Persauders? I've met some that could hold their own in a fight."

  "Tri-Beings don't reproduce as quickly as Outlanders," Madol explained, nodding in greeting to a pair of thickly muscled instructors as they passed by. "The temples say it is part of the trade we made with the Gods, a long life in exchange for less children. It makes women incredibly precious, too much so to risk in something as dangerous as open war, or even guard duty."

  "What about Bahjal?" Keevan pried, "She was basically a spy for the Malik. Living on the streets as a Rhetan was far from safe."

  "True," Madol grunted with a shrug, "Her command over water is exceptional. There are exceptions to every rule, mainly decided by the Malik and the Tribunal of the Temple's highest officials."

  They left the academy, cutting through the Weaver's District as they made their way to the Steam Gardens. Artisans lined both sides of the street, blankets, gowns, and tunics hung on display. Cooks and herbalists left this district smelling a sight better than the sweat and smoke of the Forger's District, but the scene still didn't set well with Keevan. Every artisan in the Weaver's District kept their business indoors, as if they had something to hide.

  Something about the Weaver's District's sweet smells and elaborately weaved linen felt artificial, a lie. At the Forger's District, smithies worked in plain sight. Honest, direct people. These gowns and perfumes were the tools of the Etrendi or those who sought to rival them, a world of deception, where the image of wealth was just as powerful as actually having vast store houses of gold.

  After all, soon after Bahjal put on the clothes and scents of this District, her priorities shifted to choose her dead family over him. A small part of his conscience whispered that he'd easily make the same choice if such a sacrifice would bring him closer to his birth parents, but he ignored those feelings. Anger felt good right now, giving him strength. Well, an illusion of power, at least.

  As they reached the edge of the Weaver's District, thick plumes of rising steam poking out above the buildings marked their destination. A delegation from the Beletokan temple passed them by, having just rekindled the heat beneath the fountains. They wore all black, covered from head to toe. A few were even armed with ceremonial swords Keevan suspected were Danica forged.

  "Where are the other Beletokans?" Keevan asked, once they were out of earshot.

  "Each temple has a faction responsible for combat, and others that focus on more spiritual or political issues," Madol explained, taking the winding stair ahead of them two at a time. "With tensions in Issamere so high, all delegations sent outside the temple are primarily militaristic, just in case."

  "I see," Keevan echoed. Huffing loudly as he pushed himself to match Madol's pace along those long stone steps. The air already felt warmer and thicker as they neared the steam gardens.

  "So, to answer your question, Calistra is likely tending to her duties inside the Beletokan temple," Madol said with a chuckle.

  "That's. Not. Who. I. Was. Thinking. About." Keevan said, his words were limited to one per breath when he was forced to keep up with Madol's long legs and impressive pace. He tried not to think about the long fall awaiting him should he loose his balance on those rough, unyielding steps.

  "Well, I could tell at a glance that things with you and Bahjal are... strained," Madol noted, his face a maddening mask of indifference as his pace pushed Keevan into a jog to keep up. "May I ask what happened in the tunnel, after Nariem and I left?"

  "No," Keevan gasped sourly, "Not. Your. Business."

  "I suppose not," Madol agreed, glancing at Keevan with a pitying look, "I apologize."

  As they arrived, Keevan immediately noticed the additional Rhetans filling the Steam Gardens. Some were curled up at the base of trees, glaring up at the fruitless boughs as if threatening them to yield fruit or face death. Others sat in tattered pairs of two and three, whispering as they watched Etrendi and Persuader alike pass by.

  "What are they all doing here?" Keevan muttered to Madol. Some instinct warned him to keep his voice down. There was a palatable tension here, like a pulled bowstring ready to let loose an unseen arrow.

  "Staying out of the cold," Madol explained, nodding southward. "Some of the Beletokan acolytes weren't able to maintain their heat for the full afternoon. Temperatures dropped and some Rhetans chose steady anger over the despair of the cold."

  "I never thought that offering a place of heat and moisture could be so... dangerous," Keevan replied, glancing over his shoulder at a tangle of six Rhetans leaning against a small fountain. The steam wrapped around them as they watched Keevan, as if the elements were whispering some terrible secret in their ears. The kind that put Keevan at fault.

  "Yes, this is part of the reason we need your help," Madol said. They reached the raised pavilion overlooking the eastern districts. Lanasha sat before a desk, stacked high with scrolls. Her Suadan guards lined the structure on either side, whips at the ready, watching all passerby with distrust.

  "I've brought Keevan Stratagar, High Priestess," Madol said, interlocking his fingers and bowing deeply.

  "Thank you, Persuader Madol, you
may go," Lanasha said, offering a tired smile as she sifted from one scroll to the next. A thin stream of water ran along the hems of her dress and the trestles in her hair, as if marking the speed with which her mind processed the task before her.

  "As you wish," Madol said with a bow, departing.

  "Keevan, do pull up a chair," Lanasha insisted. She was surprisingly young for her exalted rank among the Etrendi, but the weight of her responsibilities were already etched out in faint wrinkles under her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm near my whit's end here."

  "Yes, High Priestess," Keevan answered, dragging one of the heavy, oak seats alongside Lanasha. A stiff breeze cut through the moisture of the Steam Garden, sending a chill down his neck. Why did moisture always make the wind worse? They were just far enough from the fountains to miss out on the warmth, but not the moisture. Perhaps their position was intentional, to keep the High Priest or Priestess calm without feeding into their obvious frustrations with added warmth.

  "Shall I start right away?" Keevan asked, pointing at his eyes.

  "No," Lanasha insisted, "I want you to hear the reports first, so I can firmly compare them to what's really going on out there. Some acolytes are quite inexperienced. They might have missed something vital in their reports."

  "Very well," Keevan agreed.

  "These are the reports from the Rhetan Districts," Lanasha said, indicating the stack of scrolls on her left. All were wrapped around wooden sticks heavy enough to ignore the breeze's gentle tug. "I have to figure out which pairs of acolytes are too lazy to do their part and which are simply too feeble in their abilities to perform their duties."

  "There was some confusion with the Forger's District's orders as well," Keevan pointed out. "The acolytes' orders didn't take into account the elements already fueled by the smithies. Nearly sparked a riot of very powerful Tri-Beings."

  "Indeed? That could explain much," Lanasha muttered, glancing at Madol's retreating back. The water running through her hair sped up, hurling little droplets free, only to pull them back a moment later. "Why is this the first I've heard of it?"

  "I was unable to report in until recently," Keevan replied, glancing through the scrolls of the Haustran Districts. Those at least, reported business as usual. Clearly the trouble focused on the more numerous and far hungrier portion of Issamerean society. "I had some trouble in the catacombs."

  "Whatever were you doing there?"

  "Following some suspicious Rhetans," Keevan admitted grimly. She would likely read of his adventure in Madol's evening report, but there was no harm in mentioning his experience now. "Someone is arming them with Dancia weapons, ancient ones. Fire-based swords that burn different colors."

  Lanasha paused at that, pursing her lips in thought. "That's troubling, but it makes sense. No wonder these scrolls don't agree with the results."

  "In what way?" Keevan asked.

  "The acolytes, without fail, report strictly adhering to their orders to dissipate the evening moisture and provide additional heat to their districts," Lanasha explained, holding up one black handled scroll in particular from a stack of look-alikes. "These are sent by the city guards in each district, reporting the local Rhetans' behavior. Their reports suggest that the elements in these Districts," She patted a small pile of scrolls, off to her right, "are either too hot or too moist. If it's the fault of the acolytes, then they can be replaced. But if someone in the chain of command is giving bad orders, then replacing acolytes won't do any good."

  "Not to mention, we don't have much time if we're to get things under control," Keevan surmised, glancing out over the eastern districts. They looked deceptively calm in the fading evening light. "It would take days, if not weeks, to track down which priest or priests are giving bad commands."

  "Which brings us to you," Lanasha sighed. "If you wish to prove your loyalty to the Malik, here's your chance. Help us keep these people calm."

  "I'll do what I can, High Priestess," Keevan promised, scowling at the city before them. "But many of the Rhetans are starving right now. No amount of elemental manipulation can fill a hungry belly, nor calm a truly desperate man."

  "We're already taking steps to resolve that matter as well," Lanasha admitted, glancing over her shoulder toward the sea. "The Harbor Guild is negotiating trade with other border cities, but their ships won't arrive for another few days. We need to stem the tide just a little longer, that's all."

  "Very well, then," Keevan agreed. He stood up, taking in the full view of eastern Issamere. "Shall we start in the northern quarter and work our way south?"

  "Very good," Lanasha agreed, organizing her scrolls accordingly. "Let's get started."

  The elemental plane washed over Keevan like the embrace of an old friend. With his impending spar with Merkim on the horizon, Bahjal's living situation changing and his failed attempt to escape the Rhetans in the catacombs, he felt a strong need to tackle something he could do well. The city's Danica globes lit up like campfires to his vision, each point hovering at the center of a wide oval of elemental influence.

  Those elemental fields bellied out against the weight of the night sky, struggling against the weather's raw elemental might. For a moment, Keevan marveled at the strength of the Great Crystal, one he'd always taken for granted. Here, a small army of acolytes, armed with Danica, fought to match with hard work what one ancient device enabled a single Tri-Being to do on a whim. With that in mind, Keevan turned his attention to the individual districts below him.

  "What do you see?" Lanasha pried.

  "A moment, please," Keevan asked, raising a singer finger. "I'm looking for patterns. The Haustran Districts are functioning well. The acolytes there are holding their own against the shifting weather and even the Forger's District is holding steady now, both in warmth and moisture."

  "So, whatever our enemy is trying to put in motion, it's clearly centered over the starving Rhetans," Lanasha sighed, 'Wonderful."

  "There's a pattern to it, though," Keevan offered.

  "Truly? Wait, there's a map of Issamere around here somewhere," Lanasha dug through the scrolls before them, finally pulling a large, bulky one from the bottom of the pile. "Can you tell which acolytes are the elementally weaker than the rest?"

  Keevan couldn't see the hope on her face, not with his vision outlining her body as a cloud of energy, but he heard the brightness to her voice. A warmth that wasn't there before. He smiled. "Yes, I can tell. The weakest acolytes are posted over the local marketplaces, so those posts will need changing by morning, before people flood those streets."

  "Odd that someone would post the weakest acolytes to the most inhabited areas," Lanasha grumbled. "Sometimes, nobles send us the weakest members of their families, but we can usually take an accurate measure their skills before their lack of elemental command can cause any real harm."

  "Unless they wanted to spark a riot from the marketplaces," Keevan theorized, glancing down at the map. "Both of these markets are adjacent to the main roads leading right up to the Etrendi District. A herd is easier to guide down a straight line than a maze. It would take something severe though, like the next shipment of grain being set at a ridiculous price no Rhetan could possibly afford."

  "What about the rest of the Rhetan Districts?" Lanasha asked, scratching away at a parchment with a quill Keevan hadn't noticed until now.

  "These three sections of the district, where the population is thickest, are running hotter than they should," Keevan reported. He pointed at each location in turn on the map, with Lanasha following along with her quill. "and there's a little too much moisture drawing into them as well. It's subtle though, like whoever's responsible is trying to build up their anger over a week or more."

  "That's pretty typical if you're trying to emotionally control a Tri-Being," Lanasha said, chewing on the tip of the quill's feather as she thought aloud, "You have to start small, so the subject doesn't realize their emotions aren't their own. Then you need a trigger of some kind, to enrage the populace. Then, the
emotions are still their own, only amplified."

  "Right, if the Rhetans awoke one morning in a shear rage, they'd know they were being manipulated," Keevan echoed, trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of the task at hand. Thousands of lives hung in the balance, husbands and wives just trying to look after their families, all potential living weapons in Zerik's hands. "So, Zerik will have to amplify their emotions gradually, amplifying them at the right time... with something severe."

  "He's planning an attack, then," Lanasha surmised, "Something public and devastating, that will throw the Rhetans into a rage he can aim at the palace."

  "Half the populace is starving," Keevan said nervously, remembering the desperation in the eyes of many Rhetans he'd passed that day. "It wouldn't take much."

  "We'll keep as many guards on active duty as possible," Lanasha decided, pulling a blank scroll from the bundle. She quickly set to work, scratching out instructions on the stiff page. "Without protection, the acolytes are far too vulnerable."

  "Do you need me for anything else?" Keevan asked.

  "No," Lanasha said. "You go get some sleep. You've had a long day, by the look of things and we need to keep Issamere's best assets well rested for when Zerik decides to strike."

  "I'm one of Issamere's best assets?" Keevan echoed, taken aback.

  "Of course," Lanasha insisted, "If things get any worse, you'll likely be ordered up to the palace. Your gift allows you to see thing for what they are. When the fate of a city hangs in the balance, your perspective could be vital."

  "I don't know what to say to that," Keevan answered numbly.

  Lanasha laughed, "I felt the same way when they approached me about being the youngest High Priestess in six centuries. It takes time, but if you stick to your training and follow your heart, things will turn up for the best."

  Despite her kind words and hopeful tone, Keevan's sinking stomach did not echo her feelings. The idea of all of Issamere needing him, even the Harbor Guild, sent his enthusiasm plummeting downward. Training to become a Persuader had a number of advantages, when compared to all the guilds jobs he could have accepted. Only Persuader combat training could truly teach him to protect himself, but the stakes of such fights were simple, his wellbeing against the intentions of his attacker. The task at hand was so much more immense. Countless Tri-Beings relied on him to accurately read the situation, ever time, or risk the lives of thousands.