"Not this craft," Touric said, glowing with pride. "It travels under water. I assure you, the Harbor Guild will see nothing. You two can be back on Outlander shores within the next two weeks."
Keevan reached into his mind for some witty remark or insistence of distrust. All he found was a wordless realization of what his mysterious uncle was offering. "I could go ... home." Keevan echoed numbly.
"We could go home," Corvan insisted, watching Keevan closely. "We don't belong here, boy. I know this is the only place you've ever known, but you belong with your own kind. Not these Tri-Being creatures. Perhaps the Sight Seekers back home could help you overcome your block. You're powers could develop normally. You could live a normal life."
"All I know is the elemental plane," Keevan answered, glancing down at his own hands. Flecks of moisture dotted his skin, glowing blue to his elemental vision. The heat of the sun gave Corvan's face a redish hue. What would it be like to walk among a city of Outlanders, unable to read their emotions at the glance of his Sight Seeker power? Then again, living in any city where the Harbor Guild didn't want him dead would be amazing.
"I'm going to need some time," Keevan replied, shaking his head. "This is too much, all at once. I don't think I could leave my family and friends in danger. Even if I accepted your offer, I'd need to tell my family goodbye."
Corvan's expression soured, but Touric's elemental field didn't waver in the slightest. The Etrendi exile raised a cautionary hand Corvan's way, silencing whatever words the Varadour intended to speak. Instead, Corvan got his feet and strode out of the room, seething.
"You have a strong sense of honor boy, I can respect that," Touric offered evenly. "Please forgive Corvan's outburst. My offer only applies to both of you, together. Without your acceptance, he'll be stranded here as well. It's either both of you sail away, or neither of you."
"Why?" Keevan asked, stubbornly.
Touric chuckled, "The favorite word of your generation."
"Answer the question," Keevan insisted.
Touric's field flexed with sudden heat, subtle but persistent. "Because you don't belong here. Neither of you. You're like fish trying to fly alongside birds. Trying to be our equals."
"Is that why you made my mother barren?" Keevan challenged, clenching his fists. "Because Nariem was a Haustran?"
"Of course," Touric replied fiercely, his cloudy hands flaring with orange heat. "Haustrans do not belong with Etrendi. In fifteen years of exile I've never shared by bed with a Haustran or a Rhet. My blood is only meant mingle with that of another Etrendi. It's more than a tradition, a thousand years in the forging. The practice keeps Etrendi bloodlines at their most powerful. I will not see my family line flounder, no matter what."
Keevan sat back, analyzing Touric's newfound rage, but the Etrendi quickly regained control. The moisture around him snapped to life like an iron trap, reigning in his anger with military discipline. Then Keevan realized why Touric's elemental field felt wrong.
The whole scene reminded Keevan of the first time he spoke with Calistra, General Arnadi's daughter. Despite the feigned emotions in her voice and on her face, her elemental field primarily drew on moisture. Someone who required such total inner calm, to laugh or flirt, had to be hiding something.
Touric's elemental field was unique, but not in the amount of moisture he drew to him, but the strength of the connection itself. His strands of energy were iron clad, holding every droplet in their current position. Keevan gulped, trying to anticipate the amount of shear control required to 'freeze' an element in place. He shifted uneasily, realizing just how capable this Etrendi was with the elements. Even Masha couldn't pull off this level of moisture command.
Touric's immense emotional control also meant that Keevan couldn't be sure if anything he read from the Etrendi's field was genuine. This Tri-Being's command over his own elements and emotions was beyond even the Malik's level of control, though he lacked the sheer volume Morgra could command. Barely.
Suddenly, Keevan felt small indeed. A child trapped in a world of scheming adults, only seeing half the board at any given time, and then, only the parts his friends and enemies wanted him to see.
Touric flashed Keevan an eerie, knowing smile. "You see it, don't you? My elemental field. The power and control of an Etrendi is amazing, isn't it? Is it really so strange to believe that the bloodlines producing such power should remain pure? Another reason why you and that Bahjal woman weren't meant to be."
"What do you know about her?" Keevan spat.
"Enough to know you should have seen it coming," Touric said, rising to his feet. "You are an Outlander and she's one of the Malik's most successful agents, of course she'd drift away from you, once her mission was complete."
"Her mission?" Keevan said, numbly. "She was my friend. She protected me. That's all."
"Are you sure?" Touric countered, shooting him a knowing glance. "I can see it now, her first report to the Malik that your interests were growing beyond friendship. Of course, the Malik ordered her to pursue the relationship, at least until he knew your limitations. Now he knows."
"No, that's not why she's pulling away," Keevan insisted.
"You really believe she has to travel to Karten to rebuild it?" Touric sighed, waving his arms toward Issamere. "Countless Etrendi manage mines, lumber yards and whole villages from the safety of their mansions. Why should Bahjal be an exception? She's been ordered to cut your romance short and once she's 'moved' to Karten, she'll be on another assignment and you won't see her again. Open your eyes boy, she knows you can't be together as much as you do."
Touric's words stung Keevan, but not in the intended way. The Sight Seeker reached up and touched his lips, where Bahjal's elemental discharge had burned him. Was he a fool to think they could actually be together at all? What was the point of trying to build a life with someone that he couldn't actually raise a family with? His situation with Bahjal shared remarkable similarities to Masha and Nariem's marriage, and his parents managed to make their unlikely union work. Such thoughts gave him hope.
"I can see you have a lot to think about," Touric observed, failing to restrain his irritation. "Rest here for another day. I'll send word to Issamere about your wellbeing. The last thing we need is the Malik thinking Zerik had kidnapped you. Tensions in Issamere are high enough already."
"What about the Akantran acrobats?" Keevan grunted, wincing as he touched his belly. He glanced under his shirt and shuddered. Corvan's healing efforts must have focused on Keevan's internal organs, for he still carried a nasty red rash over his belly.
"My agents will scour their wagons for anything particularly dangerous," Touric promised, holding up the little book in his hand. "Honestly, I think Zerik understands that our paths aren't running together anymore. This may be a decoy of sorts, to keep my attentions away from the real threat."
"The more reason to bring me along," Keevan insisted, looking around and realizing something for the first time. "Where are my clothes?"
"Being washed," Touric said, watching Keevan intently. "They were drenched in mud, sweat and some kind of powder. I hope you weren't running around the Catacombs again when this happened?"
Keevan looked away, grimacing. "I need time to think. Have them bring my clothes up once they're dry."
"Of course," Touric said, pushing his chair back against the wall. "I have paid for your stay up until tomorrow morning, including food and medical treatment if necessary. I believe Corvan wanted to check on your intestines at least once more. Just in case."
"Very well," Keevan sighed.
"Good luck," Touric offered optimistically, "I'm sure you'll make the right decision for yourself and Corvan. You are both smart men. The correct answer is obvious, after all. Good bye."
"Good bye," Keevan replied, as Touric left.
Keevan pulled his breakfast tray back over, poking at what remained of his meal. The food didn't taste as sweet now. His thoughts were muddled, dizzily swinging from one revelation to anothe
r. Touric's logic was twisted, but understandable. Without his Etrendi pride rendering Masha childless, Keevan's life could have turned out quite different.
Shaking his head, Keevan thought of Corvan's eyes, silently pleading to flee the Tri-Being continent once and for all. Yet, even with Bahjal growing more distant, Keevan couldn't bring himself to abandon the only parents he ever known. Not like this, at least, vanishing into the night without so much as a gold piece to his name. Keevan's lips curled into a sour expression, no matter his choice, someone close to him would suffer.
Then again, if Keevan couldn't have a life with the woman he loved, and Persuader training couldn't grant him the power to protect himself from harm, what point was there in staying in Issamere? What would life be like, walking the streets of a foreign city, just another Sight Seeker among hundreds. A worn, tired part of himself longed for that life, longing to leave all the plots, fears and hatreds behind.
He touched his chest, where the Persuader emblem lay stitched into his armor. There was a simpler answer. He'd sworn to see his training through, to protect Issamere and the city's interests. Technically, he'd sworn to uphold the Malik as well, although there was something in Morgra's eyes that didn't sit right with Keevan.
Keevan emptily stirred his bowl of cold soup again and again. If he declined, how would Corvan react? Surely, after all the Varadour had suffered and sacrificed, he deserved to return home, not be stranded in Issamere. The Tri-Being world was the only one Keevan had ever known, whereas Corvan lived with the memories of the Outlander people, always reminding him he didn't belong here.
Keevan sighed, rubbing his temples. Stay or flee, he'd be leaving someone behind. Could he live with himself, knowing he'd abandoned Issamere to Zerik, or Corvan to a life among the Tri-Beings?
Chapter 17
Corvan sat in the inn's dark cellar, holding up a long-toothed dagger. Compared to Issamere, living among the Outlander nobles and their constant plots was a godsend he yearned to return to. The air smelled of mold, burlap and old cedar. The old wicker chair creaked uneasily under his weight, threatening to abandon him to gravity's grip, much like Keevan's hesitation.
The door opened, sending a blanket of yellow candlelight over the small cellar. Corvan recognized Touric's tall, but wiry frame, smiling as the Etrendi stumbled on his way down the stairs. Corvan knew a ploy when he saw one, but Touric's persistence to maintain his 'humble merchant' image was impressive. As was his ability to hide his former rank as an Etrendi, that was a useful bit of information indeed. Keevan didn't know the value of the information his eyes revealed.
Once again, Corvan felt a sudden swell of gratitude to the Creator. Here at least, no one knew his reputation, nor the reason for his forced voyage on a prison vessel. By the Abyss, these poor fools didn't know an Outlander merchant's barge from a war galley. They just saw Outlanders and attacked. Their ferocity was a mixed blessing. Still, if given the chance, he'd return to his homeland in a heartbeat. He could sell his story to the King with the fattest purse and a greatest hunger for conquest, then the Tri-Beings would truly pay for what they'd done to him.
Touric sat down on the bottom step, just within arm's reach. His candle threw twisting shadows against the cellar's dark confines, as if they sat in the middle of a massive spider's web. "I trust you saw the boy's answer the moment I made the proposal?" The Etrendi asked.
"I did," Corvan sighed, admiring how the blade's edge caught the candlelight. The reflection reminded him of Issamere's dawn, when the rising sun lit up the edges of the mountain in golden light, like the teeth of a massive creature.
Corvan smiled, here at least, his abilities made him dangerous indeed. Among the Outlanders, they knew how to counter Varadours. Here, the Tri-Beings didn't even know where to start. Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if the Tri-Beings were faced with an army of Outlanders. His smile widened even further.
"You seem in better spirits than I expected," Touric observed with a dejected sigh. "The boy doesn't know it himself, yet, but he'll go running back to Issamere once he's healed up. Masha and Nariem did a fine job raising him, unfortunately."
Corvan had to restrain a laugh at the Etrendi's efforts to feign sympathy. Despite their elemental prowess, they Tri-Being upper class were far too akin to the nobles of Corvan's homeland. The only thing important enough to draw their eyes to a 'lowborn' was finding a means to further build their own power, political or financial. "I try to be optimistic," He said.
"A value I hold dearly, myself," Touric nodded in approval.
"I can only imagine," Corvan said, leaning forward. The chair creaked under his weight, whicker pieces scratching the exposed skin along his forearms and lower back, poking him through his tunic. "Did you really poison your own sister?"
"I prefer to think of it as preserving my blood line," Touric admitted, holding his head high. "The Paverone lineage has commanded respect and jealousy from other Etrendi families for millennia. I refused to let such a rich history sour because Masha has a soft spot for men that handle hammers."
"It is difficult when those who should support your cause, end up thwarting it," Corvan grumbled.
"Now, now, don't be too hard on the boy," Touric insisted, patting Corvan on the shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. The cold look Corvan shot back sent Touric scrambling up the stairs, out of Corvan's easy reach. Touric recovered quickly from the sudden show of weakness. "Keevan can still play a part in my plans, as can you."
"Really?" Corvan asked, feigning intrigue. This was what he'd spent the last hour waiting for. "What would a one-way trip home cost me?"
"Well, as dangerous as you are and already pursued by guard and Persuader alike, I'd think it a small price to pay," Touric insisted, stroking his bearded chin.
"What is it, Etrendi?" Corvan asked again, his patience for Tri-Being games finally wearing thin.
"I don't know," Touric shrugged, stroking his beard. He pulled a black stone from his pocket. "You know what this is?"
"A receiver stone. Someone can speak through it. Well, through you, to be precise," Corvan echoed, nodding. For a moment, he wished he had the boy's gift for seeing elements and Tri-Being emotions. Corvan always felt like Touric said a mere fraction of what he truly felt. Indeed, without Keevan's sight, Corvan couldn't really be sure the stone in Touric's hands was more than a polished rock. "I've eavesdropped on a few such conversations in the catacombs."
"Perfect," Touric said, holding up a finger, "one mome-"
He convulsed briefly, a mild twitch. His grip tightened around the receiver stone. When he met Corvan's eyes again, the Tri-Being's entire persona changed, his gaze was more confident and assured. Whoever this was, speaking through Touric's body, this Tri-Being expected obedience. His soft voice rasped faintly, like silk wrapped around a blade.
"Greetings, Corvan. I'm the Stranger," The Stranger echoed, eyeing Corvan like a merchant examining a fine horse. "I ordered Touric to put us in touch, should the boy refuse the offer."
"So, you're the one funding Zerik's rebel Rhetans," Corvan said, restraining a shudder at the uneasy sight of one Tri-Being possessing another. What a bizarre race. He picked up a broken piece of kindling and scraping away at the tip with his knife, honing the edge into a sharp point. "Their silent and very wealthy partner. I've heard whispers, but I never thought I'd get to meet you."
"Zerik is a noble soul who needs only gold, danica and a few well-placed friends to turn Issamere to his will," The Stranger admitted, grinning far more widely than Touric ever did. "I call him a worthy investment."
"What do you have against backing Morgra?" Corvan asked.
"He's too costly," The Stranger said cryptically, his good humor narrowing into a sharp edge. "Now to business, I've been anxious to speak with you.
Why?" Corvan asked,
"There is a powerful person in Tri-Being society, who's influence in constantly thwarting mine," The Stranger admitted, licking his lips hungrily. "If you can remove this p
erson from the equation, I can make your escape from this continent a reality."
Corvan glared at The Stranger, weighing his options. "I promised the boy I wouldn't kill anyone else, since my escape."
"And what did the boy offer in return?" The Stranger asked.
"To not come find me."
"Yes, I should have expected as much. His power is quite... intrusive, isn't it?" The Stranger muttered through Touric's body, gazing off into the distance, seeing plans and machinations years in the making.
"I've managed," Corvan shrugged, sheathing his dagger. "I've saved his life twice now. That should count for something. Asking him to abandon his family was too much though. I'd make the same decision in his shoes. Tri-Beings are all he's ever known."
"Well, have no fear, my offer doesn't include the boy at all," The Stranger said cheerfully. "There is still ample time for you to consider my offer, weeks in fact. But if you'll never see him again, is breaking your word to the boy really an issue?"
"Who is it?" Corvan asked curiously. "Whose life do you want me to trade for the freedom to escape this place?"
The Stranger grinned. "Now we're talking."
Chapter 18
"How are you feeling?" Corvan asked Keevan, as they walked the last leg of the road to Issamere. A handful of refugees, the last survivors of the flooded farmlands, struggled along toward the imagined protection of the city's walls. A few of them carried children in their arms. Still fewer had pets in pursuit. Keevan couldn't shake the feeling that any animals once kept for emotional support were soon turned to more dietary uses, once the crops were lost.
"I feel alright," Keevan admitted, wincing with each step as he rubbed his belly with his hand. Sticky sweat formed on his brow and under his armor, spurred on by the heat of the afternoon sun, trying in vain to dry out the muddy ground outside of Issamere. "It just twinges a bit if I twist funny."
"Or take a step," Corvan observed, through a wry grin.
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