Keevan shot him a sour glance, "You're the one who healed me. Doesn't it mean you didn't do your job quite right?"
Corvan laughed, hearty bellow that drew mixed looks from nearby Rhetans. The despair in their eyes contrasted sharply with the mirth on his lips. Some watched him in amazement, others with jealousy. He lowered his voice, glancing at them suspiciously. "My boy, the key to recovering fully from such an ordeal is to let the body do as much of the healing as possible."
"That didn't stop you from healing my bruises back in the catacombs," Keevan grumbled. They reached the edge of the tent and wagon community lurking outside Issamere's walls. Here, ribcages tight with starvation poked out of tattered tunics and moldy blankets. Everyone was speckled with mud and there were no animals in sight, except for the occasional bird flying well out of reach.
Keevan grit his teeth and focused on the growing walls of Issamere. He didn't have the money or the resources to care for these Rhetans directly. He could only put his efforts where they would yield the most results, among the Etrendi of Issamere.
"Well, those wounds were superficial," Corvan explained, drawing a line down one arm before patting his chest. "If you're trying to heal internal organs, it's much trickier. You can't just slap a new coat of paint on a broken kiln and expect it work properly. I had to regrow half your intestine. Let your body figure out how to work it."
"For the next few days, eat less meat and bread, but more plants and grains. The fresher the better. I got it," Keevan sighed, glancing at the Rhetans sharing the road with them. "But I don't know how I'm going to find fresh vegetables or fruit in Issamere now. Unless you want me to fight for it."
"Don't do that," Corvan advised seriously, "If anyone is that desperate, they're literally fighting for their lives. There is no adversary more dangerous."
"Except you, maybe," Keevan chuckled. "That hold you used in the catacombs, wrapping your arm around someone's neck, could you show me that?"
"Someone else would have to train you," Corvan insisted, tapping his neck. He glanced over his shoulder at the nearest bedraggled Rhetan, hurrying a few more paces ahead to insure their privacy. The road got more crowded the closer they got to the East Gate, forcing the Varadour to lean over and speak in hushed tones. "I was using my strength gland when I attacked him. You don't have one, and you're light enough that an attacker might decide to simply throw you aside."
"Well, surely you have some tricks the Tri-Beings haven't seen before," Keevan persisted, nodding at the gate ahead of them. Corvan pulled out a pair of shackles, wrapping them around his wrists to feign imprisonment. They wouldn't lock, but they looked real enough. Keevan continued, "I've got to learn everything I can, if I'm going to succeed as a Persuader. That's not too much to ask, is it?"
"No, not too much to ask," Corvan echoed, his voice distant with a hint of sorrow. He snapped out of his gloomy mood when they approached the gate. A pair of burly guards took a long look at Keevan's insignia, then back to his prisoner, wanted posters in hand. For once, Keevan felt profoundly grateful for Corvan's foresight in shaving his beard. Precious few had seen his face before his capture. The guard's wanted poster depicted him with a grisly, unkempt beard, more beast than person. They looked Keevan up and down, noting Corvan's added foot in height and girth. When they looked back at Keevan, they looked impressed. The guards waved Keevan through.
"So, I spoke with one of Touric's agents." Corvan continued, slipping the shackles off as they rounded the first turn in the road. "The Akantran Performers are setting up in the central marketplace of the Haustran District. I was thinking we could swing by there on your way home, take a look around."
"Didn't Touric's agents already look into it?" Keevan asked, rubbing a sore patch of muscle at the base of his neck. Wearing his Persuader uniform again felt empowering, complete with the badge the Malik handed out earlier that week. At least getting back into the city wouldn't be difficult.
"Touric's agents can't see the elemental plane," Corvan pointed out.
"It would be nice if that wasn't the only useful thing I had to offer," Keevan grunted.
"Well, if that's the only real option to play, then let's make the most of it," Corvan decided, pulling out a strip of black fabric.
"What's that for?"
"Remember when you and Bahjal were watching for me? You weren't pretending to be blind. You needed to use those glowing eyes of yours without drawing attention. Do it again. Assess all of Issamere as you go, if that's your pleasure."
"Are you just going to report it all to Touric?" Keevan asked, taking the cloth and tying the black weave around his head a few times. The blindfold dimmed his elemental vision somewhat, but more importantly, the black cloth allowed him to watch the passerby without exposing his glowing eyes. In the dark, even a blindfold wouldn't sufficiently obscure his power. "I don't trust him."
"He's like the nobles back home," Corvan shrugged, "They all have their plans and plots, but a careful hand can make a decent living off them, if one is careful."
"Is that what you're going to do?" Keevan wondered. He glanced up at the roof tops, noticing a strong elemental field covering half the city block. The Danica globes were still functioning optimally here, that was a good sign. Still, he could see the elevated electricity in Rhetan and Haustran alike.
The danger wasn't in the amount, but in the shared volume. Get enough of them closer together and their fears could feed off each other. A feeling of dread settled over Keevan and he made a mental note to mention those concerns to the first High Priest he found. They were countering moisture and heat just fine, but not electricity. Perhaps the glass-weaved Danica globes were too fragile to channel so violent an element.
They passed the records hall, scribes busily wandering past the tired structure's thick oak doors. Keevan hesitated a moment, considering a detour to talk with Bahjal. Surely, she was worried for him, like his parents and perhaps Madol. He touched his upper lip, where Corvan's efforts had replaced her burn with healthy flesh. Keevan grit his teeth and turned away.
"Corvan, what if I could talk to the Malik for you?" Keevan asked, pushing his thoughts from Bahjal. "I'm sure in exchange for your skills, he'd gladly call off the Persuaders."
"But not the guards," Corvan noted.
Keevan paused a moment and shrugged in regret, "The Council wouldn't stand for it."
"It's alright," Corvan insisted, stroking the handle of the dagger at his belt. "I think it'd be better if one of us lives outside the current regime. Collectively, such a tactic gives us a better understanding of all the players in Issamere."
"To what end?" Keevan thought aloud. The further north they walked, the more calm the populace, which gave him a shred of peace. If Zerik wanted to start something, the angriest Rhetans lived on the edge of Issamere, a great distance from the Etrendi Zerik so longed to dethrone. "What should we do? I know someone like Touric would spout plans upon plans, but all I can think of is the starving people in Issamere, and saving as many lives as we can."
Corvan sighed, rubbing his temples. His muddy cloak drew looks of disdain from some passing merchants, hailing from the more popular class of Haustran society. They were accompanied but a pair of Beletokan guards, wielding polished battle axes. Keevan pursed his lips, noticing the latent fear in the hearts of the merchants and even their guards. He couldn't shake the feeling that everyone in the city was taking a single breath, waiting for the proverbial flame to meet tinder and start the impending conflict.
Corvan continued, watching the passing guards warily. "How did you grow up to be so idealistic? Surrounded by the threat of the Harbor Guild on every turn, I'm surprised you didn't grow up a little more devious or selfish in nature."
"Good parents," Keevan said simply.
"More like idealists," Corvan countered, shaking his head. "That will change."
"Who, my parents?"
"You."
"When?"
"After you've killed," Corvan admitted, staring at his fee
t. "It will happen eventually. The Persuaders can teach you the sword, how to defend yourself, but eventually you will be forced to make an irreversible choice and pay the price."
"Is this about being a Persuader?" Keevan asked grimly.
"No, not entirely," Corvan insisted, a touch of regret on his tongue. "I'm just trying to prepare you for whatever may come. I can't always be there to protect you. Not with the city hunting me."
"I'll do my best, one obstacle at a time," Keevan said simply. "I can't think beyond that."
"Well, here's your chance to prove that," Corvan reported as they turned a final corner. "We're here."
The largest marketplace in the Haustran District was a tangled mess of far-reaching canvas, thick tethers and heavily laden wagons. Acrobats and their families climbed over the mass of equipment, wooden stands and benches, putting their presentation together with the militaristic precision of years of practice. Keevan had to look away from the organized chaos, rubbing his eyes.
Through the elemental plane, watching Tri-Beings walking down the street was difficult enough. Walking side by side, their elemental fields intermixing and running together, made tracking any one person a challenge. This, watching the Tri-Beings milling around like so many ants over a carcass, pushed him to the limits of his vision. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on one group at a time, but each tangle of strands he caught a glimpse of disappeared in the wake of another.
"This is... bizarre," Keevan admitted. They stood along the wall of a bakery, watching the trained acrobats raise platforms, canvases and each other, practicing for the night's performance. "Some of these are Rhetans, but there are Haustrans and maybe even an Etrendi in the mix. It's hard to tell."
"An Etrendi?" Corvan whispered, licking his lips. "Perhaps it's Zerik's financer? The man who hired me to deliver the Danica weapons."
"Maybe," Keevan allowed, combing through tangled network of elements. "But I don't see any Danica metal in that mix. Not one guard is armed with an elemental weapon. None of their tools either. If they have one of those weapon set aside, they've tucked it away."
One of the large tent flaps tore loose of its stakes, crumpling to the ground. The loose fabric settled over something huge, with four legs and a sour temperament. The creature snorted and stomped its pawed feet, while a dozen Tri-Beings rushed to the beast's side.
They pulled the canvas aside, revealing a reptilian beast roughly the size of a house, with clawed forelegs, thick muscles and a gleaming scaly hide. Its long tail held two curved bones on the end, drawing caution from the acrobats as the creature turned in place, settling down on its haunches, bored. None of that stood out to Keevan though, as much as the strands of energy tying the stormborn creature to every source of heat in the square.
"That... is one big creature," Corvan said in awe.
"It's stormborn. Like the Pagoda Zerik set free last time," Keevan reported nervously. "A fire type. You really think Touric's agents and the Persuaders missed that?"
Two dark skinned men stepped clear of their wagon, arms loaded with buckets of grain. They poured the beast's meal across the cobblestones and the creature settled down, picking through the grains with its rough, green tongue. A couple Issamerean Rhetans sat along the wall next to Keevan, watching the display hungrily, but one look at the massive creature sent enough electricity through their limbs to make a man convulse.
"I doubt it," Corvan chuckled, "A blind man could hit that thing, with a slingshot, fired from our homeland."
"Let's get an explanation, then," Keevan insisted, taking off his blindfold as he relinquished his elemental vision. As much as he wanted to keep watching through the elemental plane, he needed to read people's faces as he questioned them. There was also security to consider. The regular acrobats might not know him on sight, but if any were paid off by Zerik for something dastardly, they might be on the lookout for glowing blue eyes.
"Excuse me," Keevan called, drawing a laborer from his pail of nails. The Rhetan glanced up with distrust, glancing at the Persuader insignia with suspicion.
"What you want?" He huffed, twirling the hammer in his hand as if the tool were light as a goose down pillow. Somehow, the way his spun the hammer forced Keevan to consider what such a tool could do to a man's head. Keevan gulped and glanced back at Corvan, who stood alongside with the same bored attitude as the stormborn creature.
"Who's in charge?" Keevan asked, trying to maintain the confidence of a Persuader, while painfully aware that this Rhetan's biceps were approximately the size of Keevan's head.
"Blue tent, next to the grain stores," The laborer answered. While lifting a four-by-four as long as the creature was tall, he added, "Keep your head down, we don't have time to dance around you city folk."
"I'll be quick," Keevan promised, keeping his distance as the Rhetan hauled his burden across the marketplace to the other side of the pavilion. His fellows had the lumber down and nailed into place in a matter of seconds, before hurrying to the next four-by-four.
"Somehow, I can easily imagine this lot cutting through Issamere's defenses," Corvan muttered in Keevan's ear. "They're just a little too well coordinated to be mere performers. What if they're assassins?"
"An entire acrobatic crew? There's got to be at least fifty people in this lot," Keevan pointed out, watching a dozen of them scramble to various corners of a large canvas, pulling in unison as they hauled a large, dome-shaped tent upright. "That seems a little extreme."
"So was the amount of gold Zerik paid this crew, if rumors are to be believed," Corvan grunted, stroking the handle of his dagger.
"Student Persuader," A wizened elderly man greeted them, his face weathered from many long years in the elements. His gnarled hands were still think and worn. A glance at his eyes however, proved old age had not yet caught onto his wits. If Keevan's age bothered him, this man hid his discomfort well. "I am Zalin. This is my acrobatic troupe. How can we be of assistance?"
"I'm sure you've heard this a couple of times by now," Keevan apologized, suddenly feeling out of place. He was used to people disbelieving his rank with their eyes, even if their lips suggested the opposite. "But we're here to inspect your... pet, and perhaps a few of your actors."
"Of course," Zalin nodded with a genuine smile. His personable nature contrasted sharply with the instant distrust of the first acrobat they spoke to. Zalin was content to talk the day away. "It's to be expected. Issamere has fallen on hard times. It leaves the guards and Persuaders on edge. I only hope our performance can distract the population for a while. They could certainly use a laugh."
"I agree," Keevan echoed, facing the massive reptilian beast. "What is this creature called? Shouldn't it be in a cage?"
"His name is Zaachet, he is a Bastrom," Zalin said proudly. The creature laid on his belly now, paws folded under his chin, eyes closed contently. A couple acrobats went back to work on the canvas, keeping the creature under constant shade. "This is a fire-bonded beast, a gift from the southern tribes. I sometimes trade among them. No need for a cage. Mostly, he just sleeps and eats."
"Fire-bonded?" Keevan echoed, trying to sound surprised. Sometimes, the hardest part of living among Tri-Beings was feigning ignorance of information he could clearly see. Madol insisted the skill would prove useful as a Persuader, helping people feel at ease in Keevan's presence.
"Indeed," Zalin said, pointing at the canvas suspended over the Bastrom. "The extreme heat of the south is Zaachet's home environment. Interestingly enough, the temperate climate here puts him into a sleepy, dormant state."
"Why the canvas then?" Corvan asked. "Does sunlight affect him?"
"Direct sunlight will make him try to graze," Zalin said, chuckling. "He got out one afternoon, back among the southern tribes. Stepped right over the fence we'd raised for him and ended up in some farmer's field. Ate half an acre by the time we located him."
"But when the weather is cool, the Bastrom eats less," Keevan supposed.
Zalin nodded, eyes alig
ht with genuine surprise and approval. "Right again, you're a quick study. I didn't know Morgra was recruiting intellectuals among his Persuaders. They're usually more of a 'hit first, talk later' breed."
"Like you said, the city is desperate," Keevan admitted, tapping the insignia on his leather armor. "They're asking anyone to help, if they're able and willing."
"I've no doubt." Zalin said, watching his fellows raise another tent to the sky. He put his hands on his hips and sighed contently. "This is what a showman looks for in a decent crew. Every man knows their place and does their part to prepare. They took months to whip into shape, but they fall in better than one of Arnadi's battalions now."
"They're former-soldiers?" Corvan assumed, instantly suspicious.
"Ha! Far from it," Zalin insisted, clutching his side from a sudden bout of laughter. "I doubt they'd know which end of a whip to hold, much less a sword. Well, except the knife thrower over there. A master of blades, to be sure, but he faints at the sight of blood. Needless to say, we abstain from 'living' targets. Bad for business when your performer crumples to the floor in a puddle of his own vomit."
"So, you don't have any new hires here?" Keevan pried.
"No, I'm not hiring right now," Zalin answered. He pointed at one acrobat currently climbing a pole to the top of the tent. Strips of leather around the Rhetan's feet were his only protection from a quick, agonizing fall. "It takes too long to train a new recruit to that level and my people know how rough it is elsewhere. Well, here. They won't quit until the situation improves in the big cities."
"Last question," Keevan asked, "what would have to happen to make the Bastrom a danger to the people?"
Zalin stroked his weathered chin for a moment, thinking. "Well, I'd imagine a female Bastrom would stoke his fire, if you'll pardon the expression. But even then he'd calm down as soon as he found her. Pretty sure no one has another one of these hiding in the city. Where would you put it?"
Keevan couldn't help but laugh at that thought. Most of Issamere was hewn from stone, to accommodate a Tri-Being of typical size, not a massive beast like this. Even the Rhetan buildings of lumber weren't big enough to house this beast. Keevan spent most of his childhood scampering around among them. He'd have to ask Bahjal to make sure. "Well, thank you for your time, Zalin. We appreciate it."
Splintered Loyalties Page 19
