Angela MacDonald's Blog

Princes of Purt:

Teppe’ in the field

Riven’s Cabin

Oirion wished he was anywhere but where he was. The worst part of it was the bugs, he decided. He could handle waiting, but he wasn’t looking forward to this. He didn’t even really mind sitting on the ground… it was the damned bugs that kept buzzing about his ears and biting him whenever they could. He slapped at the back of his neck and growled to himself.

It was hot, un-godly hot for this time of year, and sweat was running down his back. The valley here was where once a great glacier had pressed the ground down as it headed to the ocean. It made for a smooth sweep of field strewn with massive random boulders. This was a summer pasture, so right now it was knee-deep in spring grasses and even deeper vegitaion along the stream at the bottom. It was said once there had been an orchard here, but Gerome had chopped it down for a new round of furnishings for his chambers.

That had been well over a thousand year ago and now there was not even a stump to the entire valley. He watched from where he sat as the first ranks of the great elven army came forward. Oirion closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was going to end this. He prayed to any and all gods that if he died it would not end Shannon, or that if it did, that Shannon would simply die as a mortal man. Whatever it would take, he needed to win this war. Purt had to stand. If Purt was brought down, then there could be no Purtan emperor. The Barrier would shatter, the world would end, and it wouldn’t matter what cost he paid here or what he didn’t pay.

He let them begin to pour into the valley before he got up. He stood where he was a moment, then began to walk toward them. A group of several came forward on their horses with bows. They circled him, a bit awed that he didn’t seem at all afraid.

“Who are you?  What are you doing here?”

“Hmm. I am TyShane Von Valreen, Regent of Purt, also called Oirion, and I would talk to your Lord.”

They laughed a bit, but one closed his eyes to relay the message. “What would you say to him?” the man asked.

“I would say that I do not think he is as great as word says. If he is, then Purt is foolish to not welcome him as a god. I, however, need proof. Let him come out, let him prove to me he is truly the demi-god he thinks himself. Or is he afraid of me?”

The message was relayed to the humor, then worry, of the elves who circled Oirion.

“He needs not prove anything to anyone,” one of them said and moved to kill Oirion with his sword.  Oirion didn’t even flinch. The five men and their horses were hit with a power that turned them to ash faster than they could swing.  Their weapons fell to the ground.

“Then let that be my proof!” Oirion roared. He didn’t know who had killed the men about him, but he suspected it was Victor. “Not only are you a coward who must beat on women to feel powerful, you fear your adversary! Your grandfather must be rolling in his salty grave in shame for your weakness!”

The elven army kept marching into the valley, but Oirion knew they, as well as the self-proclaimed emperor with them, had heard it all. The army continued to march as a section of it opened to allow a man on a white horse to ride forward. His robes were golden and white, shimmering with magic as well as wealth. It was clearly an attempt to appear to have capture the power of Armond’s. It was not chance at how similar it was to the robes of the pontiffs of Purt.

Oirion couldn’t help but laugh a little at the vanity. He wore black leather like Shannon might have. He had to admit, with the magic in the leather, it was a great uniform for the work he was about to take on. The two of them could not appear more opposite. It would make a grand image for some hero’s hall painting. Oirion almost laughed about that. As if his face was posted about Purt enough as it was.

The man rode forward with grace as his army moved to avoid the wet of the valley floor and to flank the Regent in the center of the field. Oirion waited, oddly wishing he had a horse, too. He at least would be drier. He was soaked to his knees and his boots were sunk in the mud a bit.

The elf took his time to get into position. It allowed his army to also find their new places as they rushed to get there. Oirion had to mildly admire the army and how neatly the elves could move into place. The ranks were not broken even at a run. It was truly impressive. A pity he was going to kill them all.

The elf stopped about a half mile from Oirion and cast his voice so it filled the valley like a song against Oirion’s roar.

“Child, I have no anger with you. Kneel down and I shall take you as a son unto me. You are fair and gifted, a shame to end such a blessed form as yours.”

Oirion almost laughed at the lure that the man spun into his voice as he sent it at Oirion. It might work against an elf, but not against a Hunter and certainly not against one who had Shannon in his soul. “My dear man,” Oirion laughed. “You clearly do not know who I am,” he cast his own voice out. “I am Adept-Master Oirion!  I am older than you; I have walked the lands and currents of Purt since before the birth of Gerome by a thousand and more years. I stood on the banks of the Pusan as your grandfather thrashed in agony caused by his own foolishness. I have walked the hell fires and bear the scars to prove it. I have danced with dragons and I have made demons nestle in my hands. I am Regent of Purt, bonded partner of Tyredelle Von Armond Von Shannon.  I opened the gate of the Lost and drew them through five thousand years to be here to meet you, to greet our dear brothers, our long allies and fellow Elder race,” he motioned around to them all in mockery and insult. He was making things up and trying to sound as grand as Theo did when telling stories. He began to walk toward the king of the elves. “You come to Purt and you do not even know who you face? Child,” he spat the word.  “Get down from your horse and earn your right to be so bold as to even speak to me.”

The elf was stunned a moment, then laughed. “You are not Master Oirion. You are Oirion Hennen von Valreen. Father Oirion,” he spat the title like a joke. “I know you. You claim great things and yet you crawl on the floor to Shannon. How does it feel to be the concubine of a vampire? You spin nice lies of what he is, but I know the truth. I know what he hides behind the wall of Norwood, and all the nations know you are nothing but his bed toy.”

That almost made Oirion angry. Instead he held up his hands almost as in admittance. “I don’t know what source you get your information from, but clearly they have set you up to fail. Even now Prince Elliott, true cousin of Tyredelle Von Armond, has invaded your lands. You will have nothing to go home to. The elven race shall be as Razzan’s.” He pointed at the elf. “No one invades Purt!” he roared with power.

The land about him shuddered and rolled away like the surface of water when struck with a great vibration. The birds who remained in the valley launched upward.  “You best call on your ‘allies’ now,” he said coldly. “You won’t have much longer to do so.”

Above, the storm suddenly rolled black and lighting flashed out over the sky. Teppe’ Ep Shek, king of the golden elves threw back his cloak and lifted his arm. “Fool!” he yelled and brought down lightning at Oirion. Oirion didn’t even have to deflect it. Someone else did.

Teppe’ threw up his arm, the horse reared, and while the elf fought to hold his saddle, Oirion hit the ground under the horse’s hooves with power. The bolt of power turned solid ground to instant mud. The poor animal sank just enough to tip over onto his rider.

There was a single shout and the elves all began to move toward Oirion. A gate ripped open before the king. Several dozen elven guards poured out to block Oirion. Oirion flung out a ring of fire that rushed outward, not only at the guards in his path but at the army that was running down the valley slopes toward him.  He felt the ground shift under his feet and knew the Purtan army hidden beyond the valley had just been ordered to attack the elves.

With a shout Oirion reached up and grabbed the power of the storm as he had once seen Shannon do. It was searing and horrifically painful, but he held it. He sent it slamming down at Teppe’ and his guards. He brought down blow after blow. Shields shattered as fast as they were risen against him. Oirion got in one more fast than they could recover and the men who guarded the elven king exploded into fire and ash.

He was almost down to the king himself as the elven army’s wizards all aimed at Oirion at once. He was forced to put up a shield of his own. In the sky, fire began to burn as if oil had been spilled in the clouds. Oirion knew the fire would soon begin to fall in terrible drops of heat that would burn all it touched. He had seen it before.

“Don’t send them into this!” he yelled. He pleaded to all good powers that Dave would somehow get that order out and know what to do about it. He drew his sword and holding his shield, he moved to attack the elf himself. His sword lit with black fire as he ran at the king to try to get to him before he was cut off again.

There were just too many attacks. Elven wizards hammered on his shields and flung anything they could think of at him even as archers aimed the first round of arrows at him. He was forced to focus on his shields and to spin power off himself to keep the elves back and arrows out of him. Funnels of fire began to touch down like tornadoes and light up areas of the battle that were out of sight in the darkness.

Somehow he felt the gate starting to be built and with a roar grabbed at it. The shields he wore between himself and Shannon began to flake away even as he grabbed the king’s gate and exploded it. The concussion was enough the men about him were knocked back. Oirion staggered from the force of the explosion. For a moment he felt everything shatter, his ears went deaf, and his body went numb. He knew his amulets and illusions were gone and he was just old Oirion again.

Then the power that was Shannon poured in. Oirion cried out in pain as he had when they had melded on the tower top. Then he had spun away into shadow realms to emerge 5000 years back in time. This time it was different. His ring flared and power as golden as Shannon was dark poured into him as well. It was going to kill him and he knew it. There was nothing to do but hold it and flare it all out, both golden and dark as one. There was no way he could separate them or cut Shannon off. He heard Shannon yell somewhere far back in his mind, but it was nothing he could react to.

He held it as long as he could, then surrendered to it. He felt his arms being flung out as his body lifted off the ground, and then silence. He was, for a moment, back in the sky as the Great Albatross. He was dead; he had died and he was free of this pain. He could fly free and slip into the energy streams and be part of the living Purt. It lasted for a thousand years and for a split moment only.

Then it was dark and quiet.

Without pain Oirion pushed himself up from the ground. It was dark, lightning flashed and cracked randomly about him in a cloud of darkness and green toxic fumes. The ground bubbled with pits of grey mud that spit up vents of steam and boiling earth. He picked up his sword. His skin was burned beyond feeling. It was held together by power alone. He crossed the mud, past what might have once been elves, their bodies little more than stone bones or lumps under the mud. He walked toward where the king had been.

Oirion found the Teppe’ within a shield of power, his fine robes burned and tattered. He was working on building a gate to escape. He looked up, startled to see Oirion.

The elf had been hurt; his face was burned and blood ran from his eyes and nose. His shields were only to protect him from the fumes and heat. Oirion looked at him a moment. This was the man who had hurt Tavia, who had invaded Purt, who had forced him to use magic that would be felt for ten thousand years at least.

He lifted his sword and drove it into the elf’s chest, dropping all his weight onto the man who didn’t even have the physical strength to fight back.

“You can’t kill me…” the elf gasped, almost laughing. “You still don’t know who I am.”

“You still don’t know who I am,” Oirion said, his face not even an inch from the elf’s. He took every last pit of power he could pull through his ragged cords. He felt wings tear out of the back of robe as his eyes turned to golden fire. He slammed all his power into the elf, as Teppe’ gasped in fear for the first time. Oirion’s organs were set on fire, powers fought, but Oirion did not let go. The elf screamed, his power failed and as his organs died, all the magics bound to them exploded out as well.

The power caught on the storm and boomed outward. Oirion felt crushed and lifted at the same time. He collapsed. Maybe this time, he thought, maybe he’d just stay dead this time.

*************

The power of it was unlike anything Theo had ever felt; he wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. He had gone to Shannon to try to ask him what he thought it was. The last thing he expected was for it to be from Shannon. The man had been transformed.

He was on his knees on the floor of his cabin. His eyes were closed, tears of shimmering power escaped the corners of his eyes. Sweat soaked his body. His left hand was glowing deep within the golden scar, so hot it had burned away his glove. His robe had been ripped or burned away, leaving him shreds held on only by his belt. His body shimmer in places, the power flushed in and out, from one area to another. Whatever it was, there was no doubt that it was both painful and erotic.

Theo considered that maybe Raz had gotten hold of Shannon and was doing to him what she had meant to do to Zou, but no… this was different.  He could see Shannon’s chest heaving with his breath, his blood pounding though the veins in his neck, his muscles quivering.

Shannon opened his eyes to show they had gone utterly black except for the irises, which were vampire red, dark as the sash of the Von Armonds. Theo held the door closed from anyone else seeing Shannon this way.  He didn’t know what to do.

“Shannon…” he whispered, not sure if he should help the man or let him experience what seemed to be a serious healing. It had been awhile since Theo had no idea what to do about something… and he did not like the feeling at all.

It ended suddenly. Shannon dropped forward to his hands. Gasping for air, he couldn’t move beyond that. Theo stayed at the door and watched as blood dripped from Shannon’s eyes to the floor. Tears had turned to red and the man had a bloody nose as well. Theo moved to grab something for him to wipe with. He dropped to a knee beside Shannon and offered the silk shirt he had grabbed. Shannon took it and held it to his face, wiping the corner of his eyes with it.

“You alright?” Theo asked very concerned. Shannon opened his eyes and looked at Theo.  They were blue again, but so bloodshot they were almost vampire red.

“That hurt,” Shannon breathed in Crousen, his Port Hall accent clear and thick.

“I didn’t know what to do. What happened?”

Shannon closed his eyes. Theo could see he was already getting black eyes from the event and likely much of his body would bruise as well.

“I don’t know exactly… Oirion doing whatever he had to in order to hold Ulam Bac, I suppose. The world is going to feel what he did. We need to get off the ship before the earthquakes start the tsunamis.”

Theo nodded. “We’ll be cutting into the Barrier soon. Then we can land within hours.”

Shannon nodded. “Tell them to make for it now.”

Theo got up. “You want me to do anything else?”

“Lock my door.  I need to bathe and…  rest.”

The Barrier passing was a rough bit of weather, a gut-wrenching drop and then they were through it. Magics had indeed changed. They all looked to each other at the ease of the crossing but said nothing about it. Of all the magics they had to worry about that did not seem to be one of them. Just inside the Barrier line Dragons Teeth Mountains formed the chain of islands that they were headed for. Immediately Theo recast his search and narrowed the search for Riven down to a single island. Sails were unfurled. They aimed for their lost comrade with all speed.

The crew took the ship as close to the small harbor as it could. It was already crowded and it would take hours to get into the safety of its walls. The captain lowered a row boats for them.  They grabbed their gear to be lowered down.

Shannon emerged from the cabin with his hood up and a limp. With s growing sense of urgency they hurried down the rope ladder. Ivan grabbed the oars at once. The moment Shannon had taken a seat he dug in hard and set to work cutting for the lights they could see on the water’s edge. The great warship headed away to try and survive the coming wave and to make itself known by the elven nations.

They were just pulling into the docks of the harbor when the storm cracked and rumbled overhead. Ivan caught the dock side and pulled the boat in. Theo jumped out to grab the ropes and tie it off. He helped the others to the dock, aiding Shannon last as the others moved to pull up hoods and gather packs.

Shannon gripped Theo’s hand to get up out of the boat and nearly fell as the tide jostled the boat. Theo pulled the man up and helped him get his feet back.

“Carry that,” Theo said, handing Ivan Shannon’s pack. He took the lead up the dock, looking for an inn as high up as possible.

The island wasn’t that big and the village on the docks was all that it was likely to support. The small fishing village was here at all because the safe harbor with grey stone cliffs that offered protection from the common storms.

Rain started to fall as they reached the street. Theo spotted an inn and cut for it. It was old, stone, and build up high enough that the waves would never hit it. The lower buildings, however, had stains from the salt winds and spray from the harbor. Theo had no idea how far the tsunami would reach across the world, but better safe than sorry.

They entered the front door to find it had far more people than expected. They sat about talking or eating. It was an easy crowd with a good mix to it. Several children were playing with a ball at one end of the room and the three puppies were desperate to go and join them.

The group pushed two table together while Theo went to the back counter.

“Can we get meals, beers, and beds if you have them?”

“That we do,” the man behind the counter said. “I’ll have the rooms readied and meals brought.” He nodded as he went to grab down pitchers of old clay to bring to them.

“You know,” Ivan sighed as he took a seat. “I forgot how nice it is to have things fit. A few years in Ezeer and god damn are the rest of you small.” He shifted in the chair that threatened to break under him.  He stopped when he saw Shannon under the hood.

“You alright?” Kelly asked Shannon.  Shannon lifted his blood-shot eyes to her.

“Fine,” he said.

“The Regent playing with magics,” Theo said with a light shrug. “I’m betting he showed the elves a bit of his temper.”

“Hopefully he didn’t sink all of Crouse,” Shannon muttered in Crousen, rubbing his eyes.

“Is that what that magic was earlier?” Kelly asked.

Shannon nodded.

“You think he’s alright?” Salma asked concerned. Shannon looked at her while the man set beer pitchers on the table.

“No,” he said honestly. “He’s not dead, but I bet he wishes he was. If I feel this bad…” he shook his head.  “He never learns.”

“You told him to hold Ulam Bac,” Kelly said. “I bet no elf gets hold of it.”

“I didn’t tell him to sink it.”

“Then you think the invasion is over?” Tavia asked. “Purt is safe now?  That the elves are… kingless?”

“Elves are like orcs,” Shannon said. “Kill one king… they bicker a bit, then get a new just as bad as the last.”  He took the mug of beer. “I hate elves.”

Tavia lifted an eye brow to him. His tone and the use of no whisper and the thick dialect of Port Hall seemed very odd. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I think they are so bad-mannered because they have so few women,” Ivan offered cheerfully. “They need more girls. What a sour race to be in if its only one out of ten. They have to invade other races just to get a little soft curves in their hands.”

Theo chuckled softly. “Ivan you’re one-minded, you know.”

Ivan grinned and lifted his mug. “It’s good to be home,” he laughed and drained the mug before pouring more.

Shannon watched him a moment, smiled, then shook his head.

*************

The goal was to find Riven. Theo was trying to use magic, Ivan was asking around, and Tavia just left the inn. She needed to walk, anyway. The three puppies followed her, tumbling in games with each other and happily chasing along behind her.

The island here was a sleeping giant. She could feel its roots deep under the dark cold water. Fire boiled up at its foot, giving life and energy to the depths here. The soil was hammered with the Barrier magics, the salt of the ocean, and the abuse of the men who lived here. It was so badly over-grazed that what plants survived here did so with great effort.

It looked horribly barren, but there was something about it that she liked. It was quiet here. She drew up her hood against the rain. She let the village fall away behind her as she walked out over the hills behind it and let her feet go where they would. After awhile the three puppies just walked with her, soaked by the drizzle of rain.

She came down a steep gully to a little hidden level of land before it dropped off a cliff down to beach and tide far below. She made her way up the finger of narrow land tucked between cliff faces. There was a small stone house build against the cliff. It was well hidden with thorny brush grown up over it. She had to admire how the garden was grown here, tucked in safely, carefully tended, and hard to spot. Every little plant had its place in the cliff wall. In an age past this had been beach but was now a hundred feet above the new beach and all but invisible from below or from above.

She stopped and knelt to a small tree that had been carefully planted here with much care given to provide it soil for its roots, and yet it struggled. She let her fingers brush it, offering it life and strength.

“What are you doing?” a rough voice demanded with anger and shortness. She looked over as the dwarf came rushing down from the cliffs and boulders behind his house. “Don’t touch that!”

He was in hides and furs, and carried a wicker pack on his shoulder. His hair was bound back from his face with a shocking white streak from his left temple. His left eye was as white as the band of hair as was his beard.  It took her a moment to recognize him.

“Riven?” she asked, almost in shock. The golden priest was gone. This man was angry, in pain, and nothing like the man she had known. He slowed as he looked at her again.

“Tavia?” he asked, almost as if he was seeing a ghost. His anger drained away into pain and sadness. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you.”

He looked to where his little tree was hidden behind her long skirt. “I found it on the peak. The rats uproot them and eat them. I had to try and save it.”

“I would not hurt your tree, Riven. I meant only to offer her a bit of energy.”

He grunted and waved it off as if it didn’t matter. Tavia knew better. She could feel the care and attention Riven had been pouring into his little tree. He motioned her to follow and led the way to his small house.

Ducking inside, she found it plain. The largest thing was the bed on the side wall. There was a small cooking hearth on the other, a bookshelf loaded with bits of shells, bones, and stones. A small table had a collection of finer things. There were gems, crystals, and bits of gold, silver, and copper. He had two stools at the table, but one had a large black stone on it. She took the other chair and watched him bustle about to make tea and find a place for the big stone.

The puppies laid down by the hearth to dry off and rest.

“Why are you here?”

“The Barrier is starting to collapse,” she said. “You are needed to help bring it down.”

“Shannon is emperor then?” he asked, not looking back.

“Yes.”

“And he is ready to kill Dave to open the gate?”

“No.  Dave is not with us.  I do not know what he plans.”

Riven grunted. He took out two little stone cups and the already hot water. He used a screen to filter the water though the tea mix he had ready. With a great deal of care he made the tea and offered the cup to her, as if seeking her approval. She took it and smiled at him. It was huge compliment to her.

She had thought none of them noticed how much work she put into her tea. She had poured part of her soul into every cup to keep them all healthy and moving. She sipped the tea that Riven had prepared. The taste was new to her, not sweet, but not bitter at all. She held it in her mouth, feeling the hint of power and energy to it. It was a wonderful calming tea. She savored it. The tea was it was rather remarkable to have been made by a man who clearly was in great pain both physically and spiritually.

“Wonderful,” she told Riven. “You will show me how to make it one day?”

He nodded with a curt nod and sat on his stool. “Dave is not with you?”

“No. He was left in Purt to hold Ulam Bac against the elven kings who are invading.”

“Oirion?”

“He is with Dave.”

Riven took a drink and held it in his mouth a very long time, helping himself to calm before he swallowed it. “Who is with you then?”

“Ivan, Theo, Kelly, Salma. Dave’s son, Zou, and those three,” she nodded to the puppies. “They have been changed into wolf puppies, but they are each a prince of Purt in their own right. One of them is my son Rajak, another is Oirion’s son Valen, the third is Shannon’s brother Keeden.”

Riven looked at the three a long moment, then back to Tavia. “We cannot hope to do this without Oirion.”

“I did not say who was to come or not. Theo has hinted that Oirion will join us later.”

Riven grunted. “I do not wish to…” he looked away, shielding his scarred face.  “I am not who I was.”

“Nor am I,” she said. “We have all changed… grown, gained scars.”

“And Travis?” Riven asked, looking up to her. “He must be a man by now.  Where is he?”

“Travis died,” she said sadly. “It was his choice; he did it to save Purt. He knew his actions and he did them as a man of great power.”

Riven almost started to cry at once. He covered his eyes, his hand trembling. Tavia reached out and touched the arm of her old friend.

“He was Armond, Riven.”

Riven drew in a gasping breath and nodded. “I suspected something as such.”  He wiped his eyes and looked at her. “You had another son, though?” He looked to the puppies. “Might I ask who the father is?  Not Oirion, I assume, as you name his son separately.”

She laughed softly. “No, not Oirion. I wasn’t aware that was even an option.”

Riven smiled so small a smile his beard nearly hid it. “He struggled very hard with his vows,” he said. “Perhaps it was more struggling with being alive than being in your company. I was certain he had let go of that vow before the end.”

“He did.  He and Salma had a son, DaHane.  He is with Dave in Purt.”

Riven lifted an eye brow at her, a bit impressed. For a moment he seemed almost his old self. “How very unexpected.” He took another sip of tea. “And the father of yours?”

Tavia took her own sip of tea and sat a long time listening to the fire crackling and thinking how nice it would be to live in such a place as this. She looked up slowly. “I have studied many thing and one of them was to find the Deal Gerome made. We cannot save him until we know what the conditions are. It demanded I get into some rather unpleasant places and I was taken captive by him. He had no idea who I was; I think he thought I was just another rebel spy… if that. Shannon didn’t approve of my being in his hands. He rather rashly and foolishly moved to rescue me and that was not part of the plans of heaven. It nearly destroyed him… and caused him, while caught in the madness of a vampire, to sire a son that he cannot even look at without pain.  It also forced Travis to act out of time.”

Riven sat quiet a long time, his eyes looking away at nothing. “You do not hold anger?”

“No,” she said. “Not anger; if anything I gain only more respect for his self-mastery and how much he has done with such a curse binding his hands and denying him so much. And you, Riven?  How do you end up back inside?”

“Gerome hunted me. The stories failed and I was forced to flee. My people are nothing but merchants and traders now with little dwarf left to them. My brothers bicker over the throne and would sooner have traded me for gold than risk a war with Gerome.  I was forced to flee them as well and fate cast me back within the Barrier. It was years of being hunted before I was taken down.

“And then I understood why I was so hunted, why I could not seem to hide nor shake them. I understood then just how powerful Shannon was, what he was, who he was, far beyond the revelations of the day on the ship’s deck.”

“What happened, Riven?”

“Great demons and great gods often split themselves into different pieces. They set each part of themselves to a task and so even if the Core is destroyed, the master mind simply goes to another part of himself to become the master.”  He got up and went to his bookshelf as he spoke. “In the bog I would have died. He saved my life and likely my soul. For whatever poison was there, it went deeper than the flesh… and deeper than the flesh he had to go to save me. I cannot imagine the pain he endured then to pull away, but on the deck of the ship it was a thousand times more. So desperate and broken was he that he could not pull free. He cut off part of himself so as to not destroy me.”  He set a flat stone on the table. “That part remained, slowly building power and strength, and when I was attacked… brought to my knees before Gerome… he attacked.” Riven smoothed his hand over the stone and showed it was truly a stone box with a lid of power.  Within it was a collection of black diamonds.

“Gerome shattered him, but I escaped. I spent years collecting every shard.” He lifted the largest single shard. He had made it into a pendant. “When I go out, I wear it. It keeps me safe, it hides me. There is great power in it.”  He laid it back down in the box.  “I had been enraged, burned, and could not forgive him for what he had done on the ship. It ate at me and haunted me until that day. When he stood before Gerome, there was my old friend prepared to be destroyed simply so I might escape… I didn’t know for certain if it was truly him, or just a Summons, but I have heard whispers of an emperor in Purt and that Shannon himself had not been destroyed, only a part of him.”

“Shannon is not what you remember. He has changed. Even in the last year he has changed. Armond removed Gerome’s bond and bound him to Oirion. That alone forced him into new patterns and energy.”

“Oirion is Shannon’s partner?  And he is sane?” he looked up shocked.

Tavia shrugged. “I think he pretends to be. Much has changed for Oirion as well.  The man you knew died… several times.”

Riven sipped his tea and considered it all. “Tell me of the boys…” he said with a glance back at the three sleeping puppies.

Tavia told him everything she knew of all he asked about. He listened long and carefully, asking many things from her private life to the politics of the world. He made them a meal and they ate as they spoke slowly, without any rush to it. It was pleasant to slow down and simply talk with an old friend.

It was late when he lit a candle. “Tavia,” he said softly, “I have known you are a queen since the mountains of the Ulam Ar. The powers there showed me no less. Your crown does not, however, come from Shannon. You were born a queen. He might not know the details, but he feels it. I think we all did, even then. I think Armond gave you the crown to hide your truth. Not even the word of Armond will bind Shannon. He is beyond such things. He might honor Armond, for he loved him, but he will no more feel you are his wife than he did then. Worse, he may feel that Travis did it to keep shame and the life of being hunted from his unborn brother.”

“Shannon may well be changed from his bond with Oirion, but he is still Shannon. He still reads the emotions of men like you might read the lines of a stone or I the leaves of a flower. He is still a vampire and still… Shannon. He keeps us about him in order to save the world, not for his own heart. His heart is dead. That thing that beats in his chest is the heart Travis once wore, the thing that was once a core is now a pit into the abyss.  He is not a man, Riven.”

Riven touched her hand this time, mirroring the very gesture she had given to him.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly and got up. He opened the door and waited. He turned to make more tea. It wasn’t long before Theo ducked in through the door.

Outside thunder rolled and the storm energies shivered through the air. “Tavia…” Theo said, surprised she was there.

“Theo,” Riven grunted and set the third cup on the table.

“Very well, then. Drink the tea while I pack,” Riven said as he turned to pull out an old battered satchel and began to put all his things into it.

“How did you get here?” Theo asked.

“I walked, Theo,” she said with a little smile. Theo smiled faintly, then sipped the tea.  He savored it a long moment and sighed.

“Masterfully made, Riven.”

Riven grunted and dropped his stone box into the satchel.

Find the books on Createspace and Amazon

Look for art, maps, and more on Facebook: Novels of Shannon

https://www.amazon.com/Through-Barrier-Princes-Priests-Trilogy/dp/1481943936/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1485904512&sr=

Princes of Purt: chapter 13

-Prince Von Valreen

The Regent wasn’t well and it was far deeper than the arm he wore bound up. He lifted his eyes as the door opened. He was dressed grandly in black leather and red, his face looked flawless, but something was very wrong. He looked at DaHane without moving as they entered. DaHane began to fear the man’s reaction.

“I am sorry we didn’t bath…” DaHane bowed. “We came from the fields.”

The Regent straightened from where he had been leaning on the table. He looked to the other two men. He stepped around the table as both men went to their knees with their hands on the floor before him. He almost paused, almost looked like he wanted to cry.

He took hold of the king’s shoulder and pulled him up to his feet.

“Please don’t do that,” he said softly in Valreen.

“You are Regent…”

Oirion shook his head. “You are also my grandfather.” He turned to get a glass of wine off the table. “I didn’t know you were anywhere near.”

“I wasn’t. Shannon sent word some weeks ago for any fighters we had and so I thought I would come. I didn’t know why, but I found elves burning fields…. so I set to burning elves. I had hoped to take DaHane back with me, to appeal to Shannon again, but I find he has no need of me. You should have seen him!  My God, I don’t think I have ever seen such magic and power!”

“Not to be short, Grandfather, but you stink of blood and death.” Oirion motioned to an Elite in the doorway. “Can you take them to be bathed, fed, and given fresh clothes. It is bad etiquette here not to do so.”

“Wait, this is TyDaidren. He was invaluable. He has much to tell you.”

“I know. Please, give yourself a moment to bathe. We can eat and talk once you have changed. Shannon would ask that you not come into the inner court carrying so much… stray energy. It makes it hard for the current magics to focus right.”

“Oh. Oh!” he said, suddenly understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think…”

“Just go bathe and change.”

The two men were led away. The Regent let them go and looked at DaHane again. “Are you hurt?”

“Not anything serious. Tired mostly, still a bit in shock, but…” he shrugged. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, just tired.” He took a step and shocked DaHane by catching him in a sudden hug. It was one strong arm that pulled him in. DaHane returned the hug as he realized how unlikely it might have been for him to live through the day. He had been sent out the north gate to be safe and had, instead, just fought a powerful king. The reality began to sink in.

“I’m really not very well, DaHane,” Oirion admitted. “I just want you to know I’m very proud of you… that I… care what happens and where you go.” He let DaHane go and pushed him a step back, “but now you need to go to my chambers and bathe. Grab something out of my wardrobe. Yours won’t fit you any more. You know the way?”

DaHane nodded. He turned to go, but stopped in the door and looked back to the man who watched him. “Thank you,” he said. He suddenly grinned. “I figured it out by the way… what it takes to inherit my father’s power.  Glad I did it in time to use it.”

The Regent smiled and chuckled a little. “Go bathe, DaHane. You reek of blood and sweaty fur.”

DaHane smiled and left to go to the Regent’s chamber to bath and change.

DaHane stared at himself in the mirror. He did not know the man who looked back at him. A man was what he was. He had a beard that grew smooth and soft off his jaw line as silky as his hair. He had grown so much he fit his father’s clothes, and for the first time he saw that he had the same sharp fangs as his mother.

He still looked young about his eyes, but he was no child and no one would think so, not even for a moment.  He turned as the door opened behind him.

Trya’Ara took a step in and stopped, looking at him with clear shock. He smiled at her shock, allowing her to see his new teeth. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her, but it was a deep almost-purr that came out instead.

“DaHane?” she asked uncertain.  “Are you wearing the Regent’s clothes?”

“Why yes, actually.” He admired the tunic he had chosen. “I think I am.” He smoothed the brocade silk and looked up to her. “Do you study him so closely you know his wardrobe?”

She lifted an icy brow and moved to the window. It was a moment later that the King of Valreen entered with TyDaidren, followed by the Regent, who took them at once through to the next chamber and a private meal.

Another man sat there. He was a horrid-looking man with a face that was half burned off. He was hunched-backed, his white hair nearly all missing. His limbs on his working side were thin as bone and the other side swollen and hulking. He lifted his good eye up to them as they entered. Then he dropped his eyes and stared at his plate.

DaHane chose to sit next to him. He liked him at once for some reason.

“This is Borrdick,” the Regent said. “He is one of Purt’s greatest minds. Please take a seat,” he said, sitting at the head of the table with Borrdick at his right.

An Elite came in to serve them food, then vanished again leaving them alone.

“Despite our victories of late, we are very far from done. Less than a quarter of the force has even landed and more are arriving,” Borrdick said. “However, many are moving north along the coast. I think they are going to forsake Ulam Bac to hit the empire itself. In the open we do not have the manpower to stop them and they know it.”

“All throughout Purt there are pockets of Purtan warriors,” Tydaidren said. “We will rise and come. Hidden away and waiting, they will wake and return to Purt.”

“What do you mean?” Tyra Ara asked. “There are no hidden colonies of Purtans. Gerome has hunted us to a few scattered fortresses.”

“Throughout Purt there are the sleepers,” he said. “I command the Guards of the House. Instead of fighting a war we could not win, we chose to wait for the right time. We gathered into hidden places and sealed ourselves in.  For some of us, the magic held better than others. Some have ended up  working as guards while other play the roles of beggars and stable hands. Many feared the return of Tyredelle a trick of demons to lure us out, but now the majority has decided to emerge to his aid.”

“You are bound to the living line of Von Armond?” Borrdick asked as Dave entered the room, taking the last seat.

“Sorry, I had to… uh… deal with something,” he said as reached to fill his plate.

“As you were saying…” Trya Ara said to the man at the table.

“Using magic, we sealed our gates to wait for the time things would be restored.  We expected that to be Tyrell’s return, but clearly that was not it.”

“So what changed?”

“It began about two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks ago?” Tyra Ara asked.  “That’s when the boys were taken.”

“That’s when Shannon made Dave heir and left the empire,” Oirion said. “He placed the living bloodline of Armond in full power over Purt.”

“You’re in power,” Tyra Ara said to him.

“No. He gave Dave command. Dave and I are old enough friends we know what each other is good at and don’t need to have a pissing match over things.”

“He is not emperor, not fully in power as long as Shannon lives,” she objected.

“She doesn’t like me,” Dave told the men who watched the unfolding. “She thinks I’m uncivilized, and I think she needs to pull the ice pick out of her ass.”

She turned cold eyes on him.  DaHane didn’t hide his snicker too well. “She thinks I’m a little beast and a bad influence on the children.”

“You are a little beast,” Dave grinned.

“And you’re a pirate, you scoundrel!” he gasped in mockery of her. Dave chuckled.

“You’re the line of Armond?” TyDaidren asked Dave.

“As I understand it, Tyrell’s sister’s son had a son and he in turn sired my father,” Dave shrugged. “The rest of the line was hunted out by Stalkers centuries ago. I can’t pass the name, I don’t think.  I’m just me and then it’s all done. Armond hinted as much and so here I am.”

“Do you have any children?” TyDaidren asked curious. “Have you had it tested?”

“Oh, trust me, my son won’t be emperor!”

DaHane grinned at Dave’s reaction.

“You’re young yet, though.  You can have many children; one of them might gain the power of your blood line.”

“You’re talking as if Shannon is not coming back,” Tyra Ara said shocked.

“In the laws of Purt,” Beldan  said softly, leaning forward, “in the case that the emperor goes to war and he does not expect to return, he will name his heir and pass the key on so that we do not end up with no emperor. If Purt agrees with the choice, then the power will shift to the heir until such time as the emperor does return.  Normally that man is titled with being the regent, but as we already have a regent, the key goes to the King of Crouse. That would be you, Dave.”

“Why would he do that?” Dave asked. “Even if he wanted out and thought he might not come back, what’s he plan on?  Oirion getting killed?”

“Oh, you know me; I do that every few years anyway, keeps me angry and short-tempered,” Oirion said with an easy shrug.

“That’s not funny!” Dave scolded him.

“No,” Borrdick said. “He expects Oirion to join him. As long as he is out, I think he plans to go after the Barrier and that’s why he took Jamie with him.  He needs the High Priest in him and the healer as well. He won’t be coming back.”

“He’s immortal,” Dave objected.  “He has a son and wife!”

“Rajak might yet be made emperor,” Borrdick said, “if he comes home. Until then, Dave… clearly you’re it.”

“That is not going to work!” Dave objected. “I cannot have more children and Zou will not be accepted by Purt… and you know it, Borrdick!”

“So you rule until Rajak comes of age. One thing at a time, Dave. First, let’s keep hold of Purt, and then worry about who says the price of tax.”

Dave dropped back in his chair, clearly upset. “He has to come back.”

“That’s great,” TyDaidren said. “We will honor it, but I don’t think it was that. Something else woke us. What else happened?”

“Zou was taken,” Dave said folding his arms over his chest. “He likely tried to pull on magics to help him protect the prince.”

“Are you certain Zou is your son?” Tyra’Ara asked Dave with a sick troubled look.

Dave shot her a dark look. “Don’t even start with me, woman. I really am not in the mood for you.”

“He’s Dacan at best!”

Dave narrowed his eyes at her. “You keep in mind that he is the only thing protecting your son right now. Maybe you should consider being grateful he is a good heart and would risk his life to do so.”

“Enough,” Oirion laid his hand on her arm. “Ara, focus,” he said softly. “We have armed men, more than we had before. We need to get them uniforms, healers, anything they need.”

The talk fell to Borrdick speaking with the general about the magic used to seal and hide the places of the lords of Purt. They rest were quickly lost and had their own thoughts to worry about. Dinner was not over soon enough. DaHane just wanted to go to bed before he went back out to the field. He was exhausted, and terrified that sooner or later someone would figure out why.

“DaHane,” Borrdick caught him in the hallway. “Will you walk with me?”

DaHane could not say no and walked with the horrid-looking man back to his chambers and found the Regent waiting for them.

“We are going to meet the elves at the coast,” Oirion said.  “We will use whatever we have to in order to stop them.”

Borrdick closed and locked the door. “I expect storms and for it you might need to know what your father looks like,” Borrdick said.  DaHane watched the Regent take off an amulet he wore. He was no longer the Red Purtan at all, but almost human looking… almost, but clearly Purtan.  His white hair was long and soft, his face white and strained with pain.

“If I am targeted and the magics break, this is what you might find,” he said in a tired and soft voice. “It can be explained away as soul of Father Oirion coming to the aid of Purt or something… I don’t care. They will get past me only over my dead body.”  He put the amulet back on and became the Regent again. “You have to keep Dave here. Even if I am lost, death is not an option for me right now, so don’t be too worried about it… just carry on.”

“How is death not an option?”

“I’m soul-bonded to a demon. I don’t think I could die even if I wanted to. I missed that chance a few years ago.”

“That’s my job then? Stay here and keep Dave safe.”

“I need to know Dave won’t get killed. If he dies, the line of emperor is lost. We need him to have the power to fight this war. I don’t care if you have to chain him to his chair and have the Elites hold him down, he is not to leave the city so long as the elves are attacking us. I have already spoken to Umren and he will back you up on that.  Shannon gave him very similar orders.”

DaHane nodded. “You know you might want to think about yourself in the same way. I am not so sure Shannon can live without you. The loss of you might drive him insane and over the edge.”

“It is true,” Borrdick said to Oirion. “I am glad you see that,” he nodded to DaHane.

“I don’t plan to die. I am going to risk a lot to stop them, but it’s more about risk to the land and the magics than myself. I stopped them once in the south and dropped half a kingdom into the tides. It might happen again.”

DaHane nodded. “Does my great-grandfather know who you are?”

“Yes, but this needs to never be spoken of outside the room and ideally never again, either. There is a reason it’s not mentioned, not even among friends.”

“Can I ask you one thing then before I drop it forever?”

“Sure,” he said sinking into the chair as Borrdick handed them all tea. DaHane took it and sat as well.

“Did you love my mother?”

Oirion laughed a little. “The woman you know is nothing like the wild cat I knew. I wish you could see her as she was then. I think you’d be delighted at how wild and outspoken she was.” He took a sip of tea. “I cannot even begin to tell you how sad and lonely a man I was, and there she was daring me to either die and be done with it, or get over it.”  He began to, for once, tell stories about Salma and the company as he knew them and recalled them. Safe in Borrdick’s sanctuary, he told the stories DaHane would have never heard and would likely never have a chance to hear again.

He finished late, with the sun rising outside, and sighed. He looked at his son, who had become a man by the magics and powers of Purt and by his own race.

“God willing I will one day be able to tell her how much she meant to me and have her know it is me who says it,” he shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll have to wear this long and then…” he shrugged as he turned the amulet in his hand. “So yes, to answer your question, I guess I did love her and I suppose I still do.”

DaHane nodded and smiled. “Good luck with the day,” he said as he stood. “My tea is gone and my questions all answered. Thank you,” he bowed to his father and left the room.

Borrdick sighed. “You know you likely won’t live though what you plan to do.”

“I know. It’s a good thing I know a necromancer then, isn’t it.” Oirion pushed himself up, looked at the man seriously a moment, then headed of the door.

“I’ll do my part, Oirion, but I do not know what this will do with you being bonded to Shannon. He is not a mortal man, but he is in a mortal body.”

“If this is not what they wanted, then the gods can step in at any time,” he said, “but I hurt too damned much to play games with elves.”

Borrdick sighed heavily. “I know. Go on, I’ll watch and aid as I can.”

***********

DaHane had to get up because he hurt too much to lie in bed any longer. While he slept, someone had brought him new clothes and a robe laid out for him. He sat on the bedside looking at his hands. His finger tips were all bruised and the skin ripped and scabbed up around the claws that had retracted into his fingers. HHHe flexed his hands, watching the claws come out. They were pretty impressive, he had to admit, but it hurt to flex.

With a sigh he got up, picked up the heavy embroidered silk robe and pulled it on. His fingertips hurt far too much to button the hundred buttons that ran from his chin to the floor. He looked down at the new body he wore. No amount of training with Jamie would have given what he gained in one moment of breathing in his father’s power.

He had soft smooth hair down the center of his chest and over his pecks, as smooth as a well-groomed cat and long enough to run finger through. He pulled the robe closed over his new body, thinking how funny it was that his father, as well, was something of shape-shifter.

Umren entered with a breakfast tray. DaHane almost cheered, but the Elite didn’t come alone. Umren set the tray down on the side-table. DaHane walked over, having to admit he was starving. Three servants set to emptying out the wardrobe, putting in new clothes and stripping the bed.

“I wasn’t sure you would be up,” Umren said.

“How is the city holding up?”

“You have been off the field ten hours and you already worry?” Umren smiled a little. “It is in good hands at the moment and there have been no new attacks. Borrdick and Tyra’Ara are working to shore-up the magics, while the Regent and King Valreen are trying to get the people to moving, and working to get provisions and shelters ready, preparing for the next wave.” With a glance toward the woman who was hanging new clothes in DaHane’s wardrobe, he asked softly, “How do you feel?”

“My hands hurt,” DaHane showed his hands, his robe falling open as he did. He caught it closed, clearing his throat a little.

“Good Lord!” Umren took one of hands to look at it. “Do you want me to call a healer?”

“No,” DaHane said, his heart racing at being touched. He pulled his hand back a little. “I’d rather not make an issue about it.”

“Alright,” Umren said. “Why don’t you sit and eat, and I can fill you in on the details of the battle. There are some who might find great comfort if you went and saw them or even in you knowing their names.” He pulled out a folder and opened it. “Here is the list of masons who worked on the wall.” He turned the paper over as DaHane took a slice of apple.

“So few?” he asked.

“Most of them worked until they collapsed and are still sleeping to recover.”

“There has to be a way to reward them.”

“How would you like me to?”

The woman with the old clothes left with the woman who had seen to DaHane’s bed. The other woman was still at her task with the wardrobe. DaHane wished she would go away. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with Umren. Umren was far from the nearly Mad vampire on his knees. He was third in command in Purt right now. DaHane was a boy who lucked out with having a very powerful father and a mother whose race allowed him to become a wizard and a warrior overnight with no effort of his own.

“What do you mean?” DaHane asked.

“It was your command… how shall I reward them? You want them given money? Rank? Land? How shall they be rewarded?”

“I can do that?” the young man asked, uncertain and bit shocked.

“Shannon left command that you were to be treated and seen as Prince Von Valreen, heir to Valreen, so… yes. And as he assigned me to be your personal bodyguard and I know what and where all Purt’s resources are… just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

DaHane looked at the list of names. “How much do they normally make a year? How do they live?”

“They all live day to day in tenement housing belonging to the guild under the rule of a guild boss, who, by the way, has made it clear to them that any payment they receive for their efforts belongs to the guild and they will get only their own weekly allotment.”

“Oh, that’s not right.”

“I didn’t think you would think so,” Umren said with a hint of a smile. He rubbed his lips as if he had an unconscious itch.

“Can we make each man his own boss?”

“Yes, we can. They can be a boss if they are given a crown approval, a shop, and pay the fee to the guild house.”

“Can we do that?”

“Yes. Maybe not all in Ulam Bac, but we can set them up all over Crouse, all over Purt, send a few to Norwood, Valreen, wherever, but yes.”

“Let’s do that, and that guild boss, task him personally with the clearing of the rubble,” DaHane said. “I want his hands dirty.

Umren glanced up as he made notes, with a little chuckle.

“I can see to that as well.” He slid the paper to the bottom of the stack. “These are the children under twenty who fought. The names with the stars are those who did so against paternal orders, those with an x are those who are orphan, and those with the slash are those who fought with permission.”

DaHane slowly looked over the list of names. There were so many of them. A list of children…. DaHane felt sick. He should be on that list. According to his age, he was considered a child. He sighed heavily and set the list down on the table, all five pages of it.

“Can we give the orphans a house and schooling?”

“Yes.”

“The against orders – give them an offer for military entry in any of the emperor’s kingdoms they choose, a pension for the next five years, and a horse?”

“Yes,” Umren made notes.

“Those with the blessing of family; give them five years tax exemption, a purse, and…” he didn’t know what. “Maybe a house if the family has none, or something for those who do. I don’t know. It’s hard to defy family to do what’s right, but to bless a child to go fight is difficult.” He felt sick for Zou and missed him terribly all of a sudden.

“Zou is well-trained, Shannon is in contact with him, he is not alone. Focus here, DaHane,” Umren said, whispering in the language of Brackin.

DaHane swallowed hard. “You read me so well?” DaHane asked.

Umren looked up. “I’m a vampire, My Prince. I read everyone who does not shield against me, well. I will teach you how to shield better, but not at the moment. I need you to be a Prince of Purt right now.”

DaHane nodded and tried to focus. “Alright, give them extra food for the family.”

Umren finished his notes and slid them away, then handed him the list of men and women who had fought. DaHane looked them over, page after page of them.

“Did so many truly come? Did so many truly come and follow my madness?”

“Yes.”

DaHane nodded and looked them over. “How many of them are on the list of the children with families who either blessed or ordered against?”

“That is this,” Umren pointed to a small slash mark in the line of symbols on the side of the page.

DaHane leaned back trying to think like a prince as to how he could make it well worth it to fight for the emperor and for him. He wasn’t sure how to make it something that mattered and yet would be hard to squander or lose. He took several bites of the sausage on the plate. “For the families who had both children and adults fight, could we make the house a little better? Or give them land enough that the children can have their own when they come of age, or something like that? The adults who forbid their children; let’s help them with whatever skill they have. If they are smiths or artisans, can we help them with that?”

“DaHane, please stop asking me.  Just tell me what you want.”

DaHane scowled. “I’m not used to giving orders,” he objected.

“You had no trouble on the field.”

“That was different.”

“No, it’s not. You fought for their lives and this is the same fight. You fought to save the empire and this is the same thing. How do we help them stay alive and fight for their own lives?”

DaHane took the tea and sipped at it. He ran his tongue over his new teeth and swore when he cut his tongue. He touched the spot tenderly with a finger. “Those without children who fought, give them military option, for criminals of minor crimes, forgive them of it, of those in debt, help them get free of it, and make sure they have a purse and a place to stay. They can have a small place in another kingdom or an apartment here in Ulam Bac.”

“Would you like them to have anything as one? For comradery between them? In Norwood, Shannon gave each man from each battle or zone, route or training, a small badge that all others who had been there or endured the same might recognize and know who had fought with them.”

“Yes. Is there a way to make a sort of pin for their collars. Maybe something that makes me seem less scary when this is over.”

“A silver talon?”

“Maybe not something so… animal,” he tried not to make a face.

“I’ll talk to the jeweler myself, but yes.”

“Alright,” DaHane nodded. “What’s the rest?”

“These,” Umren handed over the last pages, “are those who died. The mark there means their bodies have been found and identified. The marks without names are of unarmed civilians who have been found, but are neither fighters nor claimed.”

DaHane went through the pages slowly. “So many,” he said softly.

“Our death toll was far less than the death toll in Port Hall or the Harbor. You did well.”

DaHane wasn’t so sure he had. “Has the Regent seen these?”

“Yes; as Regent he will deal with the dead and their families. As the general, you deal with the living.”

The wardrobe woman left as DaHane looked over the lists of the hundreds of names of dead and almost as many of unknowns. He did not feel ready for this. It was one thing to charge into a fight with the power of his father pounding though him, making him feel utterly invincible; it was another to sit here and presume to think himself able to do this.

“You really need to work on your shields,” Umren said.

DaHane looked up from the list. “My shields are as tight as they were before.”

“Maybe, but you have a thousand times more power than you did a few days ago. You need to apply that much to your shields.”

DaHane focused on the shields Jamie had taught him to wear. It took a bit of work, but he felt them shift with the deeper energy that was now a depth to his chest he had never realized could be possible.

“It needs a little finesse, but that’s much better.”

“You can’t hear my every thought then?”

“It’s not like that exactly… it’s more like I feel what you feel. When I know that is not something I normally feel, I deduce it’s you.”

“How?” DaHane asked with a little laugh. “I know your rank; I know the sort of shields you wear.”

“Because of what you did, DaHane. I’m living off of your energy right now.” He put his hand on DaHane’s knee leaning forward a little. “It doesn’t go away for us. Not when it goes that deep. Until every breath of it is used up, it stays.”

DaHane wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. “So you’re a little more connected to me than you like?” he asked, trying to understand.

“Oh, I don’t know I’d say that exactly.” Umren got up with a troubled sigh.

“I was right to do it and you know it,” DaHane defended his demanding that Umren use him.

“I know,” Umren said walking to the door. He put his hand on it. “Not only for stability of things, but because Shannon needs to know he has a traitor among the Elites. If anything happens to me, you can at least make sure he knows.”

“I will, but I am not certain Purt can stand if you aren’t able deal with it. Knowing is not enough.”

“I hope I can figure out who and end them before Shannon gets back, but I don’t know. Whoever he is, he is very high-ranking and very powerful. Honestly, I trust none of them right now.”

“Not a good time for Shannon to be inside the Barrier then.”

“No. I covered for him last time, but I am not Shannon.” He looked at DaHane. “I am not necessarily a good man to have close, DaHane. You know what I am.”

“I’m a Sphinx,” DaHane said. “My mother is Salma; my education has been quite in depth about what you are. You think just anyone could surrender so completely and easily as I did? My mother’s race is considered vampiric.”

“What you did was… terrifying. Even those who are trained can’t do that.”

“I guess I am gifted,” DaHane said, trying to lighten the mood and conversation a little. He leaned back in the chair.

Umren almost seemed more troubled by how much DaHane wasn’t bothered by it. “I could have consumed your soul,” he said.

“You didn’t. In fact, I suspect without what you did, I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did. I was a mess. You cleared my head.”

“How can you not be scared of me?”

“Why do you care?”

“Shannon commanded me to…”

“To what? To care what I felt or thought?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“To take care of you. To watch your back and do what I can to help you find your place.”

“Why does Shannon care? I mean, the man is five thousand years old and more demon than man. I’m just a…” he waved his hand vaguely, “I am just a half-breed freak.”

“You are the son of two of the people he loves most in this world. You are family to his heart,” Umren said shocked that DaHane might think so little of himself. “If he had any idea what you did, what I did, he might cast me to hell. I’m not even joking, DaHane. Don’t you dare laugh it off!”

“You were under orders… my orders,” DaHane said seriously, standing up. “Look, Umren, either you let me be a prince who gives orders or not, but you can’t expect me to command men and then have you mother-hen me.”

Umren drew a deep breath and let his shoulders sink slowly as he took a more proper and controlled stance. “You’re right,” he walked over. “You are my Prince and I am here to serve you and help you get where you need to be, and where Shannon needs you to be. I just hope he never finds out.” He reached out and drew DaHane’s collar closed and began to do the buttons.

“So,” DaHane said carefully, “are we all done talking about the energy thing?”

“Yes. I won’t bring it up again if you don’t.”

“Good.” DaHane watched him work his way down the buttons, building up the courage to bring up what was on his mind. Then he had to figure out how to bring it up. “I wanted to thank you for the other thing, too. I don’t know how much you know about Sphinx, but we need… uhm… we have our own needs as much as you have yours. We sort of get lost in our own heads without it and can even go crazy. There is nothing more painful than to be left alone.”

Umren didn’t say anything. He just kept working his way down the length of the robe front.

“Umren,” DaHane said trying to sound as grownup as he could. “If you don’t say something, I am going to think you are insulted by it.”

“Insulted?” Umren almost laughed, but there was a bit of something in his tone that DaHane didn’t understand. He sank to a knee to finish the buttons. “I’m pretty sure I started that,” he muttered in Norwood.

“You know I speak over a dozen languages, right?” DaHane said. “Including Norwood.”

Umren finished and rose. He stood before DaHane, a good two heads taller than the young man. “I’m not sure what to say… that’s the problem. I am not accustomed to that. Part of the reason I hold the rank I do is because I can deal with people more easily than most. On the other hand, for the last few thousand years I have been in the high court of Norwood where it is command and rule and ritual. I’m not sure what you want me to do. I have taught a thousand young men to be generals, lords, commanders of every rank and level you can imagine, but none of them are you.”

“You realize that Sphinx are considered adults at twelve?”

“How long do they live?”

“We don’t know. None of us have died of old age yet. Tends to be violent death. My point is that it’s one thing to be mad at me; it’s another to be upset because I’m half your height and by Purtan standards, I’m a child.”

“I’m…” Umren was at a loss for words. He honestly looked confused. If DaHane hadn’t been so involved in the topic himself and struggling through it as well, he might have laughed. There was a knock on the door and before either could even react, Tyra’Ara stepped in.

“Good, you’re up,” she said with no apology. “The Lord Regent says I am to tell you that you are expected at the formal meals for now. Lord Umren can let you know when you should be ready and where to go.”

DaHane strode over and held the door for her. “Thank you so much,” he said as he pushed the door shut in her face. “I thought you locked that.”

“I did,” Umren scowled.

“What? She picked your lock?”

“No! She most certainly did not. I outrank her on her best day. No, an Elite did and left it open for her,” he almost snarled. “I’m being set up, DaHane. Someone who knows me very well wants me gone.”

“Or what? They expect to find you raving mad in my bedroom?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?” DaHane demanded, slapping a lock spell on the door with such power and ease it actually startled him.

“Someone knows very well what happened in that rubble.”

“Obviously. They tried to kill you and I came back soaked in your blood. So what? They going to run and tell Shannon? Wouldn’t that be sort of a confession?”

“I wasn’t referring to that part of it.”

DaHane was about to growl at him and actually felt it in his chest. “What… they think you’re going to take advantage of the poor Hennen bastard? That I can face and kill an elven king but I can’t handle the Elite commanded to my side by Shannon himself?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Maybe they should consider that Shannon knows damn well what I am, knows you inside and out, and put you right here for a damned reason!”

“Since I had not considered that, I doubt very much they would have.”

“Well, consider it!” DaHane snapped at him. “Did he not tell you take care of me?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Maybe having the half-breed son of Oirion Hennen paying for whores isn’t a good thing for the empire, so figure out what his orders mean before I am left no other option.” He jerked open the door, shattering his own spell, and went to go find Zou, realized he was gone, and turned instead for the cathedral. Zou and Jamie were both gone, but the walls still stood. Maybe he might find some peace there.

End part 12 edits

Princes of Purt:

Chapter 9

Stories

It was a game, a demonstration of power that Shannon had no choice but to play. It had worked this way when he had taken back Norwood and again when he had returned from the barrier lands. He simply could not be awake and working long enough to rule on his own.  Most of his time was spent in traces, woken up only when he had to be.

Umren had proven himself capable and trustworthy to handle things and he continued to do so. Not even Oirion knew how much Shannon had to lock himself away, but the emperor certainly felt it when he wasn’t locked away inside his own mind. It was where he should have been right now, certainly with Oirion in the city, but he kept slipping from his sanctuary to dreams and those were filled with nightmares that he had to force himself to wake from.

He slipped from the palace down to the tavern. There he could recover without being bothered by the politics of the court. More than once Tyra’Ara had pushed his temper dangerously close to the breaking point. She was lucky to be alive, and yet she did not understand that. She challenged him at every turn; he was getting very tired of her. Her manner would not be tolerated much longer.  If she was not exactly who she was, he would have sent her away at very least.

Having felt her coming near, he had simply slipped away. He changed into the clothes of Rellen and tried to calm his nerves as he made his way to the tavern. There was a storm brewing; it would come soon.

Oirion’s attack on the Guardians meant Shannon was not under threat of an attack from them, but it had not removed the shields built on the wells or repaired the lines of Kingship magics. As long as the lines were not broken, light and heat flowed for the people of the city, but where they were broken they were like bleeding holes.

Under Tavia’s direction, the lines of magic had been steadily repaired, which helped, but it seemed too little too slowly. Power had been restored to many courtyards, helping to maintain gardening temperatures. Many estates and inns had made gardening yards with this new option.  It had taken a hint of burden of the food needs off of the trade lines, but Ulam Bac had over a million civilians living full-time in the city, plus visiting nobles, the army, and whoever was in the harbor.

More people came in every day, desperate for safety and homes. The calming of the storms had slowed the exodus from the outlying villages, but still people flowed in and there was no more trade than there had been. Food was scarce and going to get worse. Shannon had to bring the Barrier down and that thought, that drive, haunted him wherever he went.

A gust of charged wind rushed through the yard and up the street he followed.  Pulling his hood up, he tried not to respond to the storm or to the crisis that the empire was slipping into.  He could not hope to hold onto the entire empire.  Even as kingdoms, one by one, began to turn to him, civil wars still went on. He didn’t have the great army of emperor past. Even with the lost army returned, he was short. Those of that generation still able to function were not really able to be in the military. He had made most of those former soldiers into teachers or trade route guards.  His own parents were among those not able to be used by the empire. He had put them both in a small estate outside the city. There they could hide away and recover or not, but to do it in peace. There, at very least, his small brother was safe to be a child and not be under the watch of the court at all times.

He entered the tavern and made his way through the evening crowd to the bar.  Mia nodded to him through her work. He waited quietly while she served the last few drinks and set to making his.  He took it, slipping the coins into her hand.  She smiled and moved away from him, back to work.

He tried not to notice the hint of emotion from her or the strength of her energy.  Like many, she had been born to be a wizard, but due to Gerome’s laws, she had to work to hide it. Now, as an adult she was learning to master her ability, going to classes every other day. It was the best he could offer… there were so many, with so few teacher and fewer he dared trust.

He could still feel the energy of the girl whom he had touched with his bare fingers.  He moved to a seat that had become empty at the bar. He kept his hood up.  It was crowded tonight and he didn’t want anyone to come over and mention how like the emperor he looked. He might cast up a bit of magic to make himself seem to vanish or to appear as someone else, but he was already running low.  He didn’t know the full extent or the limits of what Travis had done besides healing his flesh into true skin and organs again… and he didn’t want to know fully.

The assumption so many made was that he was a mortal man again… and that was wrong.  He knew very well he was still a vampire, among other things, but at least his skin was flexible and no longer a mass of scar and pain. Physical pain was all but gone, but it just left him able to be aware of the emotional and mental pains he endured.

He sipped the drink that would help quiet some of the main worries in his head.  The liqueur would help numb the discomfort of the storms and silence the energies about him. Unable to stop thinking about the touch to his bare fingertips, he had to wipe his hand on the bar to be rid of the temptation.

He needed a Von Armond, the blood of a von to open the doorway into the chamber with the barrier stone, and there just weren’t any. With his father being denounced, his brother didn’t hold the Von Armond blood and his own son was a Von Shannon.  Dave might work, but there was just no way Shannon could do that; he simply could not risk the chance that Dave might work and find out that he didn’t. He took another drink, held it in his mouth a moment, then swallowed.

Elliott had given up the bloodline and all its powers to save his son and hide him from the elves who had come for his wife. There just was no Von Armond. Armond himself had likely lost his divinity. If he returned ever again, it would most likely be as a man like all others. How many of the angels had slipped away into history in the same way? How many were left? Shannon took another drink as thoughts spun about in his head, straining and wearing him down, but sleep and dreaming was even worse. He stood from his seat, leaving the cup on the counter. He turned to go and slipped past several people before he was stopped by Mai.

“Can I talk to you?”  she asked.

He wanted out, but she seemed troubled and like she truly needed to talk to someone. He let her lead him from the thickest part of the crowd to the foot of the staircase that led up to where the workers lived.  It was quieter there and cooler.  She drew a deep breath and let it out. “I know that you know a lot about magic. I can’t see your shields, but I can’t see your aura, either, so…” she took a deep breath again,  “I asked my teacher and she just sort of played it off and ignored me.”

“What?” he asked her.

“When it is quiet here, mostly in the early afternoon, a woman comes in. She is very pretty in an almost human sort of way, but I think she is fully Purtan. She is wearing an old style uniform of a naval officer – I looked it up – and she orders a drink. She seems to be in a good mood and almost as if she is expecting someone. The first time I thought she had slipped out to use the privy or something. But the next time she left her drink again, and every time after that. She just vanishes and leaves the drink. There is no formal navy right now. All we have is the enlisted navy under King Tydavrelle. I began to think that she was playing a trick on me, that someone had put her up to it. A few times she even talked to me of things a little. It was always when I was alone, though, until recently. I have seen her in the crowd, talking to others, but they don’t seem to see her and she is still wearing her uniform.  I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I can think of three things that might be happening,” he said to her honestly.  “One is that one of the Lost Army is projecting themselves into old habits and things familiar and you are seeing that projection. Another is that you are seeing a ghost or phantom. Third is that you are being messed with. I seriously doubt it would be by anything really dangerous.”

“Should I worry about it?”

“No,” he said. “I think that you should just play along and treat her as anyone else. Find out who she is; maybe it will aid her in whatever condition she is in. There is a branch of magic within what is grouped as telepathy that allows some to see the emotional projections of souls as the souls were. Often that is to see the death or torture of another replayed, or moments of great passion, but I am not sure this is what you are seeing.  If it was, she would be replaying a moment of great emotion.”

“What if she was waiting for a lover and that was what she kept thinking about while in stone?”

“Possibly. Don’t be afraid.  If it is something dark, your lack of fear will make you less interesting.”

“I have another question,” she said after a moment. “I have heard a rumor that the Elites are not forbidden the normal activity of people. They are allowed to have partners and can do all the things every one does… eat, drink, all that.  Is that true?”

“There are four levels; if you reach the top two, your freedoms increase. Yes, they can, at that point, choose to do certain things within very strict rules.”

“But the Elites here are of that level… right?”

The fact the Elites were all vampires was not a widely known truth, but it was true.  Having a dark power in his control was not something he needed the people to know about.  The less they questioned him, the better.

“Most any Elite in Ulam Bac would be of extremely high a level.  Few would choose to cross those lines. Lines are in place for a reason. Why?”

“I’m just trying to understand things. I need to understand what is real, what is just my mind, and what is magic, and where it falls in the lines of holy or not.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Ever since she showed up, as close as I can recall, I have had dreams… of a vampire,” she said with implications of what sort of dreams. “Is that part of her or just chance?  Is it magic or is it just stray thoughts?”

He moved her to the closest table so they could sit down. He could feel her true and deep concern. She was a little excited about it all, but more scared than not. She needed help and didn’t know who else to talk to about it. He could taste her frustration and that was never good. They sat at a small table in the back corner.

“How many of these dreams do you have?”

“Almost nightly now,” she admitted. “They scare me; it’s not at all scary during the dream, but…”

“Ever about anyone else?”

“Oh, sure,” she tried to laugh, “but not so often now.  Everyone has dreams, but these are different.”

“Does he change or is he the same one every time?”

“The same.”

He leaned back thinking about it. “Could you describe him?”

“Why?”

“If what you are seeing is a replay, she might have met him here and died at such a meeting.  If that is true, it needs to be dealt with.”

“I doubt that is the case,” she said.

“Why?” he asked her.

“It’s you,” she said.

He leaned back in the chair, not expecting that. She had no reason to think he was a vampire, let alone know it. That was very odd. Why would she dream such a thing; he might understand stray dreams, but not the sort that would leave her so upset.  He didn’t know what to think about it at all.

“That’s odd,” was all he could think to say. He wiped at the stubble he had grown, trying to think. “I hate to ask, but can you tell me any other details?  Anything stand out?”

She scowled a little, trying to think.

“Same place?  Same time?  Is it an exact dream?” he asked her.

“It’s always different,” she said. “Different places, different times… why would I dream you were a vampire?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.  “Have you told anyone else about it?”

“Not about the dreams. After being ignored about the woman, I thought it would be pointless. Maybe there is an Elite who has a leaky shield? Could that be it? Might his actions be so strong that I am just sort of empathically picking them up?”

“Maybe,” Shannon lied. There was no way. Such things were about a vampire drawing in energy; nothing was left to leak out. “For now try to think of them as separate things.  Don’t be scared of either. If you dream again, try to see things, anything that can help you have clues to it all. I will have someone come and look to see if you have a hidden branch of magic – someone who can help you if that is the case.”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said with a hint of relief.  “It’s early though; you don’t have to go.”

He smiled at her hint. “I don’t think my wife would be so happy if I stayed,” he said standing. “I’ll do what I can to help you figure out what is going on,” he promised and turned to go.  He was brought up short.

“There she is…” Mai said even as he saw her. His heart stopped as he saw her standing in the crowd. She saw him, smiled and moved to make her way over, but from behind one person to the next, she was gone.

Mai grabbed his arm. “Did you see her?” she asked. “She was right there.”

“I saw her,” he said softly.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She certainly didn’t die here. If you get a chance, talk to her. I’ll be back later.” He left at once, feeling ill. He needed to get away, away from all the people, all the noise, and all the thoughts. He rushed out the door and right into a storm.

Lightning cracked down with so much power it made his hand feel as if it was set on fire. He swore and slammed up more shielding against the magic storms. He jerked his hood up more and moved. He knew his hand was bleeding and if his blood escaped his gloves it might react with the storm. Holding it inside his coat pocket in a fist, he moved up the street as fast as he could.

Another bolt struck so close it, made his eyes burn and skin prickle with the heat. He had no choice but to run for the nearest sacred place. He cut up an alley and down a street, raced across a park to a small church.  He ducked inside the door and closed it behind him.

At least here his blood would burn away and not add to any warping. He moved though the inner doors to the sanctuary. He took a seat in a pew at the back of the church.  It was a small poor church with painted windows that showed clerics and Hunters.

At the back of the inner sanctum was a statue. Lit by candles, he saw himself  portrayed as Saint Tyredelle. It made his stomach twist a little. He bowed his head and wished his hand would stop bleeding, that the pain would go away.  He remained with his head bowed until a monk came and sat beside him.  He looked over at the man.

He was a cleric clearly. His hands were callused with weapon work, his body thick and strong from long training.  He drew a slow deep breath. Slowly he looked over to show that his eyes were scarred white from a magic attack.  The man was blind.

“When I was a young man I served God in Northern Dacan. I skirted the Wilder Lands and fought monsters that were of nightmares and protected those along the borders. Then people began to come to me for aid. They were being arrested, taken, attacked. I moved to aid them and found it was the church who was doing it. I tried to pull my ring off.  I was mortified to be any part of what was happening, but it didn’t come off,” he sighed heavily.

“I turned against the church. I fought for the innocent and helpless and against all forms of darkness, often killing those who claimed to priests. They called me rogue, sent demons to hunt me. I fled south to the jungles and found even there the church had a grip… a dark grip…” He was quiet a moment.  “They caught me. They sought to break me and make me into something dark.  Of all to aid me, it was a Ta’Zan caravan. They attacked and they took me from there. They healed me and allowed me to recover. I slowly learned to use magic to see. I made a life as a beggar by day and a hunter by night. Then Gerome was dethroned and I came home. The abbot put me here. I was to hear confessions and such.”  He folded his hands in his lap. “I have tried to get to the palace. I have tried to get to the pontiff to tell him what I have heard. My friends from Dacan have kept in touch with me and for it I have given them gifts that can only be gained in Purt by a priest.” He smiled a little. “Seems God is not upset at what I have done.” He lifted his face to a strike of lighting that struck so close it made several windows rattle in the walls. “I prayed for a way to relay the information. It seems that whatever angels we have left helped to guide you here.”

“And who I am to be guided?” Shannon asked.

The priest looked over. “I see you clearly, in the way that I now see everyone,” he looked at Shannon. “Only one soul is going to appear that way to me. I know who you are. I know what you are,” he added.

“Raz has awaken,” he went on. “The temple fires have been lit. The tribes of priests have begun to try to honor her, but without understanding and many false cults have begun to appear.  The holy places are being overrun by serpents. Sand storms pour out of the dessert, covering the cities and killing jungle lands. A prophet has begun to cry out for peaceful prayer unto Raz. To call her by the name of ‘Mother.’ He says she is angry and hurt, but still loves, that they must just remind her of that.”

“Lovely,” Shannon said softly.  Things were going bad to worse.

“The prophet sends you word.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” the cleric smiled. “I was told you would come here. I have been waiting and praying. He says it is not Raz who shows him, but a goddess of the ocean that he does not know. He says to tell you that you must go before the elven attack on Ulam Bac. If you are here when they arrive, you will fail to bring the Barrier down.  He says that you know this in your heart, but fear you have lost the needed element.”

“The line of Von Armond is dead. I cannot open the gate.”

“He says something will be taken from you. You must leave Ulam Bac and follow it.  Resolution will come. Go where you need to go; many gods work to bring to you that which is needed. You must find faith again and surrender to trust.”

Shannon actually laughed. “Find faith? I never lost faith; I am well aware of the powers that be.”

“You lost the faith that the Powers That Be love you and that it has all happened for a reason. Oh… and he said something about the… face of the lost will be revealed and the namesake shall be the name… what ever that means,” he shrugged.

They sat together in silence as the storm pounded and rain lashed down on the church. The little candles burned and they waited. It was nearing dawn when the storm slacked off and Shannon rose. The priest stood as well and stepped out of his way.

The blind man looked at Shannon a long moment. “Many magics and many powers work toward the end of the age and toward the next. The last age ended, not by the mortal deaths of the angels, but by the death of Malkazadon.  He was killed in the desert by Kufrah. His death was what shattered the glass fields and created the white sand. The power was so terrible it turned Kufrah into the gatekeeper of the dead.  Malkzadon was denied heaven, his heart put on the altar of Raz. She took it up and put it in the chest of a monkey and sent him out. Immortal, he was trapped in the flesh of a beast. That is what they say in Ta’Zan. That is also why the priesthood of Ta’Zan will eat monkey meat raw, but dry the hearts and put them in potions.  It is also why elves will not kill monkeys.

“The priesthood of Raz have the monkey tattoo on their left wrist. It is the left hand she used to put the heart into the monkey.  If the priest is true the tat will be red, if not it will be but ink.”

Shannon looked at the blind priest and nodded. “I don’t know how much that will matter to me, but it’s interesting.”

“All magic has good and bad. You of all souls know that. I honor that…,” he pointed to the statue at the front, “not for the books and efforts of a man five thousand years ago, but for the efforts and actions of the man today.”

“Well, maybe we shall pray that what is needed is provided. I must go home now.”

“Follow what is stolen,” the cleric pleaded.  “You will know.”

Shannon left the man to walk home in the cold drizzle, wondering how Raz was going to react when she came fully awake and knew he was the emperor of Purt. It promised to be ugly.  Maybe he should talk to Kelly.

“Who is Kufra?” Shannon asked Kelly.  Kelly looked up from the very odd lunch they were having. Shannon had never joined her for meal. He was having a meal of several shrimp and clams with a bit of green something. She had chosen to eat as the farmers would, a thick cabbage stew, full of roots and bits of dried meats.

Today the young guards known as Derek and Hunter were there, serving the meal in some sort of training effort Jamie had set for them. Tavia was there with Valen, her focus on the child alone. She didn’t say a word at all or even look at Shannon. Salma was there as well, just picking at her food.

“Kufra is said to be an Aveh Ren orc god. He started the war, or it is hinted at.  That when Raz turned him down, he got angry and found the man that Raz was taken with and killed him. Cut his heart out and gave it to Raz. To save him, she stuck the heart in the closest body, that of a monkey. When she looked away, though, she lost track of what monkey he was and when the priesthood was tricked into slaughtering monkeys for her, she thought him dead and flew into a rage and launched the war against Avah Ren.”

“You say that like you don’t believe it,” Shannon said.

“I don’t,” she said. “I think it is neither that simple nor that innocent. I think he may well have killed some one and she likely made him a monkey, but out of grief and love? I don’t think so. I know that wasn’t why the war started.”

“Why did it?”

“Malkazadon told her to stop teaching things or he would be forced to stop her if she didn’t.  She killed him, or had him killed.  She would not be told ‘no’ and wanted to make all the world hers. She hated the angels and what she deemed arrogance, and she wanted the whole world to know the ‘truth’ of their lacking powers.  No great love involved.”

“Could it be Malkazadon she killed and turned into a monkey?” he asked.

“It could be,” she said.

“Who would know if not you?” Salma asked.

“The Old Ways hold truths that were not taught. Some things were just not spoken of and as for the relationship between her and the other powers of old, it was not a thing of the moment. It was the magic of day and the needed magics for current wars that was important.”

“The monkey tat on the left wrist,” Shannon said softly.  “When do you gain it?”

Kelly shifted uneasily. “Why?  Does it matter?”

“I would not ask if it did not matter.”

Kelly took a bite, clearly uncomfortable. “When a sacrifice made by your hand is accepted by Her, the ink turns red and shimmers in firelight.”

“What does it stand for?”

Kelly looked at him and setting her fork down she studied him, trying to put it all together as to why it would matter.

“The priesthood of old was turned into several sorts of monkeys and banished from her temples when they failed her. It means you are a priest, but also warns you that she has little mercy for the weak and no compassion for those who fail her.”

They ate a bit more with the young men serving them. Both mothers tried not to look at their sons or see how much older they looked.  In the few months they had served Jamie, they had been changed from young teens to men. They both seemed strangers to their mothers.

“The temples are awake,” Shannon said softly. “The holy places are filling with serpents. Cults are buildings out of fear and desperation. Self-proclaimed priests are making sacrifices in her name.”

Kelly looked up at him. “That is a very bad idea.”

“Any suggestions?”

Kelly wiped her bowl with a bit of bread and ate it slowly.  She took a deep drink of wine.

“I can go back, appeal to them, something… I don’t know, Shannon. It is not a blood cult; she will be furious if they are murdering in her name.”

“You can’t go back.  I need you for the Barrier,” he said.  “You know that.”

“If they anger her further….”

“She will take it out on you the moment you are not within my protection and you know it.  You can’t go.”

She took another drink of wine. “She will attack Purt. She will crush the false and throw them at us. She will use the storms and any enemies we may have to crush Purt.”

Shannon nodded. “What if a truly devout man appealed for the priesthood?”

Kelly shook her head. “No man.  She will take no man as a high priest.”

“Hmm. I think she is petty and has changed her stories, seeing how pathetic a goddess she is.” Shannon pushed the plate away. “She is a greedy little princess. She needs to have her own heart ripped out. She needs to fall in love and be betrayed by her own rules.” He stood.

“I really am not impressed with her at all. It is just not a good time for me to take on another war. I am losing my tolerance for politics and that is not a good thing for anyone.” He turned and left the room, a bit annoyed.

“He is upset,” Salma said.

“Very,” Tavia said softly, gathering her son into her arms.

“That’s not a good sign, Tavia. The last time he was this upset, he was about to warp an entire chunk of a map.  He is going to get real violent real soon.”

“He knows,” Tavia said, not looking at her friend.

“Can’t you do something to help him?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I don’t know… make him a cup of tea.” Salma said, frustrated herself.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kelly asked the little woman.

“I’m… I haven’t had enough affection,” Salma almost pouted.

“Well, go get some,” Tavia said.  “Your moodiness is not going to help Shannon, either.”

Salma huffed. “I can’t. It’s against the rules here. I can’t just change clothes and become someone else.  I can’t just go play around.”

“Go ask the regent,” Tavia said.  “He’ll give into you with enough effort. It’d be good for you both.”

She huffed and stood up. “Maybe I’ll go ask Gallus.”

“Maybe,” Kelly chuckled.

“Dave is in the harbor; he’ll help you out if you explain.” Tavia said.

Salma turned and stormed out.

Kelly sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair, tossing her napkin to the table. “I don’t understand why it matters?  He pulled in a lot of very small things.”

“The full honor of priesthood is not a small thing,” Tavia said.

“If she did kill Malkazadon, why wouldn’t she claim it and be proud of it?  Why also would other races have prophesies about him?” Kelly tried to understand.

“Why would she allow her high priestess to be betrayed, brutalized, and crushed?  Why would she punish her chosen and thus her own religion? I imagine the motives are the same, or very similar.”

“Hmm,” Kelly grunted. “I’ll have to think about it. It’s been a long time since I kept up on such stories.  Maybe I am just forgetting something.”

“Or maybe she made you forget things you once knew.”

“Maybe.” Kelly stood up, looked at her son a moment, bowed her head to him and left the room.

Tavia stood with her son. “You two did very well,” she said to them.

They stayed to clean up and then reported back to Jamie. They barely got back when Jamie took them to another cellar in need of purifying.

Zou couldn’t sleep. He just needed to walk. He went back to the imperial side of the palace grounds, wanting to look closer at some of the ancient lines carved into every walls. There was a place on a section of lower wall where endless knots were carved in far deeper than other places. They were not where the light flowed, but were just art.  He wanted to look at them again.

He walked along the section of the  hall wall until he found them, then knelt down to look closer and trace the lines with his fingers. It was oddly comforting and reminded him of the time he had spent with his mother in the deserts of Dacan. As he was looking, he saw something he had not seen before. All of a sudden, in the knots and lines, he saw what looked like an artistic style monkey trapped in the cords of a rope. His heart was clearly cut out in the center of each set of three knots.

He was thinking just how odd that was when he felt something out of place.  He turned to see three men walking up the hallway. One of them had two small boys and another carried a third child. Each boy was slumped in far too deep a state to be right. Zou rose to his feet, every bit of him going on alert at once. This was wrong, very wrong. It took only a moment to register that they had the three boys: Keeden, Valen, and Rajak.  Valen tried to lift his head, but failed.

Zou had little choice but to step in the way and put his hands on the hilt of his sword.

“I seriously doubt those belong to you,” he said.

The third man moved at once to attack him. Zou threw an elemental at him and ducked past to drive his sword into the gut of the man who held Keeden.  He grabbed the boy, jerking him away as he forced the sword sideways to spill guts over the floor.  The man screameddoubling over in pain.

Zou slipped on the guts he had spilled, kept the prince out of it, but hit hard. He swung his sword at the ankles of the man who held Valen and Rajak. The man shouted, stumbled, but kept going. Shouting for guards, Zou gained his feet and ran after the man. He knew there was no way these men had planned to take the boys out the gates, so they had to have a Gate or some such thing on the palace grounds and close.

He slammed his shoulder into the man as they reached a garden door. The man stumbled and fell, both boys under him. Zou let go of Keeden to grab the man by the hair, jerking him back and slitting his throat, without putting the two boys in danger.  All three of them started to cry. Zou pushed the man aside to gather up the three boys, trying to comfort them. He was just standing up when three more men rushed out of the palace halls. They didn’t even slow at the sight of the dead men.  Zou scrambled back, unable to redraw his sword with the boys in his arms.

Behind him he felt a power begin to grow. He shouted as he saw a wolf streaking across the yard. He expected her to spin and aid him, but she didn’t. She leapt right into him. The magic that hit him was staggering and left him blind and breathless. He was grabbed and then he was staggering back onto uneven ground. He was slammed to a wooden floor. Still blind, he struggled to focus, but everything was black.  He felt a sharp prick to his arm and then silence swallowed him.

End part 8 edits

Princes of Purt:

Chapter 6

Chapter 7      

      Chapter 6, In Court

Victa could hardly believe it. They had given him clothes fit for a prince. He looked very handsome. His long slender braids had been redone and fell nearly to his waist with each one tipped in a gold bead. Zou looked very handsome. Flawless dark skin, perfect features, and eyes of a Purtan; yet he was not the man he had been.

She walked over to him. He stared off at nothing, as always, but he was expected to be here, after all it was the Ulam Bac celebration of the crowning of Tyeldwar, the Holy Father James’s own father. The crowning had been weeks ago and shown with image captures. A network of crystals that relayed the events, only if there were no storms between, played the event out as if it was happening right there. There had been a few flaws in it, but they had all seen it.  A grand feast had followed and now the court ball.

Zou sat in a small side chamber that normally would have held a long table with banquet foods, but with the food limits imposed by the emperor, the meal was over and there were no side tables.

He sat where they had left him.  Many looked for him, but didn’t see him tucked away in the side chamber, half hidden by a drape. Victa walked over to him and stood right before him, but he didn’t see her.  She touched his hand.

“Zou,” she said. He blinked and slowly looked up to her.  She smiled, “You want to join us?” she asked, offering her hand.  He looked at her as if not understanding for a long time. They had said he had battled the evil sorceress of Awens and had won the fight, forcing her back, but he had sustained terrible brain injury.

Magic was not always a great or fun thing. Just as Victa was about to turn away and leave him he got up. He seemed to be half asleep. He was there, just not all the way.  She took his hand in the grip of a friend who knows the other. She smiled at him.  He was very handsome and even with her new-found rank and place in the courts of Ulam Bac, she had never thought she would walk as a friend with someone so amazing. She hoped that she was that to him and not just a nameless face.

They left the small side chamber and moved out to the hall. She kept him along the outer wall until they found a nice place to stand and watch the dancers. He held her hand, standing there seeming not to watch at all, but then for a moment he would seem to be seeing everything… then it was gone again.

“Did you know they call you hero of Gauleraunt. That you not only led the fight against brutality, you wrote the letters for them that when they reached the emperor, he sent a true king?”  She watched him, hoping to read a reaction from him, something, anything. She had the patience to have done no less with a woman she didn’t know at all and woke her… why not Zou, as well?

“I used to be just a food servant here; that’s what they call you when you work for nothing but meals. But then the empress made me a gardener and since I have done well with it, I have been made a master gardener. I work on the city’s parks to make them function better, to clean them up and try to use them to either feed people or feed animals we can eat.  It’s a hard job, as there are a lot of people in Ulam Bac and more are moving in as the lands get too hard to tame and trade is broken by storms.” She watched the empress enter the room, quietly from a side door.  She came with her son in her arms.

She was dressed so simply, a smooth gown that fit her with elegance. She had only a thin silver chain with a single emerald on it as jewelry and not even painted fingernails. Even with her influence in the court, the lavish and layered look of the court held on. Many of the men had adopted the low stiff collar of the emperor’s wardrobe, making that small detail almost a standard.

The empress was lost to the crowd as she moved into the hall. Victa talked about various people who were out dancing.  She sighed. “Someday I will learn to dance like that,” she said a dreamy sigh.  “Maybe you have to fall in love first,” she sighed again, watching a couple dancing nearby, seeming to float over the floor.

Zou snorted a little. “Dumb book…” he muttered.  She almost cheered.  He might not have heard a word she had said, but he remembered her.

“That was not a dumb book,” she defended. “It was a very good book for what it was written about.” She almost laughed when he slowly looked over at her. He didn’t seem to be able to focus on her, but he had at least turned his head.

“Ah, Victa!” a young baroness said, walking up with a troop of other stunningly beautiful women.  “Who is your friend?”

“This is Zou,” she said. “Zou, these are several women of the court.

“I am Baroness TyraGalla,” the beautiful woman said, offering her hand.

“You forget he is still recovering from injury, Baroness. His response’s are rare and far between.”

“All the better,” she replied. “There is only one real response from a man that matters and I plan to find out if it works.” She moved to take hold of Zou, pulling him with her.  Zou stepped back from her and struggled to focus on the woman before him, trying to make his eyes work.

He spoke in Dacan at her, sounding fluent, if nothing else. The woman looked a bit shocked.

“What did he say?” she demanded of Victa.

“He said something along the lines of you being a breeding cow,” a tall Elite Purtan said walking up to them. He was one of the few Elites who moved freely about the court and city. Most had rules so defined they did not talk to anyone but the emperor and showed no emotion or reaction of any sort. This man was different. He was stunning in a sharp sort of way, moved about as if he was a lord, and yet wore the uniform of an Elite.  “A bit more involved than that, but I would remind you that he has trouble relating, not that he is unaware of the world. If you had any sort of magic in your bloodline, you would know that. I think he thinks very low of you.”

She huffed and turned away with disgust and a hint of fear at the tall Purtan with his deep Norwood accent. The man actually smiled after her.

“What did he truly say?” Victa asked him.

“I don’t speak Dacan,” he said with a clear hint of humor. “I am able to read emotion, though, and he does not like that woman at all.”

“He is aware then?  I wasn’t sure,” she said.

The Elite nodded with a pleasant little smile. “Yes. He is very frustrated. His mind is working just fine; it’s just that when he tries to pull it into his body in order to relate, it goes still. So he watches as if he is in a dream. He is here, though, and fully aware.”

“Has there been any word on whether or not he will heal?”

“The emperor has asked Father James to return to Ulam Bac to look into it himself.  He has sent orders that I am to be… Prince Zou’s body guard for now.”

“Prince Zou?” she asked.  “I did know that rank could just be given.”

“It’s not. Zou is the son of King David.  He is heir to the throne of Crouse. That’s a secret, though,” he winked at her with an easy warm manner that seemed very odd coming from an Elite.

“Are you certain you’re an Elite?” she asked, not sure what to think about him or the way he looked at her. He had very powerful eyes that made her feel he was looking right through her.

He laughed softly. “That is the nicest compliment I have gotten is several thousand years, I should think.  Yes,  I am.  I am called Umren.  It’s an Ezeeran name, but the man who gave it to me was Ezeeran and as I could not recall the name I wore before then… it works.”

“I’m Victa,” she offered, not certain how their ranks worked or if he even wanted to know her name.

“I know,” he smiled at her and moved to stand beside Zou as he looked out over the crowd of dancers. “We all know you.”

“We?”

“Elites,” he said, “the masters out of Norwood.”

“Why?” she laughed, trying to think why they would know her at all.

“Look at the crowd,” he gestured out over the people.  “You see them, moving and stepping… like a herd of sheep. They are bland copies, one like the other, all trying to be something more. Sometimes in that flock you find a mountain goat, or a wolf, or a unicorn… each trying to be just another part of the flock.  You are no flock sheep.”

She laughed a little at the idea; she could almost see it. “What am I?  A muddy little gopher?”

He laughed softly. “No… well, maybe,” he laughed a truer laugh, “but that was not what I was thinking, though. My point is that some people stand out in ways that most cannot even begin to see and you are one of those. That alone has won you fame in the right circles.”

“Hmm.  Well, I am not certain how I feel about being known by every vampire in Ulam Bac.  I think it makes me a bit nervous.”

He looked over at her with a great sparkle to his eyes. “You should feel protected,” he said. “Nothing ever happens without your permission and there are those who are so protective of you that any slip at all would be met with very firm reactions.”

She sighed sadly. “And yet, here I stand – alone again – at a court function.”

“Alone?  What are Zou and I?  Phantoms?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said with a little laugh.

He stepped over, offering his hand. “Care to dance, lady?” he asked.

She laughed. “You’re teasing me now.”

“No.  I would love to.”

She took his hand with caution. “No biting,” she warned him with humor.

“I promise,” he said with a smile that was very dangerous for any woman’s heart.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she told Zou.  “I’ll be right back.”

Zou didn’t even seem to notice, but Umren nodded to him with a little bow. Victa went with the tall handsome man out to the floor. She was suddenly scared she would fumble the steps and look all the more foolish to the Baroness and so many others.

“Relax,” he said softly. “I’ll lead you through it. I’m very good at this.”

She took a deep slow breath. He stepped her into motion and the more she let herself just look at him, the smoother the dance was. It was amazing; her heart raced and she felt as if she was flying. She barely noticed the room at all and the music just seemed to fill the space about them. The world seemed to shift to warm spots, flowing light, and a softness to all things.

When the dance spun to an end and she found herself with her arms crossed and held back against Umren, she saw the world remaining that way. It was still that way with the crowd coming back in as he led her off the floor toward Zou. It began to fade only slowly, and as the light faded, she saw him as if in a double vision. He stood behind himself, one of him dressed as a prince, the other in his old travel clothes. She looked to Umren startled and saw him watching her with a very serious expression.

“What did you just do?” he asked her softly as they reached Zou.

“Me?” she asked.  “What did you just do?”

He shook his head ever so slowly. “I didn’t do anything. You did that,” he said very seriously.

She swallowed, afraid for him for a moment. She was very concerned that she might have done something that would compromise his self-control.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“A little flushed, but I’m fine,” he told her, slowly letting her go.

“I didn’t mean to do anything.  I don’t know what that was…I…”

He smiled reassuringly at her. “You did nothing wrong. Like I said, you are something other than the rest.  Don’t be afraid of that.”

“Umren,” the empress herself walked up to them with her little boy toddling at her side.

“Empress,” he said with a bow to her.

She picked up her son and looked to Zou, who stood looking blank-eyed into space.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Trying to reweave his soul back into his body and having a little trouble with it.  He is fully aware, though. The damage was pretty bad to his brain. He had to use a very powerful magic. It would be like having a horrid fever for way too long. The fact that he lives at all is a bit shocking. He is doing wonderfully for what he has been through. He is a strong man.”

She nodded. “You adopt him, Victa?” she asked.

“Not really, Empress. He traveled with me on the train out of Amdor. They helped me escape. It was I she was after and he who paid for it. He managed to let me know he knew me.  He read one of my books and said it was very stupid, to say the least, and today he said dumb book, so…” she shrugged.  “I hope it’s a good sign.”

The empress nodded. “It is a good sign.” She reached out and touched his face and switched to Dacan. “I have sent for Kelly. I need her here and maybe she can help you fix this.”

Zou managed for a moment to focus on her, but he didn’t say anything. She lowered her hand. “Dave is hunting after the sorceress with Theo. They have her trail. They said that it has something to do with the burns making her easier to find. Theo is very eager to take her down while she is still injured. Dave feels very bad for not catching what happened and won’t come back until he kills her for you.” she said.

“Father…” he whispered. The empress almost looked ready to cry.

She nodded. “Shannon told him. Yes, he is. It didn’t make it any better for him. It made him sick. He almost killed you for being Ta’Zan.”

Zou nodded a little, then his focus slipped away and his face went blank again.  Tavia sighed. “You’ll get back to us. I know how it feels; hold on. It will come back together.” She looked to Umren.  “Take care of him.”

Umren bowed to her. “I will,” he promised.

“Try to spend time with him,” she told Victa.  “If he knows you, it might help him pull a few things together.”

She nodded. “I will. I owe him that and much more. Did they say he was alone? Did the king hear anything about the man he was with?”

“With?” Tavia asked.  “No. He was alone.”

Victa shook her head. “He was traveling with a man I thought was his father. He called him Druid. He was amazing, Empress. There was such… quiet calm. I don’t even know how to explain him, but he was a great man and not likely that he would leave Zou, but less likely he would have gotten killed.”

“I’ll ask Dave about it when I get a chance. He came alone.”

She shook her head. “Druid was special,” she said. “He had a grace to him that was hidden under unkempt hair and rugged clothes. Only the emperor himself seems to hold such power. He was powerful in a way I cannot explain, but I know it as surely as I see the power in Shannon.”

“Maybe Zou will be able to tell us where he is soon.” She nodded to them and moved on with her son laying his head on her shoulder. Victa watched her go with a heavy sadness for the woman.

“She isn’t very happy,” Victa said, shocked she had said it out loud.

Umren nodded. “She is very far from happy. She is a powerful woman, but has lost more than most souls ever hold. She feels painfully alone here.”

“She is. All she has is a baby and her duty.”

Umren looked over at her from the empress, who was now talking to the master of the mason’s guild. “Would you like to walk in the garden? Some of the lost army are there and they might like to see others as well.  Maybe it will do Zou good to see he is not alone in this court.”

She nodded. “I would love to walk in the garden,” she said honestly.

Chapter 7, Derek and Hunter

DaHane eased himself out on the roof edge and slid carefully down to the gutter.  His bare feet caught the deep lip and he carefully stood up. The wind hit him along with the sunshine. He spread his arm and wanted to shout, but held it in. If he shouted, he would be seen. Up here on the rooftop he was free.

He had the best view up here. Below, the entire city could be seen, but the yard was right below him. Outside was a parade as the emperor returned along with the regent from Amdor and the Holy Father James. DaHane couldn’t see them yet, but he could see the inner yard where the real homecoming would take place.

The empress and all the others who mattered waited on the steps, while servants stood to the side ready to take horses, to whisk away luggage, and get the yard cleared as fast as possible. There was Umren, the master of Elites here in Ulam Bac, Victa, several senators, Tyra`Ara, her son Valen, and the emperor’s little brother, Keeden. Keeden was playing with a flower he had picked someplace, while Valen was gripped firmly by his mother to keep him in place. He looked like a caged and chained animal ready to bite his keeper and flee. DaHane felt sorry for the boy. He himself was supposed to be in “official clothes” and standing there, but he wasn’t. His mother was out on the steps; she had just gotten in today as well and went there directly. DaHane had fled up here and now breathed in the air and enjoyed the day.

There was no storm, no storm in weeks actually, and spring was wonderful. The sun was golden, the wind was warm and felt only up this high. It blew through his red hair that he let fly free, thick, and softer than any Purtan might wish for. He had stripped off his shirt and his shoes and left them back at his window escape. Now just in his pants, not even a belt, he felt almost right. Purtan court dress was modest, skin was rarely shown, and his desire to wear less than expected had driven his nanny and his tutors all crazy.

The door of the tunnel from the great yard opened and the cheering poured in through the gate. Everyone was mounted and moved in through the doorway. First came the Elite who went with the emperor everywhere. Then came the wizards who were history-keepers and shield-workers. After them came the emperor in his leather – a red tunic this time with dark blue under it all. He was followed by the Holy Father James in his pure white and right behind him came the regent.

DaHane had not seen the regent since they had come here. The man had seemed to vanish. His heart beat a little faster at the sight of the man. The Regent of Purt was a powerful man, the only known Red Purtan alive, and either feared or revered. He had a short temper that was famous and yet had a mercy that was almost saintly. His task had been to find a king for Amdor and he had failed. He had found many worthy lords and warriors, but he had not found the true line of Amdor. It was sad to see him return without that accomplished.  The fact he was there at all seemed odd.

As if his thoughts made the regent look up, the man looked right at DaHane. He saw him, he had to. DaHane dropped down to be partly hidden by the sheer height of the building he was on. The regent turned his attention back to the yard he had entered.

The lords dismounted while the Elites took the horses and vanished through another side door. The hooves clattered on the stone yard, a sharp sound carried up to where DaHane hid. Despite the noise, voices carried up as well.

“Report,” the emperor said to Umren in Norwood.

“Confirmation has been made.”

“And Zou?”

“Aware, but not functioning in his body.”

“Salma’s task?”

“Accomplished; I have not spoken to her yet or seen the reports.”

“And DaHane?” he asked as he handed his reins over to an Elite.

“Manifesting both his father’s attributes as well as his mother’s tendencies.”

“All of them?”

“He is young yet for the most obvious, but it won’t be long.”

The emperor looked to the two small boys in the grip of Tyra’Ara. DaHane hated that woman; she was a cold firm-handed woman who had little if any love for anyone or anything.

“How are they?” he asked the woman who held the children with a cold hand.

“As to be expected.”

“How are you, Keeden?” the emperor asked the boy. He looked from his flower to his brother. He smiled and went to him, reaching up to be picked up. The emperor did just that, picking up his little brother. Valen squirmed to be let go to go be picked up as well, but his mother tightened her grip.

“He’s a child, Tyra,” the regent said, “not a prisoner of war. Let him go.”

She turned cold eyes on the regent, about to say something, but Valen tore free and ran to the regent. The Red Purtan picked the boy up in exactly the same manner that the emperor had picked up Keeden.

“He is not a farm boy; he must learn to master himself and stand in his place!”

“He is a child. He won’t stay that way for long; let him have just a little of his life be free and innocent. He will have plenty of time to master things other men won’t and to stand in his rank and place.”

“He will one day rule Krent, and hold power in his hand that must be mastered.”

“One day, maybe. Not today.”

“There will be a meeting called soon. Be ready to be there, and be nice to that child, Ara; he is only a toddler,” the emperor said firmly.

The two men went inside, each with a child on one arm. DaHane sighed. It was odd to have the emperor ask of him. No one asked of him. He had no father to pick him up or be kind to him. He sighed and folded his arms around his knees. His father was dead and gone and no one wanted a half Sphinxen boy in their inner circle.

He closed his eyes and let the sun soak into his skin, trying to forget how lonely and sad he was. He just wanted someone to want him close and near. Purtans were an affectionate race, often holding hands with friends and giving hugs to any they liked, but sphinx were closer yet, sleeping in beds that held whole families all curled up together.  His mother had explained that other races are not that way so much and had gotten him several pets to curl up with. A pet cat just didn’t amuse him so much anymore. He wanted something more than just that.

The shoes hurt; DaHane wanted to dig his feet into the grass of the yard and feel the dirt, but he had to wear the shoes and he had to sit at the table and do his studies. At least he was outside; it was just too nice to be locked inside, even his tutor said as much.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt and wished he could just run away.  He didn’t look like his mother; he looked Purtan and except for a slight difference in his bone structure, he may well have been.  He wanted out of this life and he wanted a friend and he wanted to take his shoes off.

“You look miserable.”

He looked up, startled to stare at the last man he thought to see in the small garden.  The regent stood in black silk in the cut and form of the Elites, but with stunning embroidery over it all in a dark shade of maroon.  He wore a sash of dark green and a belt of gold links that wound about his waste twice, but that was all he wore in way of showing any rank. His hair had been bound back in a tight braid so it wasn’t that noticeable.

DaHane started to get up, but the regent motioned him to stay sitting. He took a seat on the on the far side of the outdoor table.

“I… the clothes don’t fit me right.”

“Is that why you like to stand on roof tops with as little on as possible?”

DaHane blushed and dropped his head. The regent didn’t seem to notice as he leaned back, stretching a little. DaHane dared to look after a moment and found the man looking off at a bird on a tree branch.

“I was told I could study here, but if you want the garden I can leave,” DaHane offered, knowing he should.

“Leave?” The regent asked. “Why would you leave? I actually came out here to talk to you.” He leaned forward on the table.  “I am told you are having a very hard time dealing with things right now. You don’t want to study, you skip out on things that are asked of you, and you all but refuse to be normal part of court.” He folded his hands.  “Your mother isn’t sure what to do about it. In the Sphinxen culture, the men and the women are raised very differently and don’t interact that much beyond certain things. She has no idea what to give you or what you need. I think you need to just be given the option.”

DaHane looked at him, not sure what he meant. “The option?”

The regent nodded. “You have begun to show a little bit more of your father in your makeup. Your wizard cores are staring to wake up and stir up the Sphinxen magics, like pouring water into a jug that has settled. All the sediment on the bottom is swirling.  You must begin to learn how to master that. Male Sphinx do not often have any magic. If they have any it is limited and takes a great deal of work to wake up.

“So you now have an option.”  The regent rubbed his knuckles.  “You can stay here, learn magic, and study the way it is done here, or you may go and find a private tutor and learn it as anyone else would. The question is do you want to be a merc wizard, some house wizard for hire, or do you want to be trained as a Von Valreen?”

“Being a Von Valreen gets me nothing. I hate it here. I am alone and unwanted and…” he had to stop for the amount of emotion that was rushing up. The regent looked at him a bit shocked.

“Unwanted?” The regent almost sounded hurt. “DaHane, do you not know your great-grandfather fought to take you with him? He wanted you with him, at his side. He was told that when you prove that you are going to have the self-mastery of a Von, then you would be free to go with him.  With your link to the bloodlines and the sheer power of your blood, it was too great a risk to allow you to be out there until you mastered your magic enough to defend yourself. You would be far too tempting to any Blood within reach of you. Shannon refused out of concern for you, not as an afterthought.

“I also impressed upon your great-grandfather that he could not bribe you with a throne to make you do it. I hate politics; I detest my job. I would never want to be a king, and I would never allow anyone to force you to take on that burden. You might want it… I don’t know. Shannon and I have fought about it more than once. You need to stop and think, ask yourself, what sort of man do you want to be? You can take the lessons you gain here and go anywhere, but if you take off and learn at the hand of a lesser teacher, you can’t come back.  Do you understand?”

“You want me to stay and learn here.”

“Of course I do. I sympathize because I was also forced to be something I really didn’t want to be, but because of what I learned as a child, I am able to do what I do. I am free to go places others can’t and to understand thing others overlook.”

“Why do you care?  You’re maybe Von Valreen, but you didn’t even grow up with my father. What am I to you?”

The regent watched the young man a moment. “Salma told me that when a male reaches a certain age, he becomes his father’s son. Up until then he is his mother’s child.  When he becomes a son, he inherits all the magics his father had mastered at the time of his conception. The older, the wiser, the more experienced the father, the greater the son can be. It is a genetic benefit you have and one the elves have but manipulate to keep certain people in power and others out of it. She is very afraid that when you hit that age, you will find all the magics of your father pounding through your heart, driving you crazy.”

“So?  I might learn to say a prayer,” DaHane replied, trying not to let his disgust and contempt for it all show too strongly.

“Your father was a very powerful wizard, even if he didn’t admit it. He knew and did magics that went far beyond the priesthood.”

DaHane played with his pen awhile, not wanting to talk about his father… it made him sad and lonely. He just wanted friends. He didn’t want to think about magic and about fate or rank or anything. He wanted to ride a horse at full speed, he wanted to jump off a cliff into the surf, he wanted to fly away from here.

“I don’t fit in here,” he said softly.

“I want you to meet someone. He is the same age as you are. In fact you two were conceived the same night, as far as I can guess.” He stood up and offered a hand.  DaHane stood and took the hand, not certain the man meant him to, but the regent folded his hand around DaHane’s and led him from the yard. DaHane tried not to admit how good it felt to have someone touch him, even as small a thing as the touch of a hand. His tutor was just inside the door and opened his mouth to object. The regent gave him a look that made the man back up a step. DaHane had to fight not to giggle.

“You know your father didn’t fit in well, either. He was a chubby red-headed boy with glasses who tripped over his own feet at your age. Having a friend made all the difference in the world.”

“Father James!” DaHane had heard all the stories about how close they had been.

“Do people tell you that when they were younger, though, Jamie used to be horribly cruel to him?”

“No,” he looked up at the man who towered over him. DaHane sighed; he’d never be tall as a Purtan, never.

“Jamie was very mean. He was everything your father wasn’t and your father was everything he wasn’t. Being a Hennen was a curse to your father. He was famous and wealthy and put in a monastery with the poorest of boys. It was a tactic to make him want to go home, but all it did was make him very depressed and lonely.”

“Is that when you got to know him?”

“Sort of,” the regent said. “The point is that you are not the first boy to be asked to fit a space he does not easily squeeze into. I sympathize, I empathize, and I am sorry.”

“I cannot imagine you never fitting in. Every woman and half the men in this court would die happy for you to pay attention to them for just a day.”

The regent laughed. “Do you know how I met Shannon?” he asked.

“They say you were out hunting and ran into him.”

“No. I was running away from an abusive teacher. I was ready to become vampire food, or fall off a cliff, or freeze to death at that point. Anything to get away from him. I was so blinded by my desperation that I ran right into Shannon. Can you imagine? Running into him?”

“I cannot imagine him allowing it.”

“He was distracted. He had not realized there was a Von Valreen in Norwood’s forests. He wasn’t really paying attention in this realm.”

“What happened?”

“He killed the man and then marched me home and more or less told me to not be such am impulsive idiot; that lords of Purt needed to behave like lords of Purt. He still tells me that.” The regent scowled, a little annoyed, then looked over and smiled. “You and I are more alike than you think.”

DaHane wanted to think so; he wanted his uncle to think so, but he doubted it.

They went through the halls and down a long hall to another section of the palace all together. In a long narrow garden that grew between two low wings with pillared walk ways, standing alone before a windowed wall, was a man. He was amazingly different.  He had dark skin and long black hair done in many tiny braids. He stood in the sun, not moving at all.

He had to be Zou, the dark-skinned man who had led the revolt in Kill-Abben.

They walked over to where Zou stood looking blankly at the garden beyond. Victa was out in the garden working with several other young women, not a bad view in DaHane’s mind.

“Zou, this is DaHane,” the regent said.  “DaHane is the son of Salma and Oirion.  Zou is the son of David Sailor and a woman who was very close to them all. I can’t say her name for her sake and his,” he added after a pause. “If the escape had not happened as it had, you two might well have been born together and raised almost as brothers.”

DaHane looked at the man. If they were the same age, why is it always that he was treated as a child and this man was praised as a hero and given a place as an adult.

“Is it because I am short?” he asked out-loud.

“You mistake things,” the regent said, understanding at once. “You seem to think that you are seen as a child and misread love and concern for the reactions reserved for children. There is a great deal of fighting going on about you right now. Only as you fail to apply yourself does the fact your mother is neither human nor sphinx in the normal sense, nor any race recognized in the list by the angels, become a problem.

“Some want you to be a Von Valreen; others say you’re not even a full race, but only because you seem to be unable to keep up with your Purtan peers.” He sighed looking at Zou. “I think you are lonely and bored out of your mind. That’s how I spent my entire childhood. I think I can see the same thing in you both, but I think it is getting worse and ugly for you as you are sphinx and you are not getting what you need.”

DaHane looked up at the regent. “What does my mother do? Why is she gone all the time?” he asked.

“She is working with others to try and create a grid of lode stones that are absorbing the energy of the storms. She has a sensitivity toward where the energy is going to flow and pool that others simply do not have. She is able to allow us to set up the stones before the pools start, not having to wait until they do, then hunting them down and repairing the damage. Her work is why we have better weather this year. It’s not a healing; it’s a fix until we can fix the bigger issue.”

“The Barrier.”

“Yes. And when it comes down, the Sphinx will be a nation, a race worthy of trade and diplomacy. I really had hoped you would have a very strong position here by then.  Your grandmother is less than happy about you and I want it very clear her attitude is not really a good idea for her to hold onto.”

DaHane looked back to Zou and sighed. At least he wasn’t brain-dead.

“I hate the books, the clothes, the rules. I want to move, I need to move. I hate it…”

“If I could DaHane I would take you myself and have you be my apprentice, give you hands-on instead of books to learn by, but I can’t. My life is just too dangerous right now. I barely feel prepared for it myself. I can help you find a better place and more suitable tutors than those Tyra Ara assigned to the palace, though. But, you have to decide what sort of man you want to be.  Sphinxen mothers lose track of their sons after so long; you have to know that. Salma is different, but she just doesn’t know what to do with you. No one does. So I’m asking you, what do I do with you?”

DaHane looked at him with an odd awe. No one had ever talked to him so openly and plainly. No one had ever just asked him what he wanted and here he was, the regent himself, asking.

“I don’t understand why I have to keep reading,” he said. “I read three forms of Purtan and I know the history as well as most in court. I have passed every fighting test and yet I get no better teachers and no outlet. I can think, I can move, I want to do something!”

“There are several option. One of them that has been hinted at is that you could become a White Guard. The only trouble is that if you do, it’s for life and you cannot take the throne of Valreen. Your grandfather has loudly objected.”

“He has?”

“Yes. He wants you. All you have to do is prove you’re ready to go. All you have to do is understand that you are a man – a young man, but not a child. I am certain that until he was put in a position to make a choice and act, Zou felt himself a child under a teacher’s wing, and then he was dropped into that moment. You see how it ended?

“That is what is feared.  Zou escaped with his soul and may well recover fully, but at a price that will haunt him his entire life. I really do not want you to have to go through that. If you would just stop and really think about things, you might find some answers.”

DaHane shifted on his feet and considered. He felt better for the simple touch of holding some one’s hand, his heart felt better, his gut was unwinding and his deep anger was settling. He did not want the regent to let go; he did not want to stand there alone. Anything but that.

“What other options do I have?”

“You could work as a secretary, but I think that is a horrid idea. Another is that you could work with the guilds. They are hiring guards while they work on repairing the city. A lot of what the jewelers guild is doing is stripping the gold out of all the churches in Ulam Bac. You could work as a guard for that. Your job would be to defend it from robbery, watch their backs, and watch the priests. You’d need to record, in your own ledger, how much was taken and how it was packed. It’d be your job to protect them, but also to protect the empire’s gold. The emperor needs that to repair the empire. Every sliver counts. You could go in, change your name, drop the ‘I’m a bored prince’ feeling and be a man looking for a job.”

“I might like that,” DaHane said.

“Now,” the regent looked at DaHane, “while you let that sink in a little, I’d like to address you both. Both of you are the sons of people I care about a great deal and who want very much to be a part of your lives, but for many reasons are denied that. Zou needs a friend, someone to just hold a hand.  His race demands no less or they will spin off into insanity.

“Zou, you need someone to lead your body around. I think it will work well enough. Now, DaHane, while Zou isn’t really able to say much, he is very aware of things and from what I am told, he has a very stubborn streak with a great sense of humor. I think that you two should try and think of each other as family and watch each other’s backs. If either of you need anything, let me know. Come to me as long as I am here.”  He took DaHane’s hand and folded it around Zou’s. He dug in his pocket and pulled out several silver coins. “If you two young men go out through that door and across the yard, there is a wooden gate on the far side that leads into the Keepers Yard.

“It is a small town inside the palace, kept for servants and guards. There is a tavern there that many bored young nobles find their way to. One rule; you don’t use your real names and you don’t get into any fights. No fights, I mean it. As long as you hold to that, I will make sure that it will be overlooked if you two go there.”

The regent left them with a fistful of money and walked away.  DaHane looked at Zou.

“Well?” he asked, not expecting any response.

Zou looked over and smiled a tiny bit. “Dark Malt,” he said.

DaHane smiled.  This could be a great thing. He grinned. He had never been to a tavern before. He put the coins in his pocket.

“Alright fake names then.  Well…” he considered.  “How about I name you and you name me?” he asked suddenly. He wanted to see if Zou would talk again. “I’ll call you… Derek.”

Zou seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. “Hunter,” Zou said.  “I like it.  Hunter and Derek. What are we?” he asked as they headed for the tavern the regent had told them to go to.  Zou didn’t answer, but he walked along with DaHane, now called Hunter.

The tavern was a lot larger than they had thought it would be. It had two fire places, one at either end of the main room. The place was set up in a great cross with the bar in the center of it all, facing all directions. Tables stood around the central bar with booths along the walls. Only one of the fireplace arms had tables just for sitting; the other had a table with some sort of ball game going on. The back length had tables for gambling and what looked like a target on the back wall.

They took stools at the bar. A very pretty Purtan woman came up to them with an easy smile. “What can I get you two?”

“Deke would love a dark malt and I’ll take… oh, why not.  We’ll just take a pitcher of that.”

“Any preference?”

“Fossan,” Zou said.

She smiled and nodded, leaving them to get the pitcher.

“That’s nice to look at,” DaHane sighed, watching her walk away. Zou smiled and put his hands on the bar.

“Regent knows…” he said, trying to say more, but let it go with his eyes going blank for a moment before he managed to make them slowly focus again.

“I think he knows a great deal. I like him,” DaHane said. “Certainly because I am not making my eyes burn staring at a book so boring it would kill a lesser man.”

The woman returned with the pitcher. “Is that all I can do for you?”

“Talk to us…” Zou managed to say.

“Maybe later,” she laughed as she walked away, but with a fun glance back at them.

“Oh yes, come talk to us…” DaHane sighed. They both sipped the beer. DaHane wasn’t so sure he liked it. Zou actually laughed at him for his expression. DaHane laughed back and sipped it carefully. He loved the change of environment and the fact that he was sitting with someone who was there with him and actually seemed happy about it.

Watching the women who worked there certainly helped as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so simply happy. He was quite content to be there watching when he saw the last man he thought would be there. He had to look again to be certain, but he had spied on the man more than anyone else. There he was – not dressed as himself, of course.

He had plain dark clothes, worn and faded. The leather was obviously taken care of, old, good quality, but nothing fancy. He wore it over thick dark cotton. Typical fingerless gloves favored by many guards, covered his hands. He had his hair bound back in a tight smooth tail that was braided and looked oddly short. He had added a set of ear rings that caught a hint of the light and held it.

He had on a leather belt that wound about him three times and held a battered but solid looking leather purse, a short sword, and a long dagger. The emperor looking like any of a thousand Purtans who came to Ulam Bac to try to find work as a guard or as any such thing. Most turned into petty thieves and hungry jobless beggars.  Only those who were hired to work in the palace were welcome in this little town within the palace  grounds. He took a seat at the other side of the bar, off to their right. He ordered a drink and sat there with his head bowed, turning the mug in his fingers between drinks.  DaHane could not make himself stop looking and yet he was certain he was going to get into trouble for being there.

“Ah, that’s Rellen,” the woman said coming back and leaning on the bar before them.  “He’s a guard for Princess Salma.  He doesn’t say much, keeps to himself.”

“For Princess Salma?” DaHane asked.

“Oh, yeah. She has to have body guards at all times. Many dark wizards want her blood. The emperor himself picked out her guards and she is never alone. They say she is so beautiful that men fall in love with her on sight and that she has the blood of a priest in her. It makes her very desirable to the dark powers, I understand. It’s funny though. He seems too unremarkable. To think he was hand-picked…” she shrugged.  “So what do you two do?”

“Oh, we’re just guards. We have been working for Lady Victa. People don’t like her for her heritage, you know. It’s not a glamorous job, but we get to wear swords to work,” he grinned. “Poor Derek got hit in the head with a rock that someone threw at her and is still a little ringy. Knocked him out right cold, but the healer says it will heal in a few months and he’ll be fine. It got me out of duty for awhile to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.” He smiled even more. “He’s got a hard time talking and keeping his eyes focused, but he’s fine. Just playing it up a little,” DaHane confided.

She laughed softly. “So how old are you two?”

“Twenty,” he lied, “born about three days apart, honestly. It’s why we became friends – same tavern, same drunken weekend, for the same reason.” He laughed. “That was a painful weekend.”

She laughed a little. “I bet,” she said. “You two got girls at all?”

“Nah, we haven’t been in Ulam Bac that long and we been working a lot. Derek has better luck than me on that level. I think it’s the dark skin; makes him exotic,” he teased.

Zou smiled and took a sip of his beer.

DaHane still noticed the emperor sitting alone at the bar. He sat there a very long time while the girls came over and talked to them in turns.

“Can I buy Rellen a drink?” DaHane asked the current girl who was talking to them.

“Sure,” she said.  “He drinks a pretty expensive drink, though.  It’s a Dacan coffee with a dwarven fruit whisky in it.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he said.  “He looks like he could use it.”

She left to go make the drink.  DaHane looked at Zou. “How are you doing?”

“Not too bad,” Zou said, as if there was nothing wrong with him. He laughed a little and took another drink.

“Maybe drinking that nasty stuff is good for you.”

“I like it. Try something lighter. Like a wheat beer or a white wine; all the girls like white wine.”

DaHane laughed at him and his tease. The regent was right they were going to be friends and he could tell that already. Zou had a great spark of humor in his eyes and    DaHane laughed at Zou as he decided what to do with being called a girl for his dislike of the dark beer.  DaHane laugh again at hearing the laughter of his new friend.

“Wow,” the first woman came back at the laughter and looked at them both.  “You do have a voice,” she said to Zou.  He shook his head and took another drink as if to deny it and hide that he had just laughed outloud. “I’m Mai by the way.”

“I’m Hunter and this is Derek,” DaHane said.

The more they drank, the more Zou seemed to emerge from his inner prison and the more fun they had. They had finished another pitcher when the emperor, posing as Rellen, walked over.

He put his hand on DaHane’s shoulder. “Remember that there are those who would love to sip your blood if they knew who your fathers were. Watch your comments and watch your back,” he gave Zou a very serious look. “I’ll get you a flask of something better than that swill. Maybe it will help.” He left them both stunned: the emperor had seen them, knew them, and let them stay.

“Swill?” Zou asked, a little hurt.

DaHane laughed. “I told you it was nasty.”

End part 6 edits

Chapter 4

Interesting Summons

Princes of Purt

It wasn’t going to be alright. Druid felt as if he was about to walk into a spider den. His skin prickled and his heart rate was up. He did not know the grasslands well enough to understand what he was being warned of, but it was coming close.

“Zou,” he said softly. “You remember what I told you yesterday about if anything happens?”

“Yes,” Zou said.

“I meant it. As matter of fact, I want you to run – right now,” he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Now?”

“To the sun, run east, due east as best as you can. The grass whispers warning at me; you need to go. You need to run. Now, Zou!” he said softly, but urgently.

Zou looked ill, doubtful, then stepped into a run heading due east. Druid kept up a steady pace, falling behind Zou. The lion was as tense as Druid was. He walked swinging his head side to side as if trying to catch the scent of whatever in the air.

Druid watched Zou disappear over the low hill to the east. He felt a little better about things with Zou out of sight and he slowed his pace. The farther Zou got, the better. Reaching into his vault, he grabbed his staff and began to breathe up power. The attack came out of nowhere. Never had he been attacked in such a way. It came from across realms.

The blow hit his chest so hard he was knocked back off his feet. The air was crushed from his lungs and his heart felt as if it had been bruised and no longer beat right. The lion leapt over him, becoming a shield. With a roar, the lion fought to stay on his feet as the attack seemed to crush him downward. Druid rolled aside, sucking in air painfully. He knew the attack was demonic, but at a level he had never had to face.

Gasping hard, he swung his staff up as he struggled to his feet and cast out a realm wave that crashed against anything close at hand on another realm, allowing him to see just where his attacker was. He saw his attacker, a massive creature that looked to be a cross between an orc and a bull. The demon wasn’t alone though.

He held dozens of men and women. They were bound by chains about their necks that attached to his belt. They lingered about him, clearly beaten down and broken. Beyond that were the ghost images of trees, an entire forest, as well as Purtan guards. They watched as if not fully awake and yet they were not bound. Somehow their souls were caught between realms and they lingered here.

Crying out and pulling on all the energy his soul had to offer, Druid cast it at the demon. The black lion was crushed down to the ground, light flickering through him and on him. Whatever the magic was that the demon used, the Familiar had no way to fight it. He could only endure and buy Druid time.

The blast of light that poured out of Druid hit the bull demon. The demon was moved back a step, but it seemed to have little affect other than that. Druid did not relent. Whoever this demon was, Druid had no choice but to win or be chained to his belt with the others; of that Druid was fairly certain.

“Help me!” Druid cried out to the wandering souls of the Purtans and the ghost trees. “Help me!” he yelled at them. The lion burst into flame with one last gasp. The bull’s attention turned on Druid. He snarled, showing cat-like teeth. The beam of light still poured from Druid’s staff, but he was drawing near the end of the fight.

It was the ghost trees that reacted, coming to his aid. One of them that the demon walked right though responded by stabbing a limb though his back. The demon swatted at it as if it was an annoying insect. Druid held his ground.

A second tree shot up a root at the demon’s feet. The trees flickered and moved, seeming to draw closer, almost as if trying to hedge in the demon. Druid called out to the plains, to the grass, to Purt herself to aid him. There was no way he could fight this thing alone.

Irritated by the trees in his way and their pricking at him with their ghost limbs, the demon lifted his hand and drew down power. Druid felt it coming, but had no defense against it. He was for a moment like a mouse under a lion’s paw. He grit his teeth and still held his ground.  His only hope was that the power of the banishment reached a point to cast the demon back to the abyss.

Druid took a step back, ready for the pain that he fully expected.

“Help me!” he cried out to any power in Purt who was against ancient evils. Rumor was the angels were taking an active role; maybe, just maybe, they would help him, or perhaps these lost souls of Purt would shake off their daze and come to his aid.

The last thing he expected was for another demon to answer. He materialized just as the attack came. He was stunning in every way. His robes were night sky swirling with stars, his black wings were graceful, yet bat-like; his hair was the deepest red and his skin so white it seemed he had never seen the sun.

He lifted his hand and shattered the attack. The bull demon snarled, but took a step back.

“Shannon…” he growled. “This is none of your business!” The demon’s voice hit Druid with such unexpected force he was dropped to his knees grabbing his ears in pain.

“Everything in Purt is my business.”

“The Druid is mine. I laid claim before you were born.”

“The Druid is mine!” Shannon snarled. “I am Norwood; all Druids are mine. One day I will take them all back. Be content that I allow you to simply leave.”

“No,” the bull demon shot back, “you might have the power of Purt when you walk the world, but here you are one of us.” He lifted his hand to attack. Shannon was faster. Black power shot out of his hands into the demon’s chest. Ice cracked out over the grassland. The ghost trees wavered and vanished at its touch, but the Purtan souls seemed to wake as if doused in cold water.

The pain Druid felt was like nothing he had ever endured. It was as if all the moisture on his skin had frozen, that his lungs were both crushed and about to explode. His lips split and breathing seemed utterly impossible.

The bull staggered back with a roar of rage, his own spell failing. Shannon was relentless. He did not falter or slow, but hit the demon again with another spell that left Druid weeping and gasping for air. Peeling open his eyes, he watched as the bull demon was driven back until with a staggering step he swirled into nothing and was gone.

Druid struggled to suck in air. There was one moment where he met the stunning demon’s eyes, then Shannon was hit hard with a banishment. For a moment a look of angry irritation crossed his face, followed by concern – but not for himself it seemed.  Then he was gone as fast as he had appeared.

“Now that was interesting,” a woman said. Druid struggled to make tears to save his burning eyes. “How in the hells did you managed to summon Shannon? As far as I know, only my son can manage that.”

The woman that Druid had fought before had caught up to him. She circled around Druid, who still held his chest, simply trying to breathe. He bowed his head. He was utterly drained of energy; he was burned inside and out and was pretty sure the metallic taste in his mouth was more than a split lip. His nose had to be bleeding.

“You know you’re not even that bad-looking. I might keep you around for a while. I have not had a baby in decades now. Finding a father worthy of siring such energy as I demand has become truly a challenge.” She grabbed his hair and jerked his head up. “They really did a number on you,” she said amused. “Your pain is exhilarating. Now tell me where the boy is. One does not allow the son of David Sailor to simply wander off.”

Druid still could not breathe, but he was not unarmed. She was already so close and so unprotected. He took hold of her shoulder for support, still so badly hurt he could not stay steady. She actually laughed at him. Druid fell toward into her, pulling her to him and drove his dagger into her, up under her rib cage, toward her heart.

She shoved him back, grabbing her side with a shriek of rage. He fell on his side coughing for lack of air. She grabbed his own staff off the ground. Blood pouring down her side, she slammed it down into his gut. The feeling was like getting punched, but was so less than the burning of his skin and lungs that he actually laughed at her a little.

Wheeling, she vanished again though her gate. Druid laid his head back. Stabbed to the ground by his own staff, the irony was fairly sad. Saved by a demon to die at the hands of a necromancer. Hopefully she was about to join him in death, wherever she was.

Zou jerked awake. The moon offered light in ever-shifting patterns as clouds raced across the night sky. He was alone. The eagle was gone, Druid was gone, and now even the fire had gone out. His body ached from the long run and the subsequent fall down a ravine. He was bruised, battered, and lost.

He moved to try to breathe life back to the fire. It had been years since they had used the elementals to make fire, but tonight he was about to when he saw a form shambling down the far slope. His mouth went dry with fear. He did not move, but froze in place. He watched in the shifting moonlight to see what it was. The staff was what gave it away. The cord of gems and beads hanging from the top caught the light just right. Zou got up, forgetting his own bruises, to run to Druid. As he drew closer, he slowed. Druid held his stomach as he shuffled, a low limping motion.

“Druid,” Zou said softly. His voice seemed to echo in the still of the night. Druid stopped. With trembling effort he lifted his head.

“Zou…” Druid collapsed to his knees. Zou raced to him and helped him up, and all but carried him to the camp. Without thought, he made the fire roar up and only then saw the condition Druid was in. He cried out, seeing how blood-soaked Druid was, the bit of intestine that was being held onto by a bloody hand. He could see the burned skin,  eyes red as if every blood vessel had exploded, lips cracked and chapped.

“No, no, no…” Zou didn’t know what to do.

Druid let go of his gut to find Zou’s hand.

“Zou,” he used what strength he had to hold the young man’s hand. “If I don’t do this thing, I will die. I had to find you, I had to let you know, but I understand now.” Pain made him shudder.

“What thing?” Zou cried. “Druid…”

“I know I promised never to leave and I will find you just as soon as I can, but if I do not do this now, I will die. Do you understand?”

“No, Druid…”

Druid rolled to his side and pressed his staff into Zou’s hand. “I will seek you out as soon as I can, but you must not wait.  You must go to the emperor, you must seek his aid. I do not know if she is dead, but I hurt her for sure. You must run and not stop.”

“Druid, I don’t understand…” Zou watched as Druid forced himself up with a small cry of pain.

“I’m sorry, Zou. I love you like a son, remember that.” He lifted his hand upward. Zou cried out as power swirled out of Druid, spinning about him; he began to grow; to alter, so shift into something else, something massive.  Zou had to scramble back as Druid shifted. As the light of the power was traded for the first light of dawn, Druid was gone. In his place stood a massive tree, its trunk ancient, gnarled, and twisting upward. Great boughs spread out in a vast canopy. There were no leaves, no sign of life at all, but it was still early spring.

Zou got to his feet, stumbling to the tree. He ran his hands over the ancient bark. It was rough and layered, but warm. He had always known Druid was old, but to see it this way put an entirely new concept of how old into Zou’s mind. He collapsed to knees, hands and forehead against the tree and wept. He was going to have to go on alone and whatever had done this to Druid was possibly still out there.

Zou jerked awake. Nightmares of a demon dressed as a wolf had plagued him. He rolled up to catch his breath; sweat-covered and heart pounding, he looked to Druid for advice, but he was alone. The earth had been churned up by the vast network of roots that raced out from the great tree he had slept under. Choking on his breath, he remembered.

Looking down at himself, he saw Druid’s dried blood on his hands and clothes. He knew Druid would have died, but not since Druid had saved him from the ship had he been without him for more than a few hours. How could he hope to survive alone in this world, being hunted by something that had nearly killed Druid.

Making himself breathe, trying to prove himself a good and strong student, he looked up at the branches so high above him he could not even guess at the height. He struggled to calm himself and to find the courage to leave the shadow of the tree. He leaned a hand on the trunk.

“I don’t know how,” he said bowing his head. The words nearly made him start crying again. Squeezing his eyes shut to force the tears away, he saw Druid sitting at the fire with him laughing. He shook his head.

“No matter what, Zou, I will always follow you, even if you are a moody teenager. Just remember, if we get separated, you head east to Ulam Bac. It might take me awhile, but I will find you. And don’t forget to take my things if you can. They will help you, and it will help me help you if you do.”

Zou opened his eyes. The “memory” seemed real, but he knew that it wasn’t a memory. It was a mix of various conversations all rolled into one. There before him, though, where he was sure he would not have missed it before, was Druid’s sword, leaned up against the tree trunk. His belt was wound about it with the wallet still on it. Swallowing hard, Zou took hold of it.

“Alright.” His hands trembled as he wrapped the belt around his waist. The buckle slid past the worn notch to three past. He had not realized he was so much thinner than Druid. “Not thinner…” he muttered, “just less. I could hide here. I could hide here with you,” he looked to the tree, desperate for an answer.

He got an answer, but not the one he had wanted. The eagle screamed at him as he flew out from the tree, the splint causing him to land awkwardly on the ground.  Waiting for Zou to come, the eagle ruffled his feathered with annoyance. Zou swallowed hard; he wasn’t totally alone then. He drew in a breath and turned from Druid to his eagle. The bird hopped several awkward steps eastward.

“Oh, stop it; just get on my pack and let’s go,” he said kneeling down. The eagle fluttered up, catching carefully at Zou’s arm to get up to the top of the pack where he hunched down to be stable to allow Zou to run as they had learned to do. Zou got up, drew a breath, and headed east toward the rising sun.

Zou had not realized a tree could be so big. Three days out and looking back from the rise of the hill, Zou could still see the top of Druid’s boughs. Whatever enemy had attacked him, Zou was certain Druid would have influence on the magics all about the area. Druid would hide his trail, at least for a while.

He chewed on the dry root he had found. It was better boiled and strained, but it was edible and healthy simply washed. It was, however, very bitter and tough. Spring seemed to have arrived overnight. The sweeping hills were green with a sudden burst of fragrance. The sun seemed a warm welcome and the wind was warm on his face and hands.

The eagle stretched his wings and picked at his splints. Zou had never seen him do that. “You want it off?” he asked. The eagle looked at him intently, blinked once, then held out his wing to him. Zou sat to carefully unbind the wing. With relief, the eagle flapped his wings full force and took off with three great hops before becoming airborne.

Zou watched him beat his wings several times, then catch an updraft and become a rapidly shrinking spiraling dot in the sky until Zou could not see him at all. Zou tossed the last little bit of the root and drank down the last of his water before he stepped into a run.

Druid was always able to find water, even in the salt waste, and he had worked to teach Zou the same way of “smelling” the water and going to it.  Zou had serious doubts he would be able to do it as well as Druid. However, he let his feet lead him and ran at that steady pace Druid had so regularly set for them. It was what Druid called Trance Motion, when you moved in time with the rhythm of your heart and how it connected to Gai. It could be a run, it could be a weapons drill, it could be as slow and deep as simply breathing. You just had to find the matching pace and fall into it.

His day was nothing but green hills and endless running until he topped at a small rise to find a damp little trickle at the bottom of hidden little gulley. He slowed, and catching his breath, he stumbled down to it. Only then did he realize how thirsty he was. He dropped down to suck up water. Filling his canteens, he laughed a little. He had done it; he had found water without Druid. Maybe he had hope of making it.

He looked up as the eagle came down to land on a snag of an old tree that had once lived by this little spring. The eagle settled his feathered.

“Camp here?” Zou asked.

The eagle answered by starting to preen for the night.

“Alright,” Zou nodded. “You know I need to know what to call you.” The eagle looked at him. “Why can’t you talk to me anymore? Is it because Druid is gone?”

The eagle made a sad little chirp. Then he looked at him very intently.

“TyRandan?” Zou asked with a doubtful tone. The name just came to him, but he doubted an eagle would wear the name of a Purtan. The eagle puffed up and chirped the sweetest little chirps that Zou actually laughed at him. “Really? You’re Purtan?”

TyRandan chirped at him and clicked his beak as if insulted by his reaction.

“Sorry. I just thought you would have some crazy exotic name, but you know if I walk around calling you TyRandan, it’s a bit breathy. What about just Randan? I mean we are sort of in this together I think, so…”

The eagle tilted his head sideways and seemed doubtful, but then gave in with a little chirp and launched off. Zou watched him circle a moment, then set to making a fire and a place to sleep that he could easily hide in the morning. He was just about to pull out rations when Randan returned with a rabbit in his talons. He tore off one leg, then hopped away to shred and eat it, leaving the rest to Zou.

“Thank you, Randan,” Zou said and bowed his head. He sat up. If Randan was a soul worthy of being a Familiar of such power and insight as to come to Druid’s call, he must be a wise and old soul. It was time Zou treated him as such and work on the skills of Purtan nobility. He shifted his breathing, his manner of sitting, the angle of his spine, and how he moved.

Randan looked at him and with a gentle click of his beak, he let Zou know he saw and approved.

The plains of Spizen turned into the hills of Amel, with the mountains that separated Amel from Couse rising slowly on the horizon. Open endless grassland turned into swaths of fields, divided by roads, long bands of trees, small rivers lined with willows, oaks and various nut trees that Zou didn’t know. His endless running became a discrete jog with, after so long on the go, the option of an inn.

Arriving at a small travel inn alongside the road, he dared to risk it. He left the late spring heat for the cool dark of the inn. Various travelers sat about in their groups eating and talking softly. Zou made his way to the keeper’s desk. A human man came over and cleared his throat.

“What can I do for you?” he asked in Amel.

Zou knew he didn’t speak Amel well, so went with common. “A room, a meal, and a bath if you have one.”

“Three half silver.”

Zou knew it was expensive, but his dark skin had made for trouble more than once. He didn’t argue, but dug in his wallet. With reluctance, he handed over the equivalent in copper. The man counted them and nodded. He handed over a key.

“Up the stairs, last room door.  Bath is out back. You can get a meal when you show the key.”

“Thank you,” Zou said. He went to find his room. It was on the back side of the inn with a small window overlooking the yard where there was a privy and a bathhouse. It was crude, not exceptionally clean nor well taken care of, but it was better than a ditch or hiding in a barn.

He took off his pack, pulled out his cleanest clothes and what soap root he had. He stashed everything under the bed and carefully laid a glyph over them to hide them from sight. It was an easy enough magic that would never hold up to even the lowest level sight, but to a common thief it would simply not be seen.

He headed down to the bathhouse. It had three stalls with tubs that could be filled from a single great heated tank. He filled a tub, scrubbed the clothes he had been wearing, drained the water, and refilled it for himself. He took his time to wash his hair thoroughly before pulling on the clothes he had taken from the pack. Clean, he headed back up with his wet clothes and dripping hair.

In his room he found everything askew. Clearly the room had been searched. He peeked under the bed to find his things still safely hidden against the wall. With a chuckle he hung his clothes about the room. From his pack he took a comb and began the long process of redoing his braids. It had been too long. It took hours.

When he made it down the stairs, the main room had filled with several dozen civilian locals.  An elven bard was in the corner playing a small lute. The rattle of dice, the mix of talk and laughter filled the room. Zou took a seat at a small table. He showed his key and waited. The young woman who brought the bowl of stew smiled a little.

“You travel from far?” she asked.

“Et,” he said.

“From Et?” she asked awed. “I thought Et was at war.”

“It is. I refused to be a part of it. If I am to be a soldier, then I will do so for the emperor alone.”

“You know he will be passing through Amel.” She pulled out a chair and sat with him. “There is a new king of Gauleraunt. Tyeldwar. I guess he is a powerful healer. He even moved the capital to Rathdrum. The emperor is on his way home. He will pass through Eracrow in three days. I wish I could manage to go.”

“Eracrow in three days?” Zou said. “How far is that?”

“About three days,” she said sadly. “Faster by horse, of course, but the train is under repair so it’s not running right now.”

“I would love to see him, but I think I shall keep on my path to Ulam Bac. Do you know the fastest way?”

“Of course, to Eracrow and then on a boat across. Or if the train was running, that would be faster still, but you would have to cut north quite a ways to get the train. It might end up being about the same, so I guess it’s if you like the water or not.”

“Tanna!” a man yelled. “You’re needed, girl!”

“Have to go,” she groaned as she got up. Zou watched her go. Girls never approached him when Druid was around. Maybe this traveling alone might not be so bad.

The road to Eracrow was suddenly packed as people rushed to get to the city to see their emperor. It gave Zou the chance to run openly again. He wasn’t the only one. Randan stayed high and showed up only at night to drop off a dinner before settling in the near trees.

Each night Zou was again haunted by the dreams of a demon hidden in a wolf who seemed to have everyone around him convinced of goodness. Nights were far from easy and he left predawn just to outrun the nightmares.

It did take three days to reach the capital city. The crowds were crushing and reminded him of the packed train station in Kill-Abben. The noise was deafening, the smells almost painful, but he wanted to see the emperor as long as he was here and then likely get a ship to Ulam Bac. Maybe the emperor would be going the same way and he could find a way to present himself.

He followed Randan through the packed streets to get near the center of the city. He was completely lost by the time he heard the drums. Pushing forward despite the crush, he wanted to get close enough to see. He was taller than many about him and that helped him, but he still felt too far back.

The Elite warriors of Norwood’s Black Force came first. They walked in perfect rank and file. They all wore black chin to toe, with their hair bound in a perfect pleated single braid down their backs. They wore no visible swords, but they were said to have magic weapons that appeared when needed.

Guarded on either side by the Elites came several ranks of mounted men. They were certainly lords of some sort. By the words of those around him, he knew the next major face to appear was the Steward of the Throne, followed by the emperor. Zou felt his heart stop. The crowd bowed, breathless and awed. Zou felt his heart almost stop. Every motion was perfect. Every lesson Druid had taught him about how a true Purtan moved seemed to be personified in the man.

Most of his life had been spent seeking to get to that man and now that he was so close, Zou could not even breathe; he could not imagine him a real man at all. There was utterly no way he was going to be seen as worthy to ever be presented to Von Shannon.

On the verge of tears and utter despair and purposelessness, he saw the last person he expected to ever see again.  She rode a great horse, her face stone-still.  She wore a uniform very like that of the Elites, but different in very subtle ways. He saw nothing other than that. His heart exploded in his chest.

“Kelly!” he called the name of his mother, trying to be heard over the drums and the cheering crowd. “Kelly!” He pushed forward to get to her, to be seen.  If she could just see him, she would know him and he would be back with her. He shoved a man out of the way and fought to get close with no other thought. He called her name again just as three guards moved in and brought him down so suddenly he wasn’t even sure what had happened.  He was numb, saw stars, and was being taken away with his hands cuffed and his ears ringing.

He tried to talk, but he could make no sound and he couldn’t focus beyond the flashes of stars in his eyes.

The cell was clean enough, but a cell. He was on a cot that was likely less than clean. Zou sat up with a pounding headache and a sick stomach. The cell door clanged open so loud he winced down and covered his eyes.

“Yes, that’s him,” a man said.

“You certain?” another man asked.  “The governor thinks he’s a black elf and possibly a spy or an assassin.”

“I’m tell you I know this man.  He is the one who led the revolt in Kill-Abben!  I’m tell you he is no spy. He serves the emperor.”

“And I’m not elven, either,” Zou winced up into the light, looking toward the guard. “I’m as much Purtan as you,” he added to the half Purtan man in the door.

“I tell you he is the Purtan hero of Kill-Abben!” The man moved to help him up.  Zou accepted the assistance and allowed the man to get him on his feet. “I will pay the bounty and vouch for him.”

“I don’t think the governor will let him go.”

“Let who go?” A big man walked to the cell and looked at Zou with a scowl.  “So this is the one who was trying to attack the emperor?”

“What?’ Zou asked shocked.

“I tell you he wasn’t!”

“He was shouting in elven and trying to break the line!” a guard said in a contempt-filled tone.  “I tell you, sir, this man is the one.”

“I was shouting at…” he stopped himself and grabbed his head in pain.  “I was shouting the name of the big woman in the parade.”  He winced and looked back at the man.  “Is her name not Tyrakelleshen? Kelly for short? She is a friend of my father’s. I wanted to get her attention.  I was not shouting in elven; I don’t even speak elven!”

“You have an accent!” the guard shot back.

“An Etan accent you, jackass!” Zou snapped back. “Really? You think I’m elven? You sure you’re not a court fool?  Nothing about me is elven.”

“If you’re not elven, then you have to be Razzan and that is worse,” the governor said.  “You sure you’re not elven?”

“You sure you’re not a blood wizard to play such corruption?” Zou said back at him. “If I am such a threat, I dare you to put me before the emperor as such.”

“Fine, we will,” the governor stepped forward and stabbed him with a needle.  Zou watched it go into his arm and the world went black.

Zou woke to Randan clicking his beak. Zou struggled to get his head back. He was on the hard cold ground in dampness and reeking smell.

“Not good,” he muttered and looked at the bindings on his wrist. They were spelled ropes, but nothing that he couldn’t be rid of.  Whispering to his elementals, he set them on the ropes. They consumed them in a flash of red light. Free of the wrist bindings, he untied his ankles before he moved.

The door had a barred window where Randan had squeezed between the bars. Zou crawled to the door, his head blurred with whatever drug they had given him. Randan jumped away as Zou pushed. The door groaned open, too loud in the night. He crawled out and pushed the door shut behind him.

He got up unsteady and dangerous dizzy. An executioner’s wagon was parked close by and dawn was far too close. Stumbling a step, he followed Randan, who moved from one house to another. He hunched down once to let Zou know to hide. A night patrol passed by talking easily together. Zou tried to shake the drugs from his mind, but was not having much luck. He needed to purge his system, water, lots of water would be good.

He lost track of how many turns and how many times he had to duck and hide, but Randan led him to a clothes line where he perched, waiting for Zou to figure out to put on a long cloak and pull the hood up.

They only had a few more turns to go before they saw the city’s eastern gate and through it the first light of sunrise. Hood up, he boldly walked from the wall and shadows for the gate. The man on duty glanced up and nodded to him.

“Bit late to duty, aye?”

“Aye, but my girl’s happy,” he said back, trying to sound like Druid might in such a game of deception. The man chuckled back and let him walk right out under the lights of the gate.

He didn’t stop, but kept walking. Any moment they would realize he was gone and the call would go up. He ached for the loss of Druid’s sword and wallet, but he had to get away. Once out of sight of the gate, he took off at a run. Maybe if nothing else, running would help clear his head.

Zou pushed how far he could run. The last thing he needed was for his previous hunters to know where he was because some stupid guard had thought he was yelling in elven. He knew better than to shout out, but it was his mother, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. His heart pounded just at knowing for certain she was alive. She was alive and with the emperor.

Zou ran until sunset, when Randan led him to a small barn off the main road. It was dry and clean, offering a place for him to lie down in the straw and he dropped to sleep almost at once. His body was sore from the long runs, he had not eaten enough, and he knew he needed more water – but if he was murdered, it wouldn’t matter if he took time to eat and drink enough.

He jerked from a dream of the emperor and his mother to Druid yelling at him to get up. Randan was picking at his sleeve. Zou got up at once, shaking off weariness and sleep to crawl to the door.

Across the yard, mounted men were talking to the farmer at his house. Zou could not imagine that the city guards had been so fast to follow him. A man drug the farmer’s wife out of the house by her hair. It took a moment for Zou to recognize him as the man who had once tracked him and Druid and had put his hand on the very tree they had been hidden in.

It was not just city guards; it was the evil woman, the one who had nearly killed Druid. Zou moved as fast and carefully as he could, crawling from the barn toward the nearby trees. He wished he could aid the farmer and his wife, but he had to get away.

He rolled under the wooden rail fence into the tree line. He got to his feet and at once sprinted as hard and fast as he could. He did not have Druid to make him vanish into the trees now and those men were on horses.

He jumped a stream, cleared several fences, and cut across an open field as fast as he could. Randan was ahead of him, showing him the best path, but even so it was difficult in the forested area.

Every time he wanted to stop and hide in place, he heard Druid telling him to run, as if the man was right there with him. His lungs were burning and he caught the next fence as he jumped it.

Staggering, he barely managed to keep his feet, but he kept running. He hit a road and turned up it. His body could not run any more over the unknown and uneven ground of the forest. His only hope was to get among people who might help him somehow.

He heard the horses behind him, their hooves pounding on the road. He didn’t need to look back to know who they were. He cut sideways off the road and into the trees for one last hope to escape. Tripping, he tumbled into a ditch. Scrambling up, he struggled into an open field. He wanted to cry out to the trees for help, he wanted the animals to aid him, he needed help. He needed Druid to help him.

As the men behind him jumped the ditch, he heard the horses’ hooves clear it. There was nowhere for him to go. He crested a hill just as mounted men charged up from the other direction. He fell back, trying to miss the men. The leader’s horse reared and came down with his hooves barely missing Zou’s head. He stayed still, gasping and panting. Randan dove in, causing the horse swerve around Zou as they charged at the men who had been after him.

He could hear the shouts, the clash of weapons, and yet his heart pounded in his head so hard he could hear little. All he could do was lay there and suck in air. His long run, his lack of food and water had caught up to him, and now he was left gasping on the ground. Druid could have pulled him up and walked him to a tree; there they could have simply hidden, letting the battle pass and their trail be lost.

As he lay there, a man on horseback came to stand over him as the fight moved on. He was an incredible man.  He wore the uniform of Crouse, but with golden belts, earrings with gems, sashes of bold colors, and swords more like a pirate than any soldier.  His eyes were powerful and a deep blue like nothing Zou had seen.  His hair was streaked red, black, and gold, bound back into a free-flowing tail.

“They are down,” one soldier announced as they returned. “What of this one?” he asked, motioning toward Zou.

“He’s not one of them, take him to camp.  I’ll question him later.”

Three men pulled Zou to his feet and cuffed him. Zou looked to Randan, who was perched in a nearby tree. The eagle didn’t seem the least bit upset, so Zou relented and went with the men.

His cuffs were tied to the saddle of one of the three men. He did, however, let his horse walk at Zou’s pace and not push him. The other captives were not treated so well. They passed Zou and his guard at a run, injured or not. They all had beaten faces, magic bonds, and several were draped over their own horse’s backs.

Zou was so tired his mind spun and wandered; he should not be so tired at all, but he was. He staggered along and recalled being bound this way before.  No, it was not him – it was his mother. She had been so bound. They had come over the desert sand to the ridge of a mountain where they looked out at and over a city.

The sun had just been rising and the chants of the morning drifted to them. He could see the ancient golden city with its yellow stone plaster walls, its tall tower, and the temple ruins on the far hill. For a moment his heart ached for that place exactly as once his mother had ached for her home.he was an exile and he knew it, exiled not only from her goddess, but from her own body.

[T1]

The Border

chapter 2

Princes of Purt         

It had been a speck of light on the far edge of what Jeddah could sense. They had followed it for days before they saw it: a small camp on the beach of salt. The ship was grounded and the pirates were spread on the shore with a camp of battered tar and sail tents, with trunks of their stolen goods, and a chain of kidnapped souls headed to life as slaves at whatever port they landed on.

Jeddah and Zou watched the camp for a day from the ridge. At dark Jeddah hid Zou back in the rocks and ran for the camp, low and fast. Whispering the words of the great black swamp cat, he dropped to all four, and ran silent and fast over the salt. Without a second thought about it, he made his way to the back of the tent of the captain. This one alone had fine heavy canvas, dyed in bold colors. He could smell that the man inside was drunk on rum. He was also passed out and snoring. Jeddah slipped his head under the heavy tent wall. He let his senses assure him the only person there was the captain before he slid under. Rising up to his full height, he let his eyes adjust to the dark before he rummaged for clothes, which he pulled on, a couple of blankets that he wound about his shoulders, and as an afterthought, a belt with a short sword on it that lay on the floor beside the captain’s cot.

Drooping low with the breath of the swamp cat, he slunk out the way he had come in and raced back to the ridgeline, cutting far west before coming back to Zou with his paws on the stone. At the small hidden camp where Zou sat by the rock fire, Jeddah dropped down. Zou screamed and scrambled back even as Jeddah reached out a hand.

“It’s just me,” Jeddah tried to reassure him.

“You didn’t tell me you could change shape!” Zou shouted in Dacan, his small chest heaving, his heart pounding.

“It’s just an illusion…”

“No, its not!” Zou pointed to the tracks in the sand. Jeddah looked at them in the firelight a moment, then laughed.

“Well, that’s interesting. I wonder how long I have been doing that. Look Zou.” He pulled off the blankets, then the clothes. “I know it’s not perfect, but the robe will protect you.”

Zou slowly got up to take the desert robe that Jeddah had stolen from the captain. He pulled it on, tying the small cords on the inside. Clearly he had worn such a robe before. He watched Jeddah skeptically. “I was warned about shape-shifters.”

“I am not a shape-shifter, Zou. I am just an old druid. My grandfather could shift his shape at times. He taught me the words of the animals, but that just draws their energy around you to make you seem as they. Some in the far past could draw up enough to actually assume the shape. I had no idea I was doing that. What you were warned about are the shape-shifters of Dacan. They are given the power to shift to demons and blood magics.  I am the same man that I was three hours ago.”

“Maybe you’re not. Maybe Druid got killed and you plan to steal his place.”

“No, Zou, its me. Shape-shifters only shift into what they see. Look,” he pulled out the small bird skins from his shirt. “See, no shifter would know about these.”

“How did you learn a magic you only know about from stories?”

“I have been in the swamps of Et for a very long time. Although my grandfather died when I was quite young, he had already taught me much. Beyond that, I remember the times when the Von Amells ruled Purt. I was alive before the Von Armond dynasty. I am very old, which has given me time to learn in many different ways.”

“No one lives that long, not even Purtans.”

“I do,” Zeddah shrugged. “I am me and there is only me of what I am.”

“You have no people?”

Jeddah shifted the belt he had stolen to fit better and let himself think back to the far past that haunted him as if it was far closer than it truly was. Never had he spoken of it. He had never had a friend or companion he trusted enough to whisper the truth to. He drew a slow deep breath. “When I was about your age, my grandfather gathered me in his arms and fled our home. We could smell the smoke… hear the screaming… it was days before we had outdistanced the great booming of the magics at war. We fled north to Purt.

“At one point my grandfather hid me in a small cave and went back to see if anyone else had escaped. When he returned, he was burned, his clothes in tatters, his eyes blackened and bloodshot. When I asked for my mother, for my sister, he wept. He put me on his back and we never spoke of it again.”

“What happened to him?” Zou whispered.

“We were hunted. He hid me in a tree… he had barely stepped away when out of the black night came a creature of darkness that took him down. Evil men, elves I think, tortured him on an altar. They drank his blood and bathed in his pain. I was alone after that.”

“Sort of like me.”

“You are not alone, Zou. I am here and I will help you and protect you till my last bit of strength. Whatever evil is after you will not have you as long as I live.”

Zou folded his hands in his lap and looked at Jeddah with a very sad serious look. “Why? I am Dacan.”

“That means nothing to me. To me you are Zou and that is enough and that is all.”

Zou let out a heavy breath. “We were headed to Purt. Every step had to taken carefully and in secret. But we were attacked by the serpent goddess…” he started to cry, “by Razz. My mother cried out in words I don’t know and had never heard.” He told his story between sobs. His small hands were gripped so tightly in his lap they were white. “To battle against her came the angel of death. My mother begged him to save me over her…. magic made a tornado around us… we were pulled apart… I woke on a coastline alone… a fisherman found me and took me to the city. I thought he meant to help, but he didn’t. He sold me to another ship and they were boarded by pirates. Everyone was killed but me, because the demon wanted to make me a toy for the captain.”

Jeddah could take no more. He took hold of the boy and held him tight. “It’s over, Zou. You are safe with me. I hunt demons and I will teach you how to do the same. I will teach the words of the creatures and of the elements as I know them and we will make it safely back to Purt.”

“I am supposed to go to the King of Norwood…” the boy sobbed.

“Then to Norwood we will go.”

Zou held onto him as tightly as his little arms allowed. Not since Jeddah had held onto his grandfather had anyone held him so tightly.

*************

“I see!” Jeddah said suddenly. “I see what you are doing. Our words are the same, but the what we are doing is very different. You are calling up the Elementals that are self-aware and individual, while I use the elements themselves, the energy of their creation. I do not ask an air elemental to do a thing for me; I use the air itself. Do you see? I whisper to the creation energy of the air, while you speak with a creature made of the element.”

“So you cannot do my magic and I cannot do yours?”

“I am fairly certain I can do yours, but I have no need to. If you can do mine, we shall learn that in time.”

Zou sighed heavily. “It is difficult to talk to them here. The salt has driven them away. Like smoke to bees.”

“The land here is very silent. Nothing whispers to me and it makes me uneasy. There is life, though, and as the silence deepens I can hear it. Ahead of us are far more people, but I do not think they are the sort we want to run into. We are going to have to travel very carefully.”

Zou nodded. “Druid,” he said, “do you think Raz killed my mother?”

“I don’t know. If she had an ally as powerful as you describe, I think she is alright, maybe far away and certainly worried for you, but alright. Until you learn otherwise, it is best to hold faith in that.”

“Can I…” Zou hesitated.

“Can you what?”

“Do your hair? It must bother you being in your face like that.”

“If you want to,” Jeddah said. He had never had anyone ask to do his hair. He had paid people to cut it, but that was about all. Zou jumped up, for a moment showing again how very young he was. He set to work picking out the windblown knots and making tiny layered braids. He hummed softly as he worked. Jeddah focused instead on the best route before them and how he was going to get them over a hundred miles with so little to eat that he wasn’t sure how to both feed them and leave the ecosystem able to survive.

The camp had been deserted. Broken crates, tattered canvas, scattered trash stained the white sand, half of it buried under salt that had blown over in the years since the pirates had left.

“Look!” Zou held up a belt with a buckle. “I win, I found the first useful thing!”

Jeddah laughed softly at Zou’s delight. He turned over the broken wooden crate. Once it had held salted pork, but now was long empty. Anything to help make things better was a good day. The meals of small birds and scorpions was getting very old and the lack of plentiful water was painful. They had not once found such a pool as the first one. Most days they ended by sucking water off of the back wall of narrow canyons.

Jeddah had lost enough weight the pants he wore were constantly trying to fall off his hips. Only the stolen belt kept them up. He had skipped more meals than not; Zou was a child and not eating at his age would leave permanent marks on his bones. He pulled out a broken bottle. Anything to carry water would be a boom, but as of yet they had found nothing larger than a bird stomach. Discarding the dark green glass, he rose and looked about the long-forgotten camp.

The canvas he would keep to make cloaks for them, as well as to make moccasins for Zou.

“Look! Druid, look!” Zou cheered as he found a finely woven sash of dark red. He waved it in the constant wind, sending salt dust flying away. He wound it under his long braids, made a twist and brought it back around. With practiced hands he bound up his hair and still had a length to hide his face.

“Good find, Zou,” Jeddah nodded. They would keep looking. If such a thing was left, maybe this crew had deserted rapidly and left more treasures to be had. “You seem to have a skill for this.”

Zou clapped his hands and set back to work. Jeddah moved to a larger heap of sand and tugged at an edge of buried canvas. The piece was larger than he had expected and he peeled back salt to show it had once been a tent, but that it had burned. With another yank, the tent wall tore along the burn to expose a petrified hand.

Jeddah knelt to brush away the salt. The man had been burned in part, but had also been stabbed in the chest. The salt had turned him into a mummy, reminding Jeddah of the husks of the frogs and birds the swamp water-spiders left in their wake.

The man here had likely been the captain and he still wore his fine clothes, bloodstained and burned, but clearly finer than most. The belt was burned beyond use, but the pouches he wore, the daggers on his hip, and the rings on his unburned hand were all worth taking.

Jeddah set to clearing away what had been the inside the tent. Little had been taken. Much was burned beyond use or even identification, but the finds began to pile up.

“What do you think happened?” Zou asked over his shoulder. “If it was just a simple mutiny, they would have taken everything. I don’t think they would have set fire to the tent with all this in it.”

“I think it was a rival crew.” Jeddah sat back, brushing the salt from a glass decanter. “This was not what I had in mind for carrying water, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

“I think there was a blood wizard involved. Look at his face; he was in agony when he died and it wasn’t the fire that killed him or that wound.”

“You know much about that?” Jeddah asked, a little surprised that Zou was so calm about seeing a dead man, let alone so critical about it.

“I have been trained as a fighter since I could walk. I have seen more dead men than I can count.” He shrugged and shook his head. “They only left him. Why? It seems that if they were out for just torture, they would have done that to the entire crew, but they took the rest. It seems odd.”

“It’s also very old. The salt stops things from rotting and he might have been killed a thousand years ago. We cannot tell. Not here.”

“I wish they had left some food, though. I would love to have a bite of bread, or soup. Soup would be good. Tea! Oh, for a cup of buttered tea,” he sighed. “Your pile is bigger than mine.”

“You still win, Zou; you found the first treasure. I think we will stay another day and look longer. Who knows what else is here, but let’s get up to the ridge and the pool. I don’t like being out here at night.”

“Me, either.”

***************

The hike had been worth it. Zou stood catching his breath, looking south. On the horizon, storm-heads flickered with lightning. They were so far away, no sound carried here, but the air was still.  In it they could taste the change that rain made. The outward ripples of the land that hinted at the creation of the Pusan Sea were curved here. They had made it to the far southeastern end of the sea. The ridges crumbled away from here. The salt left the land and stayed close to the sea; here they would find pirates, fugitives, and salt miners. To stay hidden was going to get far more difficult.

The hope of more food, of easy-to-find water, and drawing near edge of Purt’s southern border of Tiff was nearly outweighed by the fear of what hunted them. Zou had come to accept their life and feared the change they faced when they reached the safety of Purt.

“Wolves,” Druid pointed out to the valley that spread before them. Rain had come, the valley was turning green and smelled of life after the year on the salt coast. Zou had to look extra hard to spot the small pack that moved along the far side of the valley. Part of him wished that he and Druid could stay here always. Only the need to get to Purt made him not say as much. Druid had become the father he had always wanted. If not for missing his mother he would have had to admit he was happy.

He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on his head. Over the last month, the valley on the back side of the ridge had begun to change and provide more life. The forgotten camps they came across had become almost commonplace. They had climbed over the ridge and Druid had hunted real food for them. Green things, flowers, and even a small deer had given them more food than they had for months combined.

“What are those?” Zou asked of the dark jagged-looking boulders along the bottom of the valley.

“Those? I have no idea.”

“Can we go look? We are about to head north; we can take a day.”

Druid nodded. “I agree. I’m not sure what we will find, but it’d be nice to camp in the open for once.” He said no more and headed down the steep slope. Zou jogged to catch up. Druid had been in a strange mood for the last few days, almost as if he was as uneasy as Zou was about the change in their habits.

The slope was steep stone, broken, and weathered, making for a difficult path, but Druid moved over it with a grace and speed Zou could only envy. Druid had reached the lower slope and taken a seat to rest and wait for Zou long before Zou had even reached the first tuft of grass.

When Zou arrived, they walked together without saying anything down to the first of the black boulders. It was larger than expected. It was taller than Druid’s head. Up close, though, it became clear what they were. Zou reached out to touch the ancient stump.

“It’s as hard as stone. What would do that?”

Druid reached out his hand and laid it on the blacked bark of the great old stump. Catching his breath, grief over came him. Bowing his head, tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks. As if the past was burned into the stump, he saw it and understood it. Memory came up and made him choke on the smoke, to hear the vast concussions of the attacks, and to see the glow as he looked back over his grandfather’s shoulder as they fled north.

He jerked his hand away. With a shaky breath, he looked to Zou as he wiped his cheeks. “Let’s set up a camp father down the slope.”

“Druid,” Zou reached out and touched his arm. “What happened here?”

“I will tell you once we are settled.” He headed down the slope, among the vast stumps of black stone. He chose a spot for them to camp where there were several small thorny bushes and a little spring of water.

They unslung their water jugs, removed their wraps and bed roll before Zou built a fire. Druid walked away to hunt and gather while Zou waited. He watched his teacher kneel several times as he walked away. Druid returned just before dark with thee rabbits and handfuls of green herbs. He set to work preparing the rabbits, gathering his thoughts.

“Elves came. A great army of them with dark magics. They demanded scarifies and dues. The Druids refused them and turned their backs on them. When they set to attacking them, they transformed into great trees.” He was quiet as he set the rabbits on the fire. “The elves attacked them. They came without mercy or reason. They took axes to them, they used magic to force them to return to their own forms, but to do so meant rape and torture. They refused and the elves wiped them out. That is the war that created the wastelands of Malkoot. The elves wanted something and the druids refused to give it to them. I do not know what it was they sought, but they did not get it.”

“At what cost? If all of them were wiped out, an entire people…” Zou felt sick. “If all your people were wiped out… Did you flee from here?”

“I think so. I cannot know that for certain. When we fled, the Pusan Sea was not there – the land was rolling hills covered in vast forests. It was very long ago. The world has changed since then,” he said sadly.

“If you escaped, maybe others did as well.”

“I do not think so, Zou. It is a nice thought, but I do not think so.”

“At least you did. Your grandfather was wise enough to flee and so your people’s magics still survives. You really should have children.”

Druid smiled and shook his sad mood. “I have never considered it. Maybe I should.” He looked up to the stars that were just coming out, the moons both mere slivers allowed a thousand more stars to be visible. He drew in a breath and sang the song his grandfather had so often sung to him. He knew many songs of his childhood, but rarely felt moved to sing them.

His voice echoed back off the valley walls softly, adding to his song. Never in the swamp did his voice carry like that. It made it almost a fun game to hear his own voice. At songs end, he laughed softly.

“You are a very good singer,” Zou said seriously. “You should sing more often. What was the song about?”

“Stars,” Druid said. “I will teach you the words. I rarely use my own language, but it would be good to recall it, to share it.”

Zou cleared his throat and took his turn to sing a song. He blushed a little when he finished.

“And you, Zou, are a very good singer.”

*******

Druid managed to steal clothes and salt packs within days, allowing them to blend in should they need to. He and Zou were about to join a small camp when they spotted the ship they had escaped from, just off the coast with boats rowing in.

“That can’t be good,” Zou muttered.

“No. Lets keep moving.”

Traveling north they spotted the ship nearly daily. The ship stopped at camps while they ran ahead, but the ship always seemed to get to the next camp just before they did.

Weeks of trying to outpace the ship brought them to a massive salt camp with a dozen fires burning, offering food for the workers. Taking a deep breath Zou followed Druid from the shadows toward the camp. They kept close together and moved to a fire where many were coming and going to grab hot bread and a mug of mild tea.

The men at the fire didn’t even seem to notice them. They moved away to sit close enough to seem at the fire, yet far enough away as to not be noticed or seen clearly.  They were careful to eat slowly. The tea they sipped careful for the heat alone.

Zou finished and nodded to the shoreline and the dark out there. “There was a ship out there; I think we need to leave. They put the light out and are waiting for most to go to sleep.”

“Keep your cup. Let’s see if we can snag some more bread from another fire and move further from the shoreline.”

Henzada stood as a blurring jagged line against the horizon. That ancient city was the portal from the desert into Purt. Outside the gate was Malkoot. Once past that threshold, they would be back in Purt. They had hiked over five hundred miles along the southern coast to get this close, yet they stayed low, watching, neither of them moving or saying anything.

The city itself was ancient, build over so many times that no one knew who had first built it or when that had been. The city was made of rows of buildings with flat roofs that held potted gardens, canopies of brightly colored cloth, and even market stalls. Layer upon layer of these high-walled buildings created a city that was one vast maze and nearly impossible to invade should any enemy come from the south.

About the gates themselves were salt camps. The miners and traders worked outside the wall with very few actually going inside. Slave markets were set up like horse or cattle yards father east. Slavery was forbidden in Purt, but here, just over the border the markets were full and busy. Purchased slaves were smuggled in through the gate and thus into Purt itself.

It should have been an easy task to walk down and join the crowds until they could make their way into the city itself… still neither of them moved.

“There,” Zou whispered. He spotted what both of them had felt. The demon stood at the edge of the salt miners’ camp looking out at the desert in their direction. “How do they keep finding us?”

“I don’t know,” Druid breathed. “We have to get into Purt, but I am not sure we can make it through the gate.”

“Do you think we can circle the city? We could cut through the slave camps, blend in there.”

“We’ll try.” He backed up, careful not to kick up any dust that might give them away. They crawled, staying low, until the demon had turned back into the camps. Getting up, they set off at a jog. Druid ran only as fast as Zou could maintain. If he had to, he would grab up the boy and run, but the farther they went before he had to do that, the better.

They circled wide to the east, skirting the city. They reached the edge of the camps and made themselves walk as calmly as possible.

Druid caught Zou up as he spotted the ship’s captain. He ducked behind a slave tent. Zou held on tight. Druid had not carried Zou in months, but he would now. He held the boy protectively, trying to find a way to get through.

If he could get over the border, he could fight the demon, shatter him, but here in Malkoot he knew that would reveal him in a way he knew would be a death sentence. Whatever evil had killed his people, if he fought out here, without the salt to hide him, he would he revealed and his hunters would be on him. He could not risk an open fight south of the border.

Drawing in a deep breath, he moved. The hunters were close. Druid didn’t give them warning, but ran all out as hard and fast as he could. He had not gone more than a dozen steps when the demon spotted Druid and Zou and shouted. Druid threw everything into running.

He could sense the border, he could feel it like a cool shade line, or the humidity of a nearby river. There was no mark on the land, no change of vegetation, but he felt it. They were so close. The arrow hit him in the left shoulder blade, staggering him, but Druid refused to stop. Even if he died, it was imperative that Zou get over the border. It was as if the every blade of grass, even tiny cactus, every little insect was whispering at him in desperation to get Zou over the border at all costs.

The pain in his shoulder was no worse then a black giant ant bite, he told himself and kept going. A second arrow hit him almost in the same place, they were trying to get through him, into his heart. If the arrows had been shot with enough force, they would have, but both failed to get through his shoulder blade. The second one, however, made him stumble.

The ground dropped just enough at the same time that he couldn’t catch his feet. He crashed, rolling to avoid falling on Zou. One arrow jabbed deeper into shoulder blade and made him cry out as the other broke off.

“Run, Zou!” He shoved Zou toward the border that was only yards away. “Run and hide. I will find you.”

Zou scrambled up and ran. Druid rolled up, whispering the energy of a lion and turned on the men who had shot him. The pain remained, but was in the back of his mind and did not slow him. He charged at the four men who were far too close behind him. The first he leapt at and bit his throat, ripping it out. He did not pause. Even as the taste of blood filled his mouth, he caught the second man with his great paw. As the man crashed down, Druid was on his back and reached around to rip his throat out with his great claws. Roaring in rage, he caught the third, who was trying to back-peddle and lift the bow. Druid tore his face off with both hands and ripped open his chest as he landed on him. He turned to look at the last, but that was the demon.

“Do not fight him here!” he heard a voice as surely as if someone had yelled at him. He drew up. The demon-possessed man grinned fiercely, his bow down.

“Get the boy, kill the man, that was my deal,” his grin grew. “So nice to see I was right, Druid. It’s been too long since your magics were in the world. Oh, the plans you could unravel; what fun! Go,” he shooed him as if he was a house cat. “Catch up with your little prince. We’ll be along soon enough.” He chuckled.

Druid turned and raced after Zou.

******

His shoulder and back hurt. It made moving his arm painful, made sleeping nearly impossible, and carrying Zou was out of the question. Zou held onto Druid’s right hand as they hiked across the rocky plain of Tiff. Back into the living world, Druid was more at ease away from people and in the wilder lands. Here he knew everything that belonged and what didn’t. They were being hunted, but out here he had the upper hand.

Despite that, he needed help with his shoulder. It had taken him time to seek out someone able to help who would not whisper of him or Zou’s passage. It had taken them far off the northern course, but eastward for days. The little village was tucked in the hills along a small river. The homes were modest, but ancient. They were made of massive stones and great old timbers that had to have been hauled from a very long distance, as neither boulders nor trees were anywhere near.

They picked their way down the hill towards the village. They couldn’t see anyone, but a dog jogged out to meet them. Wagging his tail, he accepted a head rub from Zou, then walked along with them. At his age Druid did not need to keep scanning. Once he found what he sought, he just knew where to go. He was a hunter and this was how his life worked. It worked for demons, for herbs, or for people. He went to the small house with its herb garden spilling over raised beds before it.

Letting go of Zou’s hand, he knocked on the door before pulling the boy close to his leg with his hand on Zou’s back. It took a moment, but the door was opened by a Purtan woman in her later years.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I could use some mending,” Druid said. “Seems I was mistaken for a deer.” He turned enough to show his bloody back and torn shirt.

“Good heavens, man, come in!” Ushering him into the warm little house, she turned a chair at the table for him to straddle and sit. She fetched water and rags before she looked closer, and then cut away his shirt with a seriousness that Druid didn’t like. “How long ago did this happen?”

“About six days, I think.”

“And you have been bleeding since then?”

“I hid my trail, if that’s your worry.”

“No, well yes, but no. You were shot with Blood Arrows. There was a demon behind this and he has been feeding on you. Most men would have died.” She set to washing the injury clear before she went for a kit on a high shelf.

“Is he going to be alright?” Zou asked, showing his worry in his young voice.

“Yes, your gran’papa will be alright,” she smiled. “You have the look of salt miners. Headed north for better things?”

“For better things? I avoid the far north. I am no fan of the church of Gerome.”

“Gerome? Haven’t you heard?”  She paused to step around and look at him. “Gerome has fled. He has been exposed as an imposter and driven out of Purt.”

“Who is on the throne, then?” Druid asked.

“Tyredelle Von Shannon, the King of Norwood.”

“Von Shannon?”

“As I understand, he is the heir Tyredelle Von Armond, but Armond himself renamed him Shannon. The last Von Armond is Tydavrelle, King of Crouse now. Too long have the Von Armonds been from the holy places. The line ends with him though. His heir will be a Vel Armond.”

“But the new emperor, he is Purtan? He is of the line of Norwood?”

“Yes. We are far from Ulam Bac, but word has reached even us. Image captures have been sent across the Empire. His likeness to St. Tyredelle is unmistakable. Now, bow your head, this is going to hurt, but it will break the link with the demon. We will get you patched up, then eat and I’ll catch you up on all I know of the new empire.”

Jeddah stood watching the sun rise over the far eastern horizon. They had been fed, given fresh is worn clothes and a warm place on the floor to sleep for the night. Jeddah had woken early come out to think. They had reached Purt, that had been his only goal. Now that they were here he needed to think what to do next.

One of the few things he loved about being out of the swamp was the trading of day for night. Twilight held a sacred energy. It almost felt as if there was a key between the mundane and the holy hidden in the blue-light of dusk and the pink-golds of dawn. He had spent a thousand years and more in the swamp, slipping out to trade his black diamonds. Long had he removed his concern or care for the people of the world.

His heart and mind were of the swamp, of the hidden and murky world where men did not trespass. All his life men had brought only pain, loss, and isolation. Maybe it was Zou’s influence, maybe it was that the world was shifting, or maybe it was something else all together, but here he was. His heart beat a little stronger knowing a son of Norwood was emperor, as it should be. He felt driven to get Zou to him. Somehow it mattered; somehow he mattered to it all. He had a place in this twilight between dynasties.

“Your grandson is a brave boy,” the healer woman came out to join him. She offered a steaming mug of tea.

“He is,” Jeddah nodded. He wrapped his hands around the mug and let his eyes go back to the sky and the pink clouds that were becoming gold-edged. “I cannot thank you enough for the healing and the meal.”

“No, it is I who should thank you. I have been torn between the words and the fears. Your appearance is a prayer answered.”

“How so? You told me that the son of Norwood rules in Ulam Bac, but little else.”

“Honestly, I know little else.”

“Yet, you seem to feel that I offer some sort of hope? How so? I am just a traveler with a young boy at my side.”

She laughed softly as she took a sip of her tea. “And I am just a mid-wife. I recognize the ancient ones when I see one. If you have slipped the hidden places and come out in the open, then truly a new age is dawning.”

“Are you so old as to know one race from another? Most of Purt is so blurred and young, it is almost a crime for it to bear that ancient name.”

“There are those of us old enough and those who were trained in secret by ones older yet who know of truths. Some things are best left to whispers and hints, and not explained in open yet. Evil rolls in its deep slumber. Dark things stir in the hidden corners of my dreams. For once I think it is not the new emperor, but that he is our only hope against it perhaps. You? What do you feel of hearing of him?”

“Hope,” Jeddah admitted. He looked over at her. “I have watched the bloodline of Armond falter and fail. I have seen races turn on one another and sacred places become defiled. I have had no hope since the day the forests burned, but today I feel hope.”

She sipped her tea. “What will you do?”

“Head north. Purt will tell me to where.”

“I will pray for you, and we will do out best to hide your passage.”

“Thank you.”

*************

“What’s on your mind?” Druid asked Zou. Zou blinked and looked to his teacher.

“I feel uneasy. I keep thinking about the old healer woman who helped us in Tiff. War has broken out there. The common people are being hunted and taken as conscripted fighters or slaves.”

“What’s the difference?” Druid asked.

“Fighters have hope of a quick death,” Zou said miserably. He wrapped his hands around the mug in his hands. War had blocked and altered their path at every turn. Ulam Bac felt no closer than it had when they started out. It seemed utterly hopeless.

“Do not doubt your feelings, Zou,” Druid said. “I, too, feel what you do; I do not think it is the old woman we need worry about, though. I think we have left her reach and our path has become marked again. We will have to travel with more care.”

“We are inside Purt; we are supposed to be safe inside Purt.”

“Safe from what is the question. Yes, Purt offers both of us protection from enemies outside the borders, but Gerome broke many of the ancient guardian magics and I fear we will soon be hunted by the very allies of that vile man.”

“Demons; but you can fight them, right?”

“Yes, I can, but they rarely come alone. I think your training sword needs to be replaced, Zou. I think you are going to need a real blade. We will stop at the next merchant and get you armed. When we get to Kill-Abben, we will get you something even better.”

“How? With what money?”

“Money is not an issue. Has it ever stopped us before?”

“No,” Zou said slowly.

Druid laid his battered coin wallet on the table. He smoothed his hand over the details he had carefully worked into the leather. “This is a key to a vault. It allows either myself or you to reach in and take the coins or gems that are in vault. All you have to really do is think abut what you are looking for. It will be there, I am sure.”

“So I could think of a gold coin and reach in and find it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“A Vault is a space between realms. Think of it as a store room. Once it’s built, it can get larger if it needs to in order to hold what you put in it. I built mine a very long time ago. I was a child. My grandfather keyed me to his and then taught me to make my own. I know what is in mine: its all coins and gems. What is in his? I have no idea, so I don’t know what to reach for, and thus…” he shrugged. “Whatever it was my grandfather wished me to have is out of my reach. If anything happens to me, this will help you. It will provide you with whatever you need. With this, Zou, you could buy an army; you could buy a castle if you wished.”

“Then why do we travel so… poorly?”

“So we don’t stand out and what more do we really need? We have good boots, well-made clothes, food, and,” he grinned and lifted his mug, “beer.”

Zou grinned.

“You must remember, Zou, I am not a Purtan prince who desires a high tower with fine robes and whispered tones; I am a creature of the forest. I prefer to sleep on the ground than in a fine soft bed. It is not humility; it is stubborn preference.”

“I think I have learned the ways of the forest and field,” Zou said seriously. “I fear I will not do well in the high towers or the halls of even the lowest noble, let alone the hall of the King of Norwood.”

“Then that, too, I shall teach you… starting with how you sit. Everything to the Purtan high court is a ritual and has a reason. The Purtan lord sits with a straight back, his left foot slightly forward and his hands either on the arms of his chair or with one hand on the table and the other on or near his hip joint. Why, can you imagine?”

“Uhm? Spinal health?”

“That is a by-product. The straight back helps a Purtan’s energy flow evenly between his cores and if he is well-trained in his stance, he is ever-ready to attack or be attacked. His left foot forward brings up earth-based energy faster and thus shows he is a warrior; he can move faster to attack than to defend. If you are a guard, a solider, or a servant, you put your right foot forward, you are there to defend and aid, not lead the war. His hand on his hip shows he is ever-ready and vigilant against enemies of Armond; on the hip was where the daughters of Armond wore their holy symbols For much of history, the priests of Armond tattooed the holy star on the inside of their hips and thus they remind the world and all who look at them that they are backed by Armond. The hand forward is to show mercy and trust, a peace offering. If you put both hands on your hips, it is very clear you do not trust; you see another as an enemy and you will go to war. If you can master such subtle ritual, we will move onto the more complex ones.”

“How do you know these things? Have you lived in the high courts?”

“No, but I have lived a very long time. Now look,” Druid shifted his pose. “Draw deeply though your nose when you breathe and gently exhale through your mouth. This manner of breathing is the breath of wizards. If you wish to be a great one or to be assumed to be one, you will breathe like this at rest and at war. The Purtan lord is a master of self-discipline.” He took a sip of his beer and grinned while he set it back down. “Zou, you’re already slouching. Sit straight.”

“Don’t they get tired?”

“There is effort and training to be had, but also the lords of Purt are born and raised with such a stance. If you want to fit in, you must master the manners they hold so close to their identity.”

THAT WOULD BE AT LEAST TWO YEARS.

It was not getting better, in fact it was getting worse.  Jesop knew how many was safe for him to take and three for breakfast and three more before he left, and three more so he could eat dinner was not good.  He was going to burn out his liver.  He had asked for and gotten a jar of tonic to help the other organs as well.

Still, his head hurt so bad he could hardly stand to even think.  He sat with his head in his hands and wondered if there was some magic they did not know about the Keeper leaving the only ruling figure.  He had tried to read through reports but with his eyes blurring and words melting together he gave up.

He looked up as Treyven entered the room.  The young man looked so like his father when his hair was pulled back Jesop almost thought it Teven for a moment.  Teven wore his hair not braided as a full Wing but in a tail.  It was long enough for the braid he was sure to get soon but had not yet earned.

“Storm said your head hurt too much for Slang to tell you but Andy just did a cork screw.  And was witnessed by three Sats,” he said softly.

The oldest of the three brothers had just made rank the hard way, not by time and by trials but by simply being able to fly moves normally not mastered for several decades.  A cork screw was very hard to do and many Sats learned it just enough to get the rank they wanted and never attempted it again.

A dragon had to get high enough speed then twist his wings on all four shoulder joints so the wings wrapped around him and made the dragon spin in a move called a cork screw that was very hard to do both for himself and for this rider who would have to be good just to get up to the required speed.

Jesop blinked.  To corkscrew made a man a Sat.  It was just that simple.  Instant rank.  Men had died at that level of work and Jesop knew how hard it was but then he had taught Andy and Bodie both how to fly and play scout games.  By time the boys were twelve and thirteen they were both far better then many scout.

He had not even had that sink in when Andy entered the room.  He was taller than his brothers but he was older and they were still young enough that might change.  He was a bit finer boned than his brothers so while they all looked very alike, Andy was known as the pretty one.  Not that he was “pretty” so much but just strikingly handsome.

“Why would you do that?”  Jesop asked felling a little betrayed at having Andy jump rank.

“I was just…”  Andy dropped it.  “Can I request a leave?”

“What?  Why?  Don’t you want a new lair and to move?”

“No.  I want to… go find dad.  That’s why I did it,” he explained.

“So I can lose the both of you?”  Jesop asked.  “No Andy, don’t you dare go out there or I will chase you down.”

“Papa, Jes,” he said softly. “I am not as stupid as my father.  I am not out to play hero or prove I can be one, I am out to go get a renegade Keeper who thinks he is in shape for such things.”

Jesop looked at the two young men who stood before him.  Not only was he terribly frustrated, he was in so much pain it was hard to focus. On the other hand Andy was right.  He needed someone to go get Teven and no one was likely to be able to do that except the boys.

“I’ll tell you what Andy, you go fly wherever you want to but you stay in our borders.  If you leave the edge of my map I am going to be furious and not prone to trust you in such things ever again.  You get one foot over the Wall and I am going to be off this chair and in the air.  If you happen to get there and can reach Tohke you tell him I am considering grounding him for being so stupid.”

“And dad?”

“I have nothing to say to him at all.  But Tohke should know better and should not have gone.  It’s pointless to talk to your father.  I plan to say nothing at all to him for several years.”

“He’s mad,” Trey told his brother.

“I see that.  Why don’t you come help me pack.”

“Love to,” Trey smiled.  “We can raid dad’s kits.”

Jesop watched them go and knew Trey was going to sneak out after his brother and likely fly under him to hide the fact until they were gone for several days.  Jesop wanted to object but on the other hand Trey was another set of eyes and ears and was not so far behind his brother.  It was just as well they go together.  They could watch out for each other.

**************

The trail had been spotted and a battle sight had been seen but the tangle of vegetation and the softness of the ground made Tohke have to stay in the air.  Not wanting to alert anything to their presence Tohke had to hang back. As they neared the ruins that stood on the edge of a stinking lake Teven was dropped off and Tohke lifted to circle away.

Teven crept up slowly and carefully.  He lay in among the boulders and watched the fire.  There were men who were not men.  They were not orcs but something else like some sort of horrid cross breed.  They stood a good twelve feet tall and were built like orcs with great heavy arms that they could use to aid them to run on.  They were what had chased him he was sure. Their smell was sickening this close.

They were involved in some sort of magic and were all moving in a swaying droning dance about the fire. They added herbs into the fire as they muttered away.  Smoke rolled up from the flames and added to the stink of the area.

Red Men, Teven realized. Jesop had been right after all. He felt a small chill creep over him but his focus was on what was in the center of the camp.  They had a child with them.

He was a beautiful boy with fine white skin and golden curls that tumbled down about his shoulder and back.  He wore nothing at all but a magic shield that he had put on himself.  He sat utterly still, hands in his lap, breath steaming in the cold, his skin prickled with the cold and his eyes closed.  Teven wasn’t sure what race he was or his exact age but he certainly did not belong to the hulking creatures who held him.

Teven didn’t know what to do and Tohke could not hope to get down into the ruins, he was far too big.   Teven gripped his sword and slowly began to pull it out.  If Teven could rush in, grab the child and get out into a more open area Tohke could scoop them up and they would be off.  He could see no other hope for the child and he there was no way he was going to do nothing.

He was almost about to move when the camp was attacked. The sudden rush almost gave Teven a heart attack. The attackers were not Red Men but were bearded men in great furs with chain link armor. They raced up with surprisingly quiet speed and leapt at the camp without a sound. The fight exploded as the men attacked with axes and swords.

Teven jumped up and moved to join them.  He ducked through the fight of giants all about him and ran his sword into the hairy one who had the only show of rank and who was about to spear the boy. The red man roared and whirled on Teven striking him across the chest with his great long arm.

The force of his blow staggered Teven back hard enough his breath was knocked out, his sword left in the creature’s side.  Teven pivoted and ducked under his grab to grab the boy.

The boy grabbed him and clung on.  Teven had no plan to fight at all.  Escape was his only goal.  His way was blocked though and he found himself cornered against a rock wall.  The leader was rushing at him. Teven shoved the boy behind him wishing at least for his sword. Desperately he looked for anything to se as a weapon.

Tohke’s appearance startled even him. Tohke hit the wall top with enough weight it half crushed under him. With a great roar he ripped off a chunk of wall and threw it down on the thing that had stopped just short of Teven.

The wall hit so hard it didn’t even bounce, just slammed into place with the monster under it.  Tohke launched up again and away before the whole wall came down trapping him.  Teven caught the boy and got clear of the wall as it crumbled.

The fight didn’t last much longer.  The appearance of a dragon had seemed to shatter the focus the hairy creatures had.  The bearded men used that to chop them down with brutal force.  Teven held the boy safely in his arms, out of the fight, ready to defend him if need be, but trying to keep out of the way.

Teven didn’t stand up until the bearded men had what few of the goblins were left, on the run.  He set the boy down carefully.  He kept a hand on the child’s shoulder as he looked at the great men who had come to the boy’s rescue.

The men were all large and stood not any shorter than the things that had attacked.  Teven realized they were the Altan; the giants who dwelt on the western foot of the mountains. For them to be this far north or east was unheard of.

The Altan and the dragons had not ever had any trouble since the Bonding had begun but they had not had a truce either.

“Rah?” The leader asked with a surprised look as he strode over to Teven.

Teven looked at him a little shocked to hear his own name as the boy ran to the man.  He was scooped up and tucked into furs.

“Rah Torren?” Another of the men asked.  Teven felt his heart stop in his chest at his father’s name.

“Rah Teven,” he corrected. “Tohke.”  He pointed upward.  They all looked up and the boy excitedly talked about the dragon in his native language.

Teven smiled rather proud of the boys happy awe and heard Tohke roar high above, too late to do anything about.  Inside his head he heard Tohke yell at him in warning but the thing that had hidden from even Tohke’s watch came out of the dark shadows of the ruins with shocking speed.  It was out to kill the man who had killed his leader.

Teven felt the blow to his head and everything went utterly silent and still.

“It is witness,” he tried to say but he was falling, dropping to his knees, Tohke was roaring and pain slammed into him so hard it knocked him out.  He never even felt his knee hit the mud.

Jesop was sore but he wasn’t bed ridden anymore.  His face was healed enough that once dressed no one would have any idea how sore he was.  Treyven had come up and spent the last few days with him, the two of them limping about like old cripples. The company had been nice to have. He had not realized how much he missed the boys coming over.

Trey had been assigned magic classes with an old Wisdom woman and her small dragon who liked to talk a great deal.  Trey thought it great that the Wisdoms talked as easily as people and as often, in some cases.

With a lesson under way Jesop went up to his office and set to snapping through his maps and reports trying to catch up.  He was busy at it until he came across a report that was several days old and had a note attacked.

“Went to go check it out.”

Jesop went to his map and snapped it up and pulled the map northward to the route that Dart and Kerik had been on only a month before.  He scanned through it sliding the map and shifting through it looking for the black dot.

He found Teven way farther north than he should have been and perched up over the North Pass.  He snapped in as close as he could get and watched.  They were not moving so they were watching.  Watching what?  He half growled.

He looked up at a slight noise and saw Trey standing in the office watching him.

“How strong is Storm’s reach?”

“Fairly.”

“Can  he ask Tohke what the hell he thinks he is doing?”

“Hmm…no.  Too far,” he said after looking at the map.  “But he can relay the message.”

“No,” he held his head, it was hurting again and he half swore at that.  “Damn it, Teven.”  He wanted to punch something; to punch Teven.  Frustrated and angry and all of it all the time was Teven’s fault.  Teven was Keeper not a scout and Tohke was not in shape for that area.

When he realized he was actually worried about the man it made him even more upset. Furious at Teven he was about to shout but a gust of power escaped him.  It made the lights flicker, papers flutter and a small mirror on the wall crack with a sharp little snap.  He flinched down and half stopped breathing.  Trey looked at the mirror. He tried to see if his shields had somehow come down but they felt to all be in place.

“Wow!” Trey breathed half shaky with the rush.  “He really just pissed you off didn’t he?”

“Watch that spot and tell me if it moves,” Jesop said pointing at Teven’s black dot.  He went to the report to study it and find out what was going on.  What would make Teven run off when Teven was normally adamantly against such behavior?

It wasn’t long and he knew. There was a relayed message for back up and none to send.  Jesop went back to the map to scan for a scout.  The scout was gone.  He was not on the map at all.  It didn’t mean he was dead, Dart had vanished as well, a head wound of any sort would do that.  He scanned north even up over the border to see if the scout had seen something and went o check it out…nothing.  He snapped back to Teven.

Jesop stood with his hands on his hips watching the map.  He tried to think of who he could send.  Who could go and find out what was there and bring Teven back.

“What does he think he is doing?  The Keeper is not supposed to ever go out alone. Why does he refuse to do anything like he is supposed to?”  He rubbed his forehead. He tried to think what Sat could he send, what Ambassador even, but he wanted to deal with none of them and all of them would need a vote of the council on it.  He had to work with the scouts and even then to get them out on such a move took votes.  Everything about Teven being out there made Jesop feel ill.  He had the sick sinking feeling that Teven was going to get killed and that would be the last straw, the nest would fall.

There was nothing he could do. This was really very bad.   He tried to look on the bright side.  At least Teven wouldn’t be here to harass him about things.

*************

Teven had watched the orcs all day as they had hunted each other and killed one another in a small local war that was rather odd in a number of ways. It was so strange he had Witnessed the whole thing before he and Tohke flew north after the scout that had called for help. He had seen their markers and it pointed north and Tohke could still catch a scent trail so north they went.

Below them the mountains began to rise toward the North Wall.  Teven felt a little ill as the wall of cliffs and high peaks began to rise before them.  His father had vanished up here, he had been seen last on the North Wall and then went over it, off the map and was never seen again.

“Don’t think about it, Love.” Tohke said.  “We are only here to find out where they went and get them back.  Not to do border patrol.”

There wasn’t much to say to that and he really could only just fly on and not worry about it.  Whatever had happened to his father it had been over 30 years ago and not even dragons bones would last that long in orc country and these days this far north everywhere was infested.  It would take several decades and a full force to reclaim these lands.

Tohke aimed for a pass and they shot over the Wall and off the map he was sure.  He wondered how long it would be before Jesop discovered they were gone and how he would feel about it.  Likely rather happy.  Jesop might even hope he never came back.

Tohke no longer fought with him about Jesop, not unless Tohke was really upset about it.  They had gone in circles about things and ended up just mad at each other and that only made it worse for them all.

“I think your wrong, Love.  He will worry for us.”

“Only if we are lost.”

“He knows this area Tev, he will be upset and worried.”

“I bet he’s rather relieved as well.”

“And whose fault might it be if he was to be relieved?”

“Drop it, Tohke.”

“I love you.”

They passed over the wall and the name sake was obvious.  The mountains fell away almost at once with the peaks plummeted almost vertically into hills far below.  The mountains beyond the Wall here were crumble topped and wooded in great ancient trees  with sweeps of glaciers, like mountains themselves, reaching down out of the north toward the land of the dragons.  There were many stories about the lands north of the wall but the history was nearly beyond time.  Teven briefly wondered if there was anything witnessed about the truth.  Maybe he would look when he got home.

The ancient glaciers had retreated some and in their retreat they had slowly left a forest that went right to their feet.   Bogs, ponds and a million little streams wandered off to the east and to a great marsh.

Teven had heard of the drop and knew in his mind they were much higher than other nations that the altitude alone often was enough to keep any other nation. Still, not until he saw it all fall away did he truly begin to understand that the lowland here was still as high as many mountain peaks in other places.

Tohke cut for a lone peak that rose up out of the glacier.  The mountain stood with the frozen river wrapping about its face with water falls pouring from the glacier front and down into a marsh of silt and dropped boulders.

Teven dismounted when they landed and moved to stretch out.  He headed off into the growth that was far older than he had thought from the air and allowed Tohke to launch.  He would fly about and try to find anything from the air.

Teven had not gotten far when Tohke directed him to something that had caught the light and could be smelled in the air. Teven stepped into a jog and headed off in the direction Tohke told him.

He had just caught a whiff of whatever it was Tohke was smelling, like rotten wet dog with a sick reek under it.  Every nerve told him that he was not safe to get any closer than he was.  He told himself that with Tohke in the air watching him it was safe enough to keep going.  He ducked through the forest of trees and caught sight of color through them when Tohke cut him off.

“Teven, run, he said mildly.

“Run?  I’m there.”

“Yes, I see that, you need to run up the mountain and get where I can grab you.  Now,” he added a little impatiently.

Teven stepped into a run and headed up hill.

“Run Teven!”

“I am running!”

“Faster!” A hint of concern was edging into his words and Teven used all he had to run uphill as fast as he could.  The under growth was dense though and pulled at him making speed difficult. He heard a crack of a branch behind him and knew he as being chased.

“Veer Tev, Go down hill.”

“Down hill?”

“Now Teven!  Down!”

He swore under his breath and turned.  He ran downhill as fast as he could, veering off from the path he had been on.  He heard the followers turn as well and come down at him with a bit more noise.

“How much further?  I am about out of wind.”

“Not far, run!” Tohke was worried and strained now and it showed in his tone and the very feel of his “voice”.   Teven was seriously about out of breath but there it was.  The cliff came up so suddenly he didn’t even have time to try and catch the edge to launch clear.  He was just falling with a shout.

Tohke shot downward as Teven went into cadet lessons of falling.  He crossed his arm and closed his eyes trusting his Wing.  Tohke grabbed him and snapped open his wings.  Teven opened his eyes in time to see the world rushing at him so fast he shouted and flinched.

Tohke’s wing tips hit tree tops, Teven jerked up his feet out of reaction. One breathe and they were shooting upward away from the trees.  Tohke caught a full wing beat and was free of the earth and the trees were safely far away.

“Nice jump.” Tohke teased with a pleasant tone.  “I am rather glad no one saw that,” he added.

“You might have warned me.”

“I told you it wasn’t far,” Tohke said.  He relaxed and circled back around.  “Look at the snow field.”

Teven looked for a long time before he saw it.  There were dragon bones, not all of them but a few of them scattered in the snow.  They could see blood spotted about in the snow.  The scout had put up a fight if nothing else.  The dragon had likely been wounded and gotten that far.  Seeking an area to fight from or a peak to get to and defend.

“It is witnessed.”  Teven said with his heart going cold.  “What was that thing after me?”

“I have no idea, Love.  I’m not going to be sleeping well tonight.”

“So what were they doing up here any way?  If they were following those things they would not have been wounded so easily, or gone off so far, so what brought them this far north?”

“I don’t know but I don’t like it, Love.”

“So do we head back?”

“No,” they both said as one.  No, they had come this far and it was unfair to the dead to just leave it like that.  They had to at least try and learn what had cost them there lives.  Neither of them though that the creature below had been able to take a dragon, it had likely only taken advantage of a dead one.  Then again neither Tohke nor Teven had seen it well.  There was no telling for certain even what it was.

Jesop was sitting on the cupboard when Slang launched after Eclipse.  Jesop had not even had a chance to have a whole cup of tea since leaving Treyven’s.  He had very little warning as he was caught in the sudden rush of erotic power and the sense of falling.  He caught himself from toppling off the counter but he dropped the cup. It spilled and rolled off the countertop.  It really wasn’t a matter now.

Leaving it he stumbled for the bed room. He was hit with a rush from Slang that was like nothing he had felt yet.  It was enough he cried out and collapsed on the floor, grabbing his head as if he had just had his skull cracked from the inside outward.  He struggled to his feet and some how got as far as the bedroom before the roaring was so deafening he couldn’t even think.  He tried once to reach Slang and let him know what was going on, this could not be right, but Slang was lost in the flight.

For one split moment he felt Slang’s great muscles, the power of them in his own, he felt the rush of the wind and the hard sharp turn as he darted after the dragoness.  Jesop could smell her and feel the heat beginning to build in his spine.

He realized what was going on and it as beyond dangerous.  Having a dragon Fall with his Arm un-shielded was known to kill the Arm.  Only a full Savont could risk such a thing.  Slang had not checked shields before he had launched, clearly this was not planned.  Jesop simply did not have the ability to work on them now.

He struggled to fix his shields but his efforts didn’t seem to have any effect and the roaring increased.  The pain made his body convulse.  He caught another flicker of Slang and for a moment caught his breath before he was plunged under again and this was just the Flight not the Fall itself. He had one moment of fear. He had to do something and had no idea what.  This would kill him.

Normally he shielded up enough and drugged himself enough he passed out and had no part of Slang’s amorous nights.  However, he had been given no warning and he was being pulled further and further from any chance of getting control.

He felt something in his head explode.  It felt like warm blood flushing out and creeping through his brain.  Then, Slang Caught her. His taloned hands grabbed her, his tail wound about hers, pulling her in, groan-slits lined up and he sank into her as his wings closed about her and they Fell.

They plummeted toward the earth, the roar and rush left Jesop unable to breath, his body tearing itself up and his mind caught in the wild rush as they plummeted downward. Jesop was aware of nothing beyond the overwhelming power and the sense of speed.

With just enough space left, Slang snapped his wings open with such force they cracked like thunder.  He set Eclipse down softly on the ground and glided upward, caught the wind and sent himself in a spiral to gain the sky again.

She rolled  up and roared at him in defiance and launched after him to prove she was strong enough to out fly him. It was a wild game and erotic enough all over the nest Wings and Arms would be tumbling into each other.  As it should be.

While they did, Jesop was caught, his back arched, eyes glazed over, sweat running, body strained against the leather of his belts. No one would have any idea of the agony he was in. They would assume Jesop was both shielded and keeping company and so enjoying it as much as anyone else might be.  When it was all his body to do to suck in little gasps of air, his mind utterly given over to Slang and lust filled pursuit.

Jesop woke slowly.  He could feel his body had been drugged.  He hurt. His jaws hurt, his head hurt, everything about him hurt. He was in bed though and alive, that was something.  He peeled open his eyes.  They were dry and gritty and took a moment to focus.  He slowly looked over to see Bodie at his bed side.

Bodie sat with Jesop’s leathers in his hands and was bushing them clean with meticulous focus. Bodie looked like his father enough to not be questioned  about his heritage, but he had his grandfather’s extra broad shoulders, deeper than normal chest and reminded Jesop of a bear.  He was soft to speak, slow to anger and the kindest heart Jesop knew.  He was also brutal when he was upset.

“Sorry about the bruise on your jaw,” he said in his slow deep voice.

“Why?  What did you do?” Jesop asked in a dry cracked voice.  His head still hurt and he could hear a roaring sound but he was sane and alive.

“Your teeth were clenched pretty hard.  I was surprised you didn’t break any.”  Bodie set the leather down.  “I gave you 5.  Thunder said anything less wouldn’t have enough effect to drop you out of it.”

“Well I appreciate it, Boe.” He lifted his heavy hand to tenderly trace his jaw.  He could feel the bruise but his whole body hurt so that wasn’t really so much of a thing to worry about.  “How long have I been out?”

“It’s almost dark.  I have been here all day and most of last night.  There is food when your hungry, just a light soup.  I didn’t think you’d want more then that.”

“How did it go?”

“Slang and Eclipse fell three times.  Pretty awesome.  I was here just after the second fall. Slang went up cliff top to preen and she roared a challenge at any female to deny her earned rank.  It was rather a Wild sort of move but the challenge was taken up and Eclipse gutted Banta mid air and ripped her wings off on the way down.  I saw that.  It was very clear there was more than sexual excitement to them both and Eclipse is the now the new Mother.

“The young are very happy about it, certainly the young females.  They are all darting about and tail flicking and even Thunder is getting wound up a bit.  He’s trying to ignore it so I can stay here.”

“It’s alright Boe, if you want to go…but, thank you.  I didn’t get shields up in time and once you slip…”

Bodie smiled. “Consider it papa Jes,” he said.  “You fell twice fully open and a third time with the drugs just starting to let you breathe. I was worried you were going to simply asphyxiate.  No one has done that in three generations.”

“I didn’t do it by choice, Boe, but I suppose if men wanted to make it look good for me that they could be said I did, but they won’t.  And your father is going to lecture me until I go deaf.”

“Speaking of that,” Boe said with a sigh.  “I don’t want to be here.”  He got up and slid a little envelope under Jesop’s pillow.  He kissed Jesop’s forehead and smoothed Jesop’s sweat crusted hair back with a kind soft touch.  Then he was gone out the lair door.  He ran out the sandy floor and leapt with the skill he had learned running and leaping from that very lair door as a child.

They had played such games to forget the tears and the fears of his parents who fought enough Andy had staring bringing his toddling brother and infant brother out of the den and up the hall to Jesop’s to hide and let the babies sleep.

Thunder caught Bodie as smooth as Slang might have and they glided away as Teven entered the room.  Jesop let his eyes close and wished he could fake sleep.  Teven set down a cup of tea at the bed side and sank into the chair Bodie had just left.

“You look awful,” Teven said taking a sip.  “How do you feel?”

Jesop pulled a blanket over his head.

“Get up and have a cup of tea Jesop.  You need the fluids.”

Jesop was desperately thirsty and knew Tev was right.  He groaned and tried to push himself up and his arms just gave out.  Teven jumped up and caught him, pulling him up to the pillows to sit. The Keeper sat suddenly on the bed at the unexpected weight of the Lord Marshal.

Jesop was not a little man and he was solid.  Teven seemed to forget that Jesop was actually taller than he was. Teven jerked his hands off the Lord Marshal when he saw the bruises.  He started at Jesop’s exposed body.

Stretch lines streaked across muscles with raw, blood specked lines in the skin from where the strain of belts had been.  That was only normal for exceptionally hard flying.  There were bruises from where blood vessels had broken and red streaks like lightning shot out from power nodes, in his elbows, palms of his hands, shoulders, three went down his chest and several along his sides.

“Good Lord Jesop,” Teven dropped into the chair reaching for the second cup of tea off the table and handed it to Jesop.  Jesop took it carefully.

“Who came up?” Teven asked.

“Bodie,” Jesop didn’t lie.

“You fell alone? Bodie give you something for the pain?”

“Thunders orders,” Jesop said.

Teven almost didn’t seem to hear him with his focus still on Jesop’s injuries.  He suddenly stood as if about to leave then sat back down.  He sat with a scowl not looking at Jesop at all but talking with Tohke. Jesop’s head started to hurt again and he wished for silence. He wished to be far to the north where no one was, where the only sound was a rare thrush and the wind in the trees.

“Tohke wants to know how you feel.  He’s very concerned about you.”

Jesop lifted the cup and took a slow drink of the tea and looked to Teven.  “I feel about how I look, Tev.  I feel like every muscle in my body is torn and that I just fell too far too fast and stopped too sudden.  I hurt.  A lot,” he added.

“Drink your tea and try to sleep.  I’ll go see to the day’s events.” Teven got up and left Jesop to finish his tea and curl up in bed.  Sometimes Teven’s behavior left Jesop at a loss.  Jesop had to wonder what Teven had been doing that is was Bodie who had come up to check on him and not Teven.  He suspected it had been Tohke who sent Bodie up.  That meant Teven had been busy doing something else.

“Thank Tohke for sending Bodie up,” Jesop said to Slang.  He got an apologetic rumble back.  Slang had to feel terrible for the shape Jesop was in.  Jesop set the tea aside and curled nestled down into the pillows.

“I’ll be alright, just don’t do that without warning me.”

A great deal of what was done by the Lord Marshal was done in his office.  It was a rather nice place for its own sake.  It was very clean and had a large window in the back wall.  A carved desk dominated the area under the window.  The walls were lined with books of all the records and reports; law books and heritage books, history and medical book, magic and apothecary, just about anything the Lord Marshal might ever need. In the center of the office was the Great Map Table; the most important tool he had.

At a touch from the Lord Marshal the map came to life.  Lines of light lifted to form the lands within all the territory in perfect three dimensions.  Jesop could scroll through, snap his fingers on a place to enlarge it and scroll in any direction.  He could look at any part of the nest, down to the smallest detail or all of it at once.

Within the map Scouts were brown points, Sats were blue, red dots were Ambassadors the grey were the Wisdoms and the un-bonded dragons were green.  He could leave markers, he could see who was where in the nest and he could see where others gathered.  The map gave him the power to command and implement a vast amount of control. He could turn lights off and on. He could lock doors and open doors.

He had control of the Nest and all the magics of it from that map table.  He could move through it at such speed others could not even begin to follow him as he made marks and notes on reports lists about where his scouts were, where they were going and where they had been.  He would compare those with his notes to their reports and know who was honest and who wasn’t. He could learn why they had been slow or had gotten ahead of things.  This was how he was able to find Kerik and Dart when they had failed to report in.

There were also marks for the herdsmen, the Jayzic and tiny pinpricks for the civilians.  He could follow all the trade routes, watch the growth of villages and the weather patterns through the mountains.  Even the Wilds had marks.  He could also add his own and he did.  He marked all the battle sites of orcs, goblins and now red men as well.  He kept them in place for a year unless one in close enough proximity was added.

His scouts were worrisomely far apart and there was nothing he could do about it. Dall would be back today and likely was already.  He had sent the man new leathers and his allowance of chits as well as the supplies for his short stay and quick leaving again.

Dall was a decent man. A decent scout with nothing much to say about him either way, why he was what Tarra had taken to was confusion to every man who ever wondered about her at all.  She was after all, the youngest Sat alive and the family of Rah.  She could have anyone she wanted.

Jesop was getting a lot of work done and was actually doing rather well for the way he felt the day before. He was enjoying Teven being gone. Maybe he had made Teven so mad the man would not come around.  On the other hand he had a back eye and a cut across his cheek from Teven’s ring.  It didn’t matter, rarely did anyone come up to his office.

The door opened and a young man stepped in. He was dressed in the Gray of a full Wisdom despite his young age.  He was the youngest Wisdom Jesop had ever seen. He could not even be twenty years old yet. The young man was a bit flushed and looked to have come running.

“You might want to get down to the cadets hall,” he said before he dashed out.  The Wisdoms were not supposed to talk to the others of the Nest and moved through the world as ghosts.  They had their own halls and passages locked off to all others.  A few were healers and they were allowed to speak but mostly they listened.  When they did say something it was for a reason.

Jesop snapped the map off and left the room at a run.  He caught the side stairs not the main ones and sat sideways on the rail of carved stone.  With a hand to slow him on the wide rail he slid down the spiral stairs past a numbed of those headed up.  They jumped out of his way startled, one even cheered him as he flew past.

He took a step between floors and caught the next flight down and hit the lower halls with his wind and walked with long strides to the cadet hall.  He had reached it far faster than anyone might have dared hope. Sliding down the rail was a trick he had mastered in effort to escape Teven and his horde of allies.

There was a lot of yelling in the room and the students only stepped aside as they realized who was there.

Treyven was caught in an orb of power. Magic hissed over it and he was inside desperately trying to hold it in. He looked like he was sobbing and on the verge of panic. His brothers had stepped in and were shouting at the crowd that was trying to get to Teven. Including one of the teachers.  Bodie held him back despite the rank and anger of the teacher.

On the floor was a shattered chair, amid the wreckage was blood and bits of flesh.  Someone had died and did so with a grand blast that had the stone floor still smoking.

Jesop snapped his fingers and the lights went out. The room went suddenly silent. The only light remaining came from the power that howled and cracked about Treyven. The reality of it made the crush of bodies all step back.

Jesop moved toward Trey and made the young man shift focus to him. Treyven looked at his foster father seeing him only as Jesop drew close. Trey caught his breath. As he did the power dropped a little.

Jesop didn’t bother to talk.  Treyven would not be able to hear him.  All Jesop needed to do was hold Treyven’s focus and hold it calmly. Strom could help with the rest.

The power began to drain out. The young man sank to his knees, weak and white faced, soaked in sweat and shivering in a fever. Jesop moved to him the moment the power had dropped away enough to not burn.  Only when he had a hold of Treyven did he turn the lights back on.

He helped Treyven up as two old Wisdoms appeared and took the young Rah into their arms and all but carried him out.

Jesop turned back to the room. Teven was just running in and came to a slow stop as he saw the floor and his son being hauled out.

“Bodie what happened?”  Jesop asked.

Bodie let go of the teacher and turned around to look at the Lord Marshal.

“Sall Cammen picked a fight with Trey and lost,” Bodie said in his slow deep voice.

The room half exploded with yelling and Jesop lifted his hand to snap the lights off and they all fell silent.

“Trey did this?”  Teven breathed.

“Andrew?” Jesop asked.

“It is a rather mean prank to stab a scale needle into people and Cam thought it funny to do so to Trey after making him so mad Bodie and I had to hold him back.”

Jesop nodded. “Witness it,” he said softly.

“It is witnessed,” Teven said not too happy about it.

“Rah Treyven has been nothing but trouble and has pushed every rule and to say he was justified in any way to even throw a swing at a fellow cadet for a little bit of razing is injustice,” the teacher half shouted.  Jesop knew Trey and had a good idea what was said and about whom.

“You care to tell me what was said?”  Jesop asked.

The man faltered. “Boys tease each other.”

“Do you care to tell me what was said?” Jesop asked again just as calmly. “No?  I didn’t think so.”

“You would not be so forgiving if he was not a Rah,” the man half snarled.

“Slang will pass the judgment on the matter.”

The man nearly snarled. “There is more to being worthy than a name.”

“I suggest you stop now,” Jesop said softly.  He ever so slightly leaned his head toward Teven who was about to rip the man apart. The teacher’s eyes darted form Jesop to Teven and back.

“I am tired of reckless self important names. I will not have any of them back in my classes.”

He got a shocked look as his Wing told him something. “No,” he breathed. “The vote of the council…”  His face went white.  Whatever his Wing had told him he didn’t like it.

“I don’t think who is your class again will be a problem.” Jesop said softly.  Already Wisdoms were moving in to clean up the mess with magic, mops, and brooms.  The other teachers began ushering the cadets out of the hall. The room was getting cleared rather fast.

That was one teacher who would never teach again.  Jesop was half temped to send him out to cover Kerik’s route at once.  He would mention the idea to Slang and see what his own Wing thought about the matter.

He watched the Wisdoms cleaning up the blood and soot.  Jesop felt a little ill.  He knew all too well how it felt to waken power of that level in such a manner. He swallowed the taste in his mouth and looked to Teven.

“You might want to have Tohke keep an eye on Cammen’s father for awhile.  He might not be real pleased he just lost a  son.”

“It is witnessed,” Teven said softly before turning on a heel to follow after his own son.

Treyven looked awful, his eyes were black and his face was white. He sat on his couch with a cup of tea.  He wore soft bed-robe and a blanket about his shoulders.

The old man who sat near him was a Wisdom that Jesop vaguely recognized but couldn’t place.  The old man stood and turned to the Lord Marshall who entered the room.  He met the him near the door with a worried look.

“There is good news and bad,” he said softly. “The good news is he is a Rah, thus very strong, and will be a wizard of some power.  The other is that there is a rumor that he will wear white one day and someone is so unhappy about that they poisoned that needle.

“They meant to kill him and if he had not flared out as he did he would have seemed to have a spider bite on the shoulder and just an allergic reaction. As it was, the flare sent it all into Strom who is rather ill for it.  He will molt once he gets through the toxin out of his system.”

“Is there any way you can find out who set it up?”

“We will look into it.”

“He is going to be alright though?”

“Yes.  He will have to take classes in magic right now.  And likely one on one as you did.  I fear he will not fit in with his peers after this.”

Jesop glanced to the young man. “But nothing else was hurt?”

“No.  He will recover fully.  Just,” he touched Jesop’s arm in a way only a friend would, “it was an assassination attempt.”

Jesop looked back to the Wisdom, feeling deeply he should know him.  He didn’t want to think about it too hard as I likely went back to the days after he flared out himself and that always made him feel ill and uneasy. Most of his memories from before that had been burned away and nearly all the event itself was gone. “Is it always a rumor with the Wisdoms who will wear white?” he asked a hint of hope in his voice.

“He won’t wear gold if that’s your question and he won’t wear it so long as you are Lord Marshal,” he said with a little wary smile. Jesop was rather disappointed and felt a bit tense about it. For a moment he had hoped his dual role might be drawing near an end.

“Don’t despair.  Now is the time of change and it is not the first time our numbers have so dropped but then, like now we came out the stronger for it.” He put a hand on Jesop’s aching shoulder, the pain easing almost instantly.  He gave a reassuring squeeze before he moved toward the door.

“I do despair,” Jesop whispered.  If the Wisdom heard he made no sign of it.  Jesop walked to the miserable young man and sat across from him.

“You want to tell me what pissed you off so much?”

“I had a bad day. First the girl I have been trying to charm; I got her in bed last night and she calls me Teven.  Once; I can let it go but then she tells me that my father has the better body but I kiss better.  Great. Great!”  He threw his hands up in the air.  “So fine, she slept with dad, who hasn’t right.

“Well I get to class and several of them are over there comparing notes between him and I and that sets me off.  Then Cam starts in laughing about it. I get to follow in my fathers shadow not just in rank and sky but in bed as well.  Ha ha ha,” he said bitterly.

“So I went from bad to worse,” Trey continued. “Then, Storm is all rowdy with some scout wing and got out-flown and is all pissed off in the back of my head and snarling about it.  At lunch Cam starts it up again and he is going on and on about things; making jokes about you and dad, and I got a little upset.  Bodie made me sit back down and I was about to calm down when he stabbed me with that damn thing and said something in my ear and I blew up. .. literally.”  A hurt look crossed his face and he was lost a moment.  “I didn’t mean to.  I would not just hurt someone let alone…kill them… for something so petty,” he said looking up.

“I know,” Jesop said. “Two things: one is that they should make it clear that the wizard lines can and do blow up and come alive with a flash. The other is it was not so innocent.  The needle was poisoned.  He tried to kill you Trey.”

“Kill me?  Why?”

“I am not altogether certain.  Maybe it was to make your father attack someone or to make me do so. After the way I dealt with Ballus and Turner I am sure their friends think very little of me right now. So try not to feel bad about it. Your instinct saved your life.”

Trey took a sip of tea.  “You wake up with a flash or you just sort of come awake like I have with empathy?”

“A flash,” he said after a serious debate as to what to say to Trey.

“What happened?” Trey asked.  Jesop didn’t talk about it and he never had.  Then again they had just hinted that Trey would wear his leather unless he lived a rather long time. It was only fair to let him know Whites did not mean things were perfect or pretty or that it made you stronger or better than everyone.

“I am not sure if Slang blocks it, if I do, or if the Wisdoms did it, but I don’t really remember all the details. I remember certain things up to a point, then I sort of have things shift back into light and I sort of wake up a wizard.  I don’t even recall my lessons much.  I was barely awake when I got put in Whites.”

“That bad huh?  And no records of it?”

“I don’t know Trey.”

“But you’re not mad at me?”

“No. Only an idiot would pick a fight with a Rah,” he smiled reassuringly.

“The dumb thing is I am still so damn mad about the girls comparing me to dad.  They get us both and make it a game.  I could hate him,” he said just as his father entered the door.

“I feel that way at times.” Jesop said as calmly as if Teven had not been the topic of the conversation, “but, I don’t think it for the same reason.”

“How are you?” Teven asked his son.

“When did you sleep with cadet Sarna?”

Teven thought about it and had to ask Tohke. “A few months ago.”

“Stop it!  If I get your seconds one more time I am going really resent it.”

“Sorry.  How are you?”

“Alright,” he said letting it go.  “Fevered and my head hurts but alright.”

“He’ll come out rather a strong wizard for it,” Jesop said standing.

“What could they have been saying to make you so mad?”

“What can I say?  I guess I have your temper too,” Trey muttered bitterly.

“I can’t say I have reduced anyone to a stain on the floor,” Treyven said.

“I guess your father wasn’t sleeping with your girl friend and some smart-mouth mocking you about it either,” Treyven shot at his father with disgust that he didn’t bother to hide.

Teven considered it a moment then went to the kitchen corner.  He turned his focus on looking for what to make for his son to eat.

“I’d stay Trey, but I still have a pile of reports to go through.  I expect you’ll get some lessons and be out of classes for awhile.” Jesop pushed himself up. “Try not to be too angry at your father,” he said softly.  “You know he loves you.”

Treyven smiled a bit ruefully at Jesop using his own words.

“Yeah I know,” he relaxed a little.  Jesop kissed the top of Treyven’s head to help him forgive his father and make peace in the Rah household.  He knew Jesop had not used empathy on him but the Lord Marshal had always had a calming effect on him.  Jesop meant safety and always had.

“Rest, I’ll come see you later,” Jesop said.

Teven didn’t say anything until Jesop had left. He brought Treyven a small plate with a variety of things for him to eat if he got hungry.

“Could we not talk about my sex life in front of Jes please,” he said to his son with a half wounded expression.

“Every one talks about your sex life,” Treyven said pulling the blanket tighter about himself.  “It’s rather impressive, and add to it you’re supposed to be celibate its almost open rebellion.”

“Rather like, don’t you think,” Teven said with a faint smile. Treyven knew his father resented the Black and hated being Keeper but there was no choice in the matter.  It was simply what it was.

“I have a question,” Treyven said as his father returned with fresh tea for them both.

“Hmm.”

“What was Jesop doing right before he was put in Whites?”

Teven was a little taken by surprise.  He took the seat Jesop had been in and ran his hand over the arm of the chair trying to think.

“He was really ill for awhile. They cut him out of classes and he was gone. I caught sight of him a few times and he looked pretty bad. He didn’t go anywhere alone. He had a Wisdom or the Keeper with him all the time.  I guess they knew even then he was going to be King.”

Trey could tell there was far more to it.  His father was not telling him everything. He also felt the slip of use of rank in a way he had never felt before.  It was as if the word itself had a power his newly awaken empathy felt. “He’s not king.”

“What?”  Teven looked up.

“You said they knew he’d be king.”

“Oh. Well I meant he’d be in White,” he gestured vaguely.  “It’s all the same for now.  Why?”

“Was he a wizard before that?”

“No,” Teven said.

“Well you know he is one now right?”

“I thought he gained that in the battle stuff he did and as part of the leathers he got.”

“He just said he was doing classes and things before that.” Treyven shrugged and let it go or seemed to.  Teven didn’t buy that.  His son was far too smart and quick to just let things go.

Treyven always had a second agenda when it came to Teven and Jesop. Trey had been out to make peace with them since he was born and in ways had.  In other ways Trey made it so much worse.

“He has a black eye, dad.”

“Yeah I saw that.”

“You do that?”

“Yeah,” he admitted after a long time of no answer.  “But it wasn’t about the pills.  He knew exactly what I would do for what he said and I just popped and hit him.  I didn’t mean to.  He’s Lord Marshal and I am supposed to take care of him not crack his cheek bone.”  Teven shook his head at himself and picked a piece of cheese from the plate.

“Well, you suck at your job.”  Treyven said shifting painfully.  He groaned.  “Damn I hurt.”

“Why don’t you go soak while I cook something a little more substantial than this,” he gestured to the little plate.

“I might pass out if I do.  Better I stay here.  I will eat anything you make.  I am a decent cook but I can’t compete with you or Andy,” he muttered.

Teven made the meal and put it away.  He covered his son up with a blanket on the couch, smoothed Treyven’s hair, kissed his forehead and left him to sleep.