Work In Progress

Chapter Three.Two: The Man in the Cage

2009-03-11T11:42:00.000-07:00

Turning quickly and without explanation, Kitless ran strode out of the Justice’s small office with the only information that she required from the man. The indigent was being held in the large public cell on the first floor. From a distance, she heard the muffled, ‘Honored Mistress,’ come from the Justice’s mouth. She did not care about that at the moment. Kitless Ran needed to interview the witness. She didn’t need direction or guidance, this was her prefecture and none knew it better than she did.

She took to the darkened hallways at her normal pace. This was business, not panic. Appearances were so powerful and could convey the wrong ideas if one weren’t careful. Kitless took note of the grey bricks showing through the wall treatments eroded by the salty air as she walked. Making a mental note of the repairs that were going to be needed, she continued onward towards the huge holding cell.

The facility itself wasn’t designed or manned for permanent storage of criminal element that was becoming more and more bold within Landsend. It was a temporary site that could maintain nearly 150 souls for up to a year before the Magistrates or Prefects could hold court and try the criminals for their indiscretions. If the indiscretions were serious enough, immediate sentencing and punishment could be passed and carried out. Quite often, it was up to the prefect of a district to pass judgment. It was their Divine Right.

The hallway opened up almost too quickly as Kitless came into the great room that contained the holding cell. Wrought iron bars installed from ceiling to floor took up most of the room. Scant light from the outside world was filtered in through tiny window slits in the north wall. Within the cell, sitting in the center of the floor was the witness. Outside of the cell were two guards, Knight Protectors of the Realm in purple and white. Kitless knew the guards and their families well.

Coll Gunsthade’s family had been in the Bond Trading House for a little less than fifteen years. The man had been placed into Seminary School when he was just a boy. The Gunsthade’s emigrated from the south from a plantation near the Free City of Sren and entered into contract with the Bond Trading House not long after their arrival. They were hard workers.

His partner, Baco Majal was born into a legacy. The Majal family worked closely with the Ran family for generations. The younger Majal himself should have been in charge of his own regiment by now, however Kitless read the reports where his temper had gotten the best of him too many times. This was not someone she wanted in control of a regiment of his own troopers until he could control himself.

Instantly, the two knights snapped to attention and echoed their ‘Honored Mistress’ in stereo. Kitless smiled at them and made a motion to put them at ease. She wasn’t here to inspect them, she was here to inspect their prisoner and find out what he knew.

The grizzled man was in worn clothing, rags really. Kitless wrinkled up her nose as the smell of the man assaulted her. It smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in days. The somber face on the prisoner didn’t flinch as she walked into the room. His graying beard was unkempt and the hair on the top of his head appeared as if his beard were trying to take over his entire head. It was frayed and seemed to go every which way it wanted, as if stuck in some unseen breeze that was somehow only affecting his hair.

“So, do I have you to thank for the accommodations?” the man asked, finally acknowledging her presence. “It’s a fine space, don’t get me wrong.” He didn’t even bother to look in her direction or get up from his seated position. “It could use a more womanly touch though.” Kitless ignored the insult from the obviously homeless and unemployed man.

Approaching the cell, Kitless contemplated the man. No home to speak of. Clothing in disrepair. Unwashed and unkempt. She couldn’t have prayed for better luck. With a smile, she knelt down to his level.

“Do you have a name?” she asked. The man sitting on the floor finally adjusted his gaze to meet hers. There was something still very much alive in his green eyes. They were not the dull, taciturn eyes of a man who had been grifting off of the streets from one end of the Realm to the other.

“Do you?” he asked with a wry smile that enhanced the crow’s feet around his eyes. The prefect was taken aback by the sheer bravado of the man. No one had ever spoken to her in that fashion, whether she was prefect or not. Kitless Ran could feel the familiar simmer of blood fire beginning to spark within her.

Behind her she could sense more than hear the two Knight Protectors move in response to their prisoner’s lack of respect. The old man in the cell flicked his eyes to the left and right watching the two warriors. He had instincts that had been hard won, Kitless was sure. With a hand gesture, she motioned them back.

Years of practicing her own refinement, business etiquette and education acumen had prepared her for situations such as these. It was always important to makes sure a strong mask was in place within certain meetings with the other Prefects. One could not let emotions get in the way that may benefit an otherwise beneficial agreement. Even though the man was obviously trying to get Kitless to react, she made sure her mask was in place.

“I am Prefect Kitless Ran, Honored Mistress of the Bond Trading House of the Great Church of the Realm.” She answered, using her full title. “And you would be?”

“Impressed with the amount of words it takes to get your name out.” He answered, obviously not impressed. “I have a simple name. One word. No pompous or prissy titles.” He explained as he arched his back and let out a small groan as he stretched it. “Tell me, how long did it take for you to get it all right in one try?”

Kitless’ eyes flared. She so wanted to take the indigent out right now and pass judgment on him. The man had no respect for authority, that much she was certain. Kitless was proud of who and what she was. It was a hard battle getting through the family politics that were involved in just becoming a candidate for prefect.

The distinct sound of steel sliding on steel came from behind her as Baco drew up his sword from his scabbard, letting the scant light reflect onto the man in the cage from the barely exposed blade. The knight locked eyes with his prisoner. A silent message passed between them.

“No, never mind,” he continued, “I really don’t want to know. I’m sure that you’d tell me a lie about it anyway. I’m sure that you’ve practiced it enough since you were,” he paused in mock contemplation as he brought a grubby hand to his beard and scratched his face, “about twelve, I’d say. But, that’s neither here nor there. My name? Genad.” With this, the man sitting in the holding cell stood and bowed deeply. “One word. No pompous or prissy titles.”

Genad looked up from his bent over state and made eye contact with Kitless again and smiled. His weathered face wore the smile well, as if he’d been born with it. The simmering continued and was starting to itch. Kitless knew that she needed the man to complete her plan.

“Good to meet you, Genad.” Kitless smiled at the man, forcing her mask into a gracious smile that appeared genuine. “I would like to ask you what you were doing in my warehouse.”

“Looking for a place to squat and sleep out of the cold.” Genad sat back down on the floor. “I’m sure that you have an equally impressive, pompous and prissy bedchamber of your own.” Genad looked up at her again, “but I had a bedroll, my overcoat and my cat-monkey. Oh, and the breeze coming off of the bay, that was a real deal clincher.”

“Show some respect, filth-monger.” Baco growled to Genad. “You tongue is over-working itself, you may want to let it rest or run the risk of losing it.” Genad shifted his gaze to the knight in the purple and white vestments. Something about his look changed. Kitless could not place it. It was somehow familiar and strange all at the same time.

“Better to run the risk of losing it on my own accord than to be a lap dog and not allowed to have my own thoughts.” Genad did not raise his voice or change his tone. He did not show any fear. Kitless cocked her head slightly. This was a strange man. “Tell me, did you get your treat today?”

Baco’s face was turning a shade to compliment the cloak he was wearing. Reddish and purple hues flushed up his face and he was clenching his jaw so tightly that his mustache was quivering in the strain. The knight yanked on the pommel of his blade getting halfway out of the scabbard before Coll grabbed his shoulder and shook his head at his partner.

Kitless had Genad’s game now. He was angry of anyone’s position and the things that they had acquired over a lifetime of hard work. Within her, she let the blood fire cool back down. Baco still flushed with anger, she could almost smell it wafting off of him. Reflecting back on Genad, she came to the conclusion that it was usually the case with the homeless types. They felt that they deserved better because of a broken life, a story of ill luck, a lack of will to succeed.

“I would like you to come with me back to the warehouse to meet with my Friar in charge and tell us what you saw.” Kitless stood from her crouching position, “This way I can know all of the facts. Who knows? You just may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot these days.” Genad shook his head, his mane of hair flying in the invisible wind again. “But like I told the other fella, it seems that I was in the place and time where I was supposed to be.”

“Indubitably.” Kitless smiled the practiced smile at the man in the cage, showing him a soft and friendly face. “I will see you in a while then. I have matters to take care of.”

“Indubitably,” Genad mocked her. She was prepared for that. His truculence was no longer fresh and new. She turned from Genad and motioned to the guards to follow her. With one final glare, Baco turned from the cell and followed, Coll was right after him. As the three turned the corner, Kitless faced the two Knight Protectors and focused on calming herself.

“Bind him, gag him and blindfold him.” Kitless ordered the two letting the smallest bit of blood fire taint her words. “He is to see nothing, speak to no one. Deliver him to the warehouse in which you found him. Put him in a box if you have to. He is to remain there. And tell Friar Gon to report to my office, I have business with him.”

The two guards flinched as she finished her sharp words. The sheer power ebbing off of her was almost palpable in the air between them. A new fire had shown in the Prefect’s eyes as she delivered her message. The two nodded in understanding.

“By your command, Honored Mistress,” the two echoed.

Kitless continued down the hallway as the two armor-clad knights went back to the holding cell to follow their instructions. She had much to think of and much to speak to Friar Gon about. It was his bungling that caused this situation.

Chapter Three.One: A Tight Ship

2009-03-02T01:52:00.000-08:00

Kitless Ran strode the halls of the Bond Trading House main offices with a confidence that few women had. It wasn’t the fact that she was the Prefect; it wasn’t the fact that through her work the trading house had made an extreme amount of progress within the Great Church and within the auspices of the Mother Superior. Kitless commanded a presence of respect because she exuded the demand for that respect. None could deny that. She had a grace and poise that was entirely feminine but those that had dealings with her knew what was behind her blue eyes. Inside was the soul of a warrior in a courtier’s body.

Her heeled boots made a clicking sound as she made her way to her office. There were reports from the quartermasters as well as the ship captains for her inventory waiting to be analyzed. The accounting had to be double checked at times, but that was the way of things. She had learned long ago that few had the tenacity to ensure that her figures were correct. It was just another path towards disappointment, aggravation and in the long run a reduction in her workforce. Without the workforce, she could not produce for the Great Church or the Mother Superior, or her own Trading House. Not necessarily in that order.

The morning sun was coming through the open windows. It was far too early for the sunshine and warmth of the upcoming day to compete with the salty air that had permeated the building. The prefect smiled briefly as the smell of the morning brought to her the memories of the sea and the strong smell of fresh fish and brine. Off in the distance she could hear the buoys in the bay cheering as they rocked on the waves.

Kitless shuffled a sheaf of paperwork from one arm to the other and gripped the medallion around her neck symbolizing the Great Church. Her fingers brushed over the bronze and traced the embossed image of the Tree of Life. She could feel her blood fire tingle with anticipation for the beginning of the day’s work. She began to murmur as she advanced through the hallway to her private office.

“O Lady of Heaven, my Goddess, O Wise White Lady, Namion the Merciful, Giver of wisdom. It is by Your Will that we accept the duty of our daily work.” More and more of the Bondsmen were filling the halls on their way to the warehouses or to the shipyards. Kitless Ran continued, nodding to each one that met her eyes.

“Gentle, compassionate Lady, hear my prayer.” The halls echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. The prefect concentrated on her own steps, letting them overpower the cacophonous sounds that were now pounding through the halls.

“May the work I do bring growth in this life to me and those I love and help to extend the Realm of the Great Church. Give all persons work that draws them unto You and to each other in cheerful service.” She waded through the crowd coming down through the stairwell that led up to the upper stories. The crush of people parted before her as the sole of her leather boot touched the bottom stair. Even though she stood more than a head shorter than most of the people under her command, none bothered to challenge her leadership.

“Gentle, compassionate Lady, hear my prayer.” Although her employees, both in and out of the Clergy, were close, none invaded her space.

“I unite all my work with the Sacrifice St. Derrat in the Mass that it may be pleasing to You and give You glory. I beg Your Blessing upon all my efforts. With St. Derrat as my example and guide, help me to do the work You have asked of me and come to the reward You have prepared for me.” On the third floor, Kitless approached her office. The great set double doors were set in the fashion of an upside-down keel making the doorway appear like a wooden wishbone. Calmly she stood before the doors and moved her hand from the amulet around her neck and placed it on the polished wood. With the slightest of effort forced the blood fire simmering throughout her body into the wood. It glowed softly as her ward was removed.

“Gentle, compassionate Lady, hear my prayer.” Kitless Ran opened the door to her office and smiled. It was now time to create her work.

The great room was more than just an office. It was a hub of information and activity. She was always the first to arrive and often the last to leave this heart of the Bond Trading House. Her desk was set against the windows to make use of the light throughout the day. It was a great thing imported from the Free City of Sren outside of the Realm of the Great Church. The dark wood was stained and polished to a near ebony hue. Smaller desks populated some of the other space within the great room, but Kitless made sure that her space was the most noticeable.

Along the wall opposite of the windows she had the cartographers maintain a huge map of the known world. The impressive mural was nearly 20 feet wide and 15 feet tall. It was a work of constant labor as the reports from the trading fleet were constantly being updated. Various cabinets of files dotted the north wall holding the records of trade and shipping routes not only for the fleet, but of the Bond Trading House proper.

Kitless laid the paperwork that she was carrying at the end of the long desk that she spent most of her days at. Approaching the shudders, she opened them to let in the natural light and the air coming in from the bay. The smells of the sea combined with the sounds of the open air market set the business in motion for the day.

Breathing in the aromas and sounds, Kitless Ran turned and set about reading the ledgers from the various Quartermasters managing the warehouses. The accounting was accurate, she knew it was. There was no other choice.

The inventory lists were coded and tallied. Foodstuffs were salted and preserved for shipment throughout the Realm. Livestock was a different matter. They had to be cared for and driven overland to other parts of the Realm by the teamsters that were hired on a freelance basis.

Four herds of cattle, about 100 heads in total, were en route to Landsend from both the Azure Emporium and the Trion Trade Barony. In turn, the Bond Trading house was sending salted fish as well as winter coats and other textiles that the prefectures needed to survive the upcoming winter months. A great reinforced glass tank with fresh live fish was being transported to Phenso, the capitol city of the Great Church. The reports transcribed from meetings with the Speakers informed Kitless that the caravans were making good progress. They would make their rendezvous within the next week. Kitless nodded to the reports unconsciously in approval.

The ship’s logs were next in line. The fleet consisted of four galleons that were in constant service between Landsend and the Free City of Sren. Each captain had support vessels of three corvettes to protect them. Piracy was becoming more and more prevalent during the shipments.

Mostly Kitless commissioned the support vessels and extra knights because she was loosing both product and men. It wasn’t just the outlaws and cutters that were making the raids. There was a development within the Realm of a black market that was apparently spurned on from the rumors that Prefect Obec Long was loosing control of the Seven Tower Wall.

Rationing had been taking place there and the stories coming from the Citadel prefecture were sorrowful. Orders were coming in fast and furious from Citadel. They needed grains, cereals, flour, dairy products as well as lumber and manpower. Kitless wondered how long it would be before Obec Long lost the prefecture all together.

It was about an hour after that the cartographer came in with his assistant. Kitless Ran looked up from her reports and nodded to the man and his son and nodded. Both bowed in respect.

“Honored Mistress,” Liam Ekim greeted her. His assistant, his older son Hael, who was following in the business of his father, mumbled much the same. The cartographer slapped his son on the back of his head.

“Honored Mistress,” the young boy said more clearly. Liam glared down at the boy passing the message of his disappointment and embarrassment.

“Gentlemen,” Kitless Ran responded to them, acknowledging their presence as she turned back to her reports. Without watching them, she knew that Hael was setting up the step ladder near the map wall in preparation for his father. The cartographer himself collected the latest copies of the charts and logs from the Bondsman Captains and laid them out on the small table to the side of the huge mural, comparing them to the map on the wall, looking for updates that needed to be made.

It wasn’t long before the train of aides, scribes and friars arrived within the office. Each one gave their ‘Honored Mistress,’ and proceeded to their assigned tasks. Kitless Ran nodded to each of them in process while continuing her analysis. There was one she did not see yet, which made her frown. Her own assistant Thon Gael, was tardy without explanation.

The prefect ran through the mental calendar that the two of them had laid out, she was confident that Thon should have been here by now. His portion of the work that was needed to be done today was stacked neatly on his side of the desk. Kitless had no desire or intention of starting on this newer pile of work if it were not absolutely necessary.

Minutes later, Thon Gael entered the offices of the Bond Trading House; a poignant look was in his eye. Although dressed and coiffed professionally, there was something about him that foretold of a problem. Kitless Ran did not like problems. The prefect looked up over her spectacles and burned a look across the room from where her desk was.

“Honored Mistress,” Thon started, “I apologize for my extreme tardiness,” Thon covered the room in a hurried pace and leaned in to whisper into the prefect’s ear. “There has been another incident.” Kitless knew exactly what he was talking about. Another piece of her industry had been compromised by thieves. Until Obec Long regained control of his prefecture, there was no stopping the pirates from stealing. She could feel her blood fire begin to bubble.

“Come,” she stated plainly, “now is not the time to lose your composure. Remember who and what we are. First and foremost, we are Bondsmen.” She scolded Thon in a menacing tone that did not carry beyond his own hearing. “Secondly, you work for me. Do not embarrass me in front of my subordinates. If they see you panic, then they panic.” Thon’s face and ears reddened as Kitless continued. “The Bond Trading House is a tight ship. It was a tight ship under my father and my father’s father. Do not,” she paused briefly, “and I mean absolutely not cause me to loose my faith in you.” Kitless placed a hand on Thon’s forearm, “I need you focused.”

Thon Gael nodded in response and swallowed hard. It was more than obvious to Kitless that he understood every word, every message, both spoken and unspoken that she had said. This was her legacy and no man, woman, priest or matriarch was going to let her ship sink while she was the prefect.

“Follow me.” She ordered the taller man. Kitless Ran stood up from her desk, dwarfed by her assistant and led the two away from her desk and the aides and friars that were working in the public office.

Kitless led her associate to her private office that was attached to the great room. The huge oaken door opened freely, none dared to enter without her. It was an extension of her. The prefect smiled briefly knowing that everyone was doing the tasks that they were assigned and would continue to do so even without her presence. She did run a tight ship and she was proud of that.

The office itself told of the history of the Ran family. Small paintings in oil were on the walls. Her father and grandfather looked down from the portraits in the same fashion that Kitless viewed her own followers. They commanded respect during their reign and she would not do any less for them.

A ship’s wheel was opposite the door, mounted on the wall behind another desk. This desk however, had special meaning for her. This was the desk of her father when he ran the Bond Trading House. The burnished wood was polished to the color of ripe mulberries and the Bondsmen crest emblazoned boldly on the front of the desk. The white field with the purple stripe on the shield with twin cranes on either side. Above the shield was the slogan for the Bond Trading House, “Excellence in all things. Faith before All.”

“Sit,” she directed Thon with a casual wave of her hand. “Tell me what’s happened this time.” The edge in her voice was not of concern but more of annoyance. She hated discrepancies, even if the goods were stolen instead of sold. The bottom line was being affected by this too often these days.

“Friar Gon came to me earlier this morning.” Thon started after he had closed the door to the prefect’s private office, speaking softly, but still projecting so that the prefect could hear him without the others eavesdropping on the conversation. “The Knights patrolling warehouse fourteen had confronted outlaws raiding the warehouse.”

“Yes,” Kitless Ran never broke eye contact with him.

“They captured an indigent who was leaving the area, but much of the goods stored there already were stolen.” Kitless and Thon both knew what was stored in the warehouse. Mainly it was the foodstuffs that were going to Obec Long to aide his people. Friar Gon was assigned as the liaison between the Citadel and the Bond Trading House. She knew that his repugnant form was at the warehouse tallying up what had been lost.

“Did the Knights on duty capture the criminals?” Kitless asked the question coldly. Lately, the brigs and prison holds were shy of the culprits who were actually doing the stealing. All the prefect needed was one good example as to why the outlaws should stay away from the Bondsmen.

“There was an indigent caught on premises. He claims innocence.” Thon folded his hands in his lap.

“Of course,” Kitless feigned belief. “I’ll handle this personally. Resume your responsibility here.” Thon nodded with a confused look on his face. He had obviously not expected the answer that she had given. His confusion was her immediate concern.

After a moment of silence, Thon knew that he was dismissed from the office. He stood and bowed deeply. “Honored Mistress,” was all he said. It was all he was required to say in the baritone voice, both reverent and still confused. Quietly, he left.

Kitless Ran knew what had gone on. She had managed the leak of information. She had set it in motion so she did not have to send Obec Long the goods he was demanding from the Archdeaconry. In truth, she had decided long ago that if the other prefects could not manage their prefectures, they had no Divine Right to rule.

Standing up, she smoothed out her purple and white robes and strode through the doorway into the public office and left. A backwards glance at Thon communicated her disappointment in him as the two locked eyes. He quickly sifted through the pile of books and papers on his desk and began to work.

Making her way down to the main hallways she frowned deeply. There was a witness. There were supposed to be no witnesses. Her father was right when he told her to rely upon her own resources. Trusting others to perform the job as well as you often resulted in disappointment and anger. In these treacherous times it could result in the loss of life.

The witness would have to be dealt with. This indigent, this vagabond homeless random factor had almost caused her plan to unravel before it had begun. She was not truly worried about the Archdeaconry. That concern was under her direct control. She had the Archdeacon himself in her pocket, figuratively. The manipulation of Busim Hrad had been established some time ago, and by proxy, the Mother Superior.

Kitless Ran moved through the hallways with ease. She had almost been brought up within the building and connecting foyers, gardens and courtyards. She let her mind wander back towards her plan as she approached the holding cells on the other side of the compound.

The destruction of Obec Long was only part of her plan for ascension within the Great Church. With a new, and perhaps more negotiable, prefect in control of the Seven Tower Wall, a new era for the Realm would be ushered in and she would be at the pinnacle, watching everything unfold to her design, not the design of an aged matriarch nearly on her deathbed.

The holding cells for captured prisoners and persons of interest were in a two-story building far away from public view. This was another thing her father had taught her. Martyrs were often dangerous and led towards disrupting of plans. They were chaos incarnate and needed to be away from public eyes. The more they are hidden, the more they are forgotten.

The Knights Protectors stiffened to attention as they saw her approach. “Honored Mistress,” they echoed in stereo. Kitless nodded to them and proceeded to walk into the holding areas. None questioned her, none guided her. There was no need, this was her prefecture and she commanded it.

Kitless stopped briefly at the Justice’s office. Immediately he jumped up and gave his ‘Honored Mistress’ to her as if someone had just passed burning coals underneath his hindquarters. She didn’t even bother to nod to him.

“Just give me the log,” she was more than annoyed and let her voice and posture convey that feeling towards the Justice. Quickly, she scanned the parchment and dropped the document back onto the soldier’s desk without another word. There was work to be done.

Chapter Five.Two: Bonded Azure

2009-02-28T23:54:00.001-08:00

Obec watched as Friar Gon wormed his way into yet another chair that would barely support his bulk. It was different this time however. Obec could feel the uncomfortable pressures wracking Gon’s body. Every twist was a new sensation in a deepening self-consciousness and worry that the chair would break under his own girth. When Gon had stopped fidgeting, Kitless removed her spectacles.

“I’ve been receiving reports that you’ve been cultivating…” the prefect paused for dramatic effect. Obec knew this ploy and had used it in the past. He knew that Gon was being drawn into a web he could not escape. “rather, shall we say, unusual resources for St. Aparicio’s.”

Obec could feel the nervousness in Gon. This is how he must have felt when he was confronted in Obec’s own office.

“Mistress?” Gon feigned ignorance.

“Friar Gon,” she looked at him leaning one arm on the desk and stretching forward. “I do not have time for your feigned addlement.” Her tone changed instantly. “My resources have told me directly that you have made alliances within the Free City of Sren, outside of the Realm of the Great Church. They have also stated that you have come across an information resource. Both of which I would use to my advantage.” Through the fog of memory, Obec could feel the puffy cheeks rise in a smile.

“Yes, Mistress.” Gon was trying to pour on his non-existent charm again. “As always, my duty is to serve you and the Bond Trading House.”

“Yes it is.” Kitless Ran focused on Gon. Her blue eyes became wider and wider in the fog, drawing Gon, and by proxy Obec, into her solid gaze.

Pain wracked through Obec’s brain in conjunction with the hidden wards placed into Friar Gon’s memories by Kitless Ran. The vision of her blue eyes with golden flecks pierced through the fog of Gon's memory across the blood fire connecting them and whipped at Obec.

The mental tendrils deeply implanted within the memory latched onto Obec and began to pry open his own defenses. Immediately he threw up the walls and barricades that he was trained to do. The imaginary steel and rock cooled his soul against the onslaught of blue flame that came through from Gon.

Immediately, Obec retreated into his mind, searching for his mental fortress. His old masters had taught him that the stronger the imagery, the stronger the defenses. This is what was important. “Power is only so powerful,” the grizzled voice came to Obec in his time of need, “more importantly is what you do with the power. Have faith in your own power given to you by the Gods’ Will alone, and you will succeed.”

The Prefect of the Citadel Trading House brought to mind his own prefect. The entirety of the Seven Tower Wall, stretching from the Cold Sea to the east all the way to the Stone Ridge Mountains to the west was emblazoned in his mind. Wave after wave of blue fire pounded at the structure.

Sturnspoint Tower popped into existence. It was the easternmost fortification of the Realm of the Great Church. Along with the Clergy in the tower were the Weather Monks who demanded to live within the Contested Lands on the south side of the wall. Their studies and manipulation of the climate was what they were known for. While not truly a part of the Great Church of the Realm, they were still considered protectors of the Realm and recognized as such.

The rough hewn wall continued towards the west. Nearly fifty feet tall with crenellations towards the south and a smooth edge towards the north with a girth of nearly sixty feet to allow the various troops under the control of the Citadel to move along from tower to tower.

The burning azure flame licked up the walls. Obec could feel more than smell the stone burning as her implanted assault continued on his mind. Great golden warriors rode the flames like so many fish jumping up from the sea.

Next to appear along Obec’s mental wall was Gateway Tower and the city to the north side of the tower. The Citadel’s Free Trade Zone was centered in Gateway City. Lately with the barbarian raids on the free plantations on both sides of the wall, the Free Trade Zone was closed. It house refugees now.

The constant barrage of the ocean of blue flame began to tear at the wall. Kitless Ran’s golden warriors were clamoring up the sides of the wall, riding the blue fire to its apex and forming great chains of bodies lining up the south side of the wall.

Obec felt weaker as the onslaught from Kitless’ golden warriors climbed upon one another to gain access to the mental image of the Seven Tower Wall. Sweating with the intensity of his blood fire, Obec redoubled the image, reinforcing it with memories of happier times. He remembered what Gateway was like before the barbarians started their campaigns.

The sweet smell of roasted corn against the smokiness of the husks came to his mind. The scent of grilled meats, the chatter of people, and the laughter of children with painted faces all filled Obec’s mind. The wall shone brightly in the sunshine. Obec could feel its strength.

The fluid wave of azure flames whipped up against the newly strengthened wall and broke upon itself carrying the golden troopers with the crash. Obec formed the image in his mind. Miles and miles of mortar and brick were formed out of memory and knowledge carrying him to the next tower, Tranna’s Asylum.

Obec knew every stone, every crack in the Seven Tower Wall. He had walked the wall every year from end to end during the Winter Pilgrimage. During the march, followers always attended the High Mass at the temple in Tranna’s Asylum to pray for the prosperity of the new year.

The mass went on for days. The priests fasted and led the High Mass for all that came from either end of the wall. The celebration, songs and prayers energized the pilgrims and were a testament to the faith of the Great Church. Obec felt the comfort from the memories, felt the strength of his devotion, felt the hardness of the stones under his feet and felt empowered to find his answers with Friar Gon’s mind.

The constant barrage of the wards that Kitless Ran put in place did not feel as taxing as it was before. Obec scanned the horizon. The wall was not even half competed in his mind. The burning blue ocean ripped to try to cut off the defense that Obec was building. He watched the flame surge westward, carrying the golden warriors in its wake.

Racing ahead of the flood, Obec reconstructed the path to his own home, Midway Tower, brick by brick. The golden warriors floating in the sea of azure fire reached up gripping the stones as he laid them down.

Obec concentrated harder, urging the process on. Every fist, every spear that they wielded were blocked by the rough hewn stone that made up the Seven Tower Wall. Obec could hear their screams of rage.

The Knight’s Tower was next. It was the home of one of the most notable training academies in the Realm. The blacksmiths created strong weapons of steel. The crystal weavers also made strong weapons there. When the two were melded, steel and divine crystal, the weapons were nigh unstoppable.

Kitless’ warriors stormed the wall as it was forming. The fires burnt and undulated across the south side of the wall like a huge blue snake flecked with golden scales. Ahead of Obec, the warriors found purchase on the wall. They were rushing towards him. Golden faces twisted in hate.

Obec Long stood in the middle of the wall and stared at the onslaught of golden warriors, bodies gleaming in the sunshine. Their echoing feral screams of battle preceded them. The sheer confusion and blood lust rippled off of them in waves of heat.

Standing, Obec shifted his weight slightly and prepared himself in the battle stance that he was taught. Left arm slightly in front, balled in a fist, right arm cocked back, level with his shoulder. The Prefect of the Citadel Trading House pressed his feet into the paved stones along the top of the wall, shifting them slightly, feeling his weight against the stones.

He could feel the wind blowing, whipping at his black and red vestments. Obec waited for them to come. He divided his thoughts. Each stone, still being placed, continued westward to the Greenstone Tower. The mossy coverings were soft and cool against the great bricks of the tower.

“O King of Heaven, Marshal of the Gods, I humbly ask Your protection for all our men and women in service of the Great Church.” Obec began, raising his voice against that of his enemy. Already he could feel the change within him.

Mile by mile, Obec forced the imagery to the Stone Ridge Mountains as the golden warriors approached from within the spreading blue flames. The last tower loomed in the darkness. The great Dark Tooth Tower nestled in the shadows of the strong mountain chain that protected the Realm of the Great Church from the desert beyond. Obec felt the strength of the wall.

“Give unto them unflinching courage to defend Your honor with dignity and devotion, the rights of all who are imperiled by injustice and evil.” The blood fire rolled throughout Obec. He could feel it ebbing through his skin forming a barrier of armor around him. The heaviness of the chain and plates was comforting.

Still the golden soldiers came. Obec could see them more clearly now, shaped in the forms of clockwork men, of demons and of great beasts.

“Be their sword, their shield, and their stronghold and let them draw their strength from You. For You are the bold, the valiant and the mighty, for ever and ever.” The blood fire formed the weaponry and armaments within Obec’s hands.

The sword glowed red, the shield black. The curve of the single-edged blade swept in the direction of Obec’s thumb and then back again. The blade was designed more for hacking off a limb rather than thrusting. The sacred wards folded into the steel glowed with anticipation. The shield, round and sturdy, was spiked with holy crystals along the edge that were sharper than razors. The blackened energy that his shield exuded shrouded Obec as if he was a wisp of smoke caused by a blacksmith’s bellows.

“Ganium, hear my prayer!” Obec yelled at the top of his lungs, adding his own passionate scream into the wall of sound and fury approaching him.

The first to arrive were Kitless’ representation of the great beasts. Golden lions and tigers and other great cats lead the charge. Within her twisted mind, she had given some of the cats wings and spiked tails.

Fast approaching was a golden lion. Obec braced for the impact of the great cat. It soared through the air spanning the more than fifteen feet between them in one bound. One massive paw hit the shield and nearly knocked Obec down. Obec allowed the energy to pass through him. He rode the wave and skidded along the stones with the energy of the impact.

Anger flashed through the lion’s eyes. It was obvious to Obec that the constructed warrior had never battled someone like him before. Obec screamed at the cat and rushed. He jumped and felt the wall leave from beneath his feet.

Swinging the sword in a wide arc, Obec heard the wind whistle as the blade sliced through the air. As he landed, Obec let the sword follow through and connect with the lion’s neck.

The resistance of the golden skin, mane, muscle, sinew and bone that connected the beast’s head to the rest of its body shook Obec’s arm as the sword cut cleanly through. As the lion’s head fell from the rest of his bulk, the mental construct melted.

Quickly, Obec spun, slicing another one of the beasts with his shield spikes. An audible hiss came from the winged cat’s wound. Obec firmly kicked at the thing with a metal-shod foot, knocking it over the north side of the wall.

Shifting his weight, Obec leapt again into the air spinning. Two flying demons were caught as the mystical blade granted to Obec from the God of Soldiers sliced through their bodies. Melted gold splatered onto the stones as Obec landed.

Obec charged through the golden cats and beasts, causing them to slide and redirect their attacks as their prey moved. The huge face of an ape with too many fangs caught Obec’s shield. Black wisps followed the strike. Black ink on a gold colored background flew as Obec smashed the thing.

The melted form of the ape splashed up on Obec’s armor. A great snake launched itself at the armored prefect. Obec brought up his shield an instant too late as the golden reptile wrapped its coils around Obec’s body.

Pressure from the giant snake closed in on Obec almost immediately. He could feel the golden scales sliding across his body, pinning his arms. Acid washed his lungs as he attempted to breathe.

Obec felt himself being lifted from the wall from within the great coils. His struggling only made the snake squeeze tighter. Inside, he could feel the pressure building. A chorus of feral screams was around him.

Glaring at the snake’s head, he could smell the acrid stench of undigested meat escaping from the maw of the monster. Huge golden fangs retracted from out of the snake’s mouth. Hinging outward, ready to strike, they snapped into place.

Focusing his energy, Obec Long remembered where he was on the wall, the Knight’s Tower. Quickly he formed ranks and divisions in his mind from the Citadel’s training academy.

From behind him, a spear pierced the snake’s gullet. It reeled with the impact and surprise. The hissing and spitting of droplets of saliva and its own golden life’s blood spewed from the huge monster as it melted, dropping Obec to the ground.

Obec landed hard on his back. Already his troopers were rushing forward, cutting a red and black path into the golden army that Kitless Ran had implanted into Friar Gon’s memories.

The prefect of the Citadel Trading House brought his knees back and rolled his body forward and kicked up onto his feet. The breath back into his lungs was slow and painful. Looking to the rest of the golden constructs, he lunged forward surrounded by the brethren he had created.

Obec slashed out with his sword connecting with arms and torsos of Kitless’ golden warriors. His own mental constructs were doing the same. A flurry of arrows rained down on the golden beasts creating a river of their essence all over the stony battlefield.

Putting a metal-shod foot firmly on the knee of one of the clockwork warriors, Obec leapt and spun to sink his sword into the head of the soldier. The sword glowed stronger as the wards folded in the steel began to sing a song that Obec did not quite recognize, as if it were a memory.

Quickly launching himself high into the air, Obec flew over at least a dozen warriors to land behind the impromptu phalanx that they had formed. Golden shields and spears were faced away from him, towards his own army of black and red screaming Citadel soldiers.

Obec burned in the blood fire flowing through his veins and muscles. He felt the extension of the blood fire through the sword and shield that he carried. The song was filling his mind.

He could feel the powerful presence of Ganium, the God of Soldiers and of God of Death and Retribution, Haraan urging him on. Their Will be done! The battle ensued for Their honor.

Feeling the sweet notes coming from the sword and into his arm, Obec shook from the reverberation thrumming through his chest. He focused on the symmetry of the song, feeling the music giving him power beyond what he knew. He felt the power of his faith in the Great Church, of the Mother Superior, of his Divine Right.

Obec focused the blood fire, the music, the divinity running through him into one single thought. The thought grew within him, pushing outwards in all directions, pushing Obec into the air above the battle.

“DIE!” The man screamed with more than his lungs and throat, the force of the power came from his very soul.

The command flew from him in all directions at once. The force of the power pushed upwards against the crenellations and overflowed. The command rushed up against the massive stones that built the Knight’s Tower and cascaded down. His own great wave of power to combat what was planted there by Kitless Ran.

Obec landed on the wet stone on one knee. He didn’t have to look up to know that every gold beast, demon and warrior was vanquished. His own constructs had faded too with the blast of divinity.

A drop of blood landed on Obec’s gauntlet. Rubbing his nose, more blood smeared across the already blood-colored metal. Obec stood and faced westward. There was one opponent left. The very essence of Prefect Kitless Ran herself waited for him. The construct she had fashioned was the most beautiful and disgusting thing that Obec Long had ever witnessed.

The female demon stood at least fifteen feet tall. Her skin rippled in varying shades of purple. Lavenders raced up her muscled body turning into violets and mauves in random patterns. Pomegranate colored hair whipped about in a wind that Obec could neither feel nor detect in any fashion. Wine colored lips parted to reveal a smile that was thoroughly captivating and dangerous at the same time.

Plum hued talons were on the demon’s hands, of which she had six attached to three sets of arms. In each hand was a great sword that was at least as tall as Obec himself. Naked breasts bounced as she moved. A piercing and chain connected them made of gold. Strong abdominal muscles gave way to magenta scales and the lower body of a snake.

“You shall know no secrets here.” The demon cooed. Her voice gave Obec a longing for Chandra Molt. It was her voice. It was slight and mischievous and beauty incarnate. Obec could smell the sweet smell of lilac and cherry blossoms. “But I know one, Obec Long.” The demon smiled again.

Chapter Five.One: The Prophecy and The Power

2009-02-26T22:34:00.000-08:00

Friar Cusslet Gon sat almost motionless except for the constant quivering of fear that was shaking his fat body like so many ripples on what was a calm lake. Obec Long forced a frozen mask of serenity on his face as he waited for the friar to regain his composure.

Unlike Friar Gon, the prefect had control of his body and the blood fire that was boiling inside. Most like Friar Gon had been corrupted by the power that they wielded. In Gon’s case, the friar’s network of information and outlaws had kept him in power and wealth for far too long. He was a mouse who had lost the ability to sniff around for more food, lost the will to scrounge. The friar was sedentary and without true power. Obec waited, the temptation to just release the blood fire was great, but he knew that the friar had just given him a weapon to use against his rivals within the Great Church to protect his prefecture.

Obec Long waited for the Friar to find his words. If what he said were ture, that the Bondsmen and Kitless Ran were using the forbidden Rites of Mahallo to influence Mother Superior and the Great Church, they had to be stopped. The Realm would not survive the devastation of that taint. The barbarian hordes and the seemingly limitless armies of Outsiders would surely break through the Seven Tower Wall and wreak unknown havoc and chaose within the Realm.

“There is a prophecy,” Gon started, licking his lips in nervousness. Obec leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together in front of him, slightly bowing his head behind his hands, glaring at the friar, glaring at the man through half-hooded eyes. Obec could feel his blood fire burning within him, aching for a release. “It is in reference to what I know Prefect Ran has in progress.” Friar Gon raised his head towards the ceiling as if to ask the Lords and Ladies of Heaven for guidance. Obec waited, simmering.

“Go on.” Obec growled. He did not want to hear about a prophecy at the moment. At any other time, there would be a glimmer of interest. The past is the link to the future. It predicts what will happen, by the Gods Will alone. What he needed at the moment was the proof of Ran’s indiscretions and dark plans against the Great Church. Obec watched the tears flow out of the deep-set eyes of Friar Gon and roll down his fat cheeks, taking the make-up in streaks. The fat man looked down and locked eyes with Obec. His beady eyes grew for a moment seeing the rage and fury that the prefect was containing.

“I came across the prophecy from a,” the friar was obviously looking for the right words.

“If you’re planning to lie, you might think against it.” Obec spoke with authority. He was not going to take any more of Friar Gon’s attempts at manipulation. He had had enough. Obec watched Gon’s throat as he swallowed in response to Obec.

“From a contact I’ve developed within the Speaker’s Guild.” Looking through the spaces between his fingertips, Obec considered the words coming from the friar. The man across from him deserved to die from his abuse of power and blasphemy.

“The very fact that you’ve ‘developed’ a contact from the Speaker’s Guild goes against what Father Superior Maxil Thonma set in place generations ago.” Obec closed his eyes briefly considering what exactly to do with the information he had been gifted.

The Speaker’s had once been part of the Raven Trading House. During Father Superior Thonma’s service, the separation of the Speaker’s Guild from the Ravens took place. The creation of the autonomous information guild outside the authority of the Great Church had ensured that everyone within the Realm would be safe. Not only the trading houses, but the denizens of the Realm could speak freely and confidentially, for a price.

Obec did not want to believe Friar Gon. The information that he was revealing was so unbelievable that it had to be true. In his experience with dealing with the Bondsmen though, he had learned that there was always hidden information. There were times that they acted like Ravens instead of Bondsmen. Obec had to be sure.

The blood fire that the prefect held in check was itching at his skin. Obec directed the blood fire outward into a single focused thought. In extreme circumstances, he had used the technique before to glean the truth in complicated matters. This was one of them. With a quick jab, he was inside of Friar Gon’s mind.

Gon reeled backwards in the chair he was sitting in. He was not prepared for the mental invasion. Immediately Obec flew past the walls and defenses that instinctively came up. They were no match for Obec. His training from the Clergy and his experiences from defending the Seven Tower Wall were more than enough to invade Friar Gon’s weakened mind. The wards and mental blocks appeared as if they were stained glass and shattered just as easily. Friar Cusslet Gon’s mind was Obec’s to control. His thoughts. His memories. All were revealed.

Images surrounded in the fog of memory and senses that were dampened over time flew past Obec. The prefect was slightly overwhelmed with the overload. The taste of dozi wine. The scent of incense. Flashes of a man in a feathered cape of blue. His name was Peacock. A female cutter in the corner of a room dressed in leather with a silvered mask covering part of her face. Diveo was her name. A Speaker sat in the center of the room bound to a chair. His skin, although a deep chestnut brown, was as chalky as ever for their kind. Strapped to the chair, he seemed to be glowing. His red eyes glowed fiercely. Obec looked into the multi-faceted eyes and saw the reflection of Cusslet Gon.

Peacock took a needle and affixed an ampoule of green liquid to it. Being sure to put on matching gloves to his cape, the older man injected the serum into the arm of the Speaker. Through the fog of memory, Obec heard the small glass ampoule shatter under the gentle ministrations of the man in the blue feathered cape. It crackled loudly against the walls of Gon’s memory. The liquid seemed to gurgle through the needle set into the Speaker’s arm.

“No, you mustn’t.” came the all too weak voice reverberating over the walls and floor. The echoes came later, as if perhaps a dozen Speakers were begging for Peacock to stop.

“Do not worry friend, you won’t even remember this.” Peacock cooed to his prisoner. “It is a shame though,” Peacock’s eyes were full of lust. The alchemist and apothecary traced the lines of the Speaker’s arm gently with a tentative gloved finger. “You are such a fine specimen. I could use you for other things.” Peacock smiled gently. The very smell of his lust was all too apparent.

Obec’s blood fire raged within him. He could feel the heat burning in his veins. This was an abomination. Within the memory, Friar Gon just stood there in his fat flesh and watched. There was a slight smile from the female cutter in the corner. Diveo was intrigued.

“Please,” the Speaker begged, looking up to Peacock. “You mustn’t.” Again, the echoing as if the Speaker were trapped deep within himself and aching to just get the plea out.

“No need to beg.” Peacock leaned over the Speaker and kissed him softly on his bald brow. “It will all be over soon. At least this part will.” Peacock added, softly stroking the bald head as the ampoule drained into the Speaker’s blood stream.

Obec witnessed the memory. A casual observer only. The red glow faded from the Speaker’s eyes and was replaced with the same greenish hue of the serum flowing through his blood. The Speaker shook and rattled against the strong leather bonds holding him fast. The seizure wracked the thin chalky body, making the chair shake from his convulsions. Friar Gon stepped back far too quickly than Obec had anticipated the man to be able to move.

“How long until he is ready?” Obec felt the Friar ask Peacock. Slight feelings of fear, trepidation and desire for wealth were on the fringes of the question. Excitement was racing through Gon. He looked to Diveo and instantly the lustful feelings for the female outlaw started to swarm into his head. There had been fantasies that Gon lived and relived. Obec felt them all. Mentally, he shivered.

“Soon enough.” Peacock turned away from the Speaker and prepared another ampoule and needle. “At present you may ask whatever is on your mind.” Obec could feel the thrill stemming from Gon.

Waddling back across the space between them, Friar Gon came closer to the Speaker. The seizure had ceased and the normal red glow from the Speaker’s eyes was now corrupted. They were now a muddy brown throughout. Gon quickly wondered about that, but just as quickly ignored it. Obec held onto the thought.

“Tell me of the future.” Gon asked the Speaker. He was nearly quivering with excitement. Obec reviled the feeling.

“The future lies in the past,” the Speaker said softly between the heavy chest heaves.

“Explain.” Gon ordered the Speaker.

“The future lies in the past,” the Speaker repeated himself. “In the proximity of the Seven Cities it will give the similar thrashings, of which it was never the hunger or plague that people once considered that were placed toward the exterior by steel and blood, and which Divine Flame only cries towards them and to which the Gods, for revelation, will answer for a price.”

Obec felt the friar furrow his brows in confusion. Gon grabbed the restrained Speaker by the shoulders and shook him. “Tell me what you mean!” he screamed. Obec mentally sneered at Gon’s sheer ignorance. The future does lay in the past.

“The future lies in the past. The Prophecy will come to pass.” The Speaker’s head lolled down as if he were a puppet connected to a string that had just been cut. “A large army will go, briefly after the transition, to make additions to the wall that the pious willed, which comes out of the Revolution of the Da’Hakar, in order to give another to the Gods, allowing the Azurite and Amethystine to cry in their places.”

“What is the revolution?” Gon shook the Speaker again, “What are the Da’Hakar?”

“The future lies in the past. The Prophecy will come to pass. This reign will not last.” The Speaker’s breath was becoming more ragged. The words were forced out by what will was left in him. “The slaves of the war with luck, which the Prince will waive in overflow everywhere, will charge within a high army in a transition by the sea near the mountains, will throw the darkness backwards.”

The fog of Gon’s memory closed in. The scene faded into the grey-green background of the Friar’s mind. This is not what Obec needed to see. This is not what Obec wanted.

Obec let the memory fade; he had no wish to continue with the interrogation of the Speaker. It was not the purpose of the intrusion into the festering mind of Friar Gon. With force, the prefect pushed harder into Gon’s mind. His vision was beginning to become red-tinged with the blood fire shimmering throughout his soul.

Rouge colored hallways came into existence shrouded in fog. Obec could feel his body wobbling back and forth as the heavy footsteps resounded. It was after dark. The Justices and Knights Protectors were patrolling Landsend. A staircase loomed ahead.

Gon was panting. He was well out of shape, but he had to get to the office on the third floor to see his matron, Kitless Ran. With determination, more than Obec though him capable, Gon mounted the stairs and made his way up in quick time to arrive at the double doors that were the exterior of the Prefect’s office.

As he was about to knock on the door and announce himself, the commanding voice of Kitless Ran came from behind the door, “Come.” Gon took in a deep breath, regaining his composure.

“Most Honored Mistress,” Gon stated. Obec could feel the sheer smarminess oozing out of the fat man. “You summoned me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Prefect Ran looked up from her paperwork that was just as abundant on Obec Long’s desk. There was a candelabra situated where she needed it, illuminating the precise figures on a great ledger. Her blue eyes were stunning, even through the spectacles that she was wearing. They drew Gon in.

“There is something we need to discuss.” She said flatly, without emotion. “Sit.” It wasn’t a request.

Chapter Seven: Baking Books

2009-02-24T23:34:00.001-08:00

Shai loaded up the bottom part of the hanging scale with flour. It was the second time he had measured out six pounds of the billowy stuff. It stuck to the small hairs on his hand as he put the scoop back into the bin. Taking the large bowl that was hanging from the counter weight, he ceremoniously dumped the powder into the mixing machine being careful not to lose too much of it in the process.

Working the manual crank on the mixing machine countless times before, Shai knew it would be several minutes before the batch was ready to be worked. His arms were beginning to turn leaden and numb from the work. There was already a sheen of sweat on his arms as he went through the circular motions that moved the crank to the dough hook in the huge bowl. Every so often he would check the consistency of the dough, either adding more flour or water depending on what the dough felt like. It had to be right or it wouldn’t rise or bake correctly.

A smile crossed his face when the huge sticky blob of flours, sugar, yeast and water finally felt right. Shai had always enjoyed working with his hands in dough. It was relaxing, soothing. The intoxicating yeasty smell of unbaked flour brought him into focus. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, he lowered the huge mixing bowl from the custom built machine by using yet another crank. His arms complained, but Shai forced through the pain.

After adding more flour in order to prevent sticking, he unloaded the bowl onto a wooden butcher’s block table that was stuffed into a corner of the bake room. A monstrous wood-fired oven took up most of the room. The cyclopean oven had a huge orifice where Shai would stuff wood underneath a stone slab in order to heat the oven properly. Half a cord of wood was stacked nearby so that replenishing the fire would be an easy task.

Slowly with deliberate motions, Shai began to work the dough. The motion was different than just the circular motions of pushing the hand crank. It eased some of Shai’s muscles while working others. It was all part of the ritual. He did enjoy the ritual. It was a catharsis that he needed. Baking bread wasn’t Shai’s vocation. It was something he enjoyed. What he was really known for was the crime.

Smuggling wasn’t something that was just lucrative; it was something that Shai excelled at. People all over the realm always had a need. The Trading Houses seemed to have a monopoly on that need. The prices were set by the Great Church, but it didn’t stop the Trading Houses from gouging those who couldn’t afford the price set by the Mother Superior and her Ecclesiastic Court. In the realm, either you had or you didn’t. There really wasn’t anyone in between. Shai chuckled at the thought, because people like him, shadow morphers, were the ones who existed in between.

Long before the Great Church and the Trading Houses, philosophers had great thoughts about what was in between. It was the shadow morphers who actually punched through the in between and proved many philosophers right, and a few others wrong. These philosophers, these great minds thought that there was space in between the solid objects that surrounded us. The trees, buildings, the ground, the very air had space in between what made it whole. At least that’s what the philosophers thought.

The shadow morphers found it to be true. Tapping into their magic blood fire that existed in nearly all beings, they found a way to shunt through the space in between things. They found a way to shunt into the frigid cold space in between reality. They found a way to rip open a portal into shadowspace. Being a shadow morpher made smuggling easy.

After kneading the dough for a bit, he covered it with another coating of flour and covered the smooth dusted mass with a table cloth in order for it to proof correctly. Checking to see if the fire was working its magic on the stone baking slab, Shai let the dough sit. This was also part of the ritual.

His last job had been to retrieve certain incriminating documents from the Great Church. Shai’s client wanted these papers in order to get his local friar under control. Friar Cusslet Gon had apparently been recording fraudulent tithings to the Great Church. Friar Gon was keeping a small portion for himself that was not allowed. Skimming from the Great Church was more than a sin; it was crime punishable by death. When it came to tithing and taxation, there was no leniency. It was all or nothing – just like everything else in the realm.

Shai dusted himself off and removed his apron as he was heading for the storeroom that he had stashed the Friar’s ledgers. The books were not small, but the paper tore easily out of the bound books. Shai grabbed a stool and started to place the ripped sheets of paper from the ledgers into steel scroll cases. The entirety of both ledgers fit into half a dozen scroll cases.

Working the fringe between the Trading Houses and the Great Church usually put smugglers like Shai in a hard place when it came to the work of crime. Both institutions weren’t really looking out for the people that they claimed to serve. Instead they were looking to increase their power base in the realm. There were times in his career that he didn’t know which way the power would shift when it came to his work.

He tried not to question it too much. Someone was going to have the power. Shai did his best to try to keep them equal. No one deserved to be at the nasty end of a beating stick when it came to either the Great Church or the Trading Houses. Both were equally as sick with power when it came to the political arena that Shai had tried desperately to keep out of. The right or wrong of his trade was something left better for the thoughts of philosophers and historians. Shai didn’t much care about the ethics, just so long as he got his.

Shai brought the half dozen steel containers back to the butcher’s block and set his sights on wrapping them with the dough. He had to put enough dough around each of them so the precious ledgers wouldn’t become blackened and illegible. Just after he had finished making sure that his packages were safely enveloped, a strong voice yelled at him from around the corner. It wasn’t a shock to Shai that it was his partner in the small bakery, Brimmer Moden, the surprise was what he had to say.

Chapter Six: Family

2009-02-24T23:24:00.000-08:00

Shai woke to a screaming headache. Over the last four days he’d been in and out of shadowspace so much that he had overextended himself with the effort. The blistering cold of the nether reached through his blood fire and caused his body to shut down on him. The pounding in his head wasn’t the only thing keeping Shai down, but it was also the fever and chills that ran through his body.

Trying to move his legs, he found a lump of black and white striped fur pinning them down. The cat-monkey was nestled firmly on top of Shai’s knees and detecting his movements, Ringtail looked up at him with his big yellow eyes with a look of annoyance as if to say, ‘You shouldn’t be moving yet. I’m not done napping.’ Shai forced his legs out from under Ringtail causing the cat-monkey to drop in between his legs. The beast softly cooed at him, showing his displeasure.

Footsteps outside of the bedchamber perked Ringtails senses. The cat-monkey’s head jerked from Shai to the door. It chattered loudly and got up on all fours. Shai wasn’t surprised to see Chloe coming in with a bowl of soup. Ringtail always got excited when he was around Chloe; Shai guessed that they had bonded during the last four days. Chloe’s brows were knit together in frustration.

“You shouldn’t be awake yet.” She scolded him as she set the soup on a table near the bed. “And you,” she wagged a finger at Ringtail, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.” Ringtail chattered a high pitch of excitement and tried to grab at Chloe’s finger with his black paws.

“He’s been here long enough to make a bed out of me.” Shai shifted himself into a sitting position. “Apparently I’m quite comfortable.” He smiled at Chloe reaching for the soup.

“He doesn’t know any better.” Chloe smiled. “You take the covers and have boney knees.”

“He likes them.” Shai pointed at Ringtail with the spoon. “You’re just picky.”

“I think he’s just a poor judge of taste.” Chloe gave Shai a sidelong glance as he slurped from the bowl. The warmth of the broth filled him, easing the pressure on his chest. He’d acquired a cough recently. Ringtail sniffed at the air towards Shai. He’d learned over the past four days that this was his method of begging.

“None for you, beastie.” Shai warned Ringtail, shaking a fist at the cat-monkey. “Mine.” Ringtail didn’t take the warning and crawled up on Shai’s belly. His little paws were warm. Shai could feel the pressure of his little hands. They were careful and tender, but Ringtail had no fear or doubt that he was welcome.

“Shai,” Chloe put her hands behind Ringtail’s ears and scratched. The animal satisfied with the attention settled down on Shai’s lap temporarily forgetting about the soup. A low rumble came from somewhere in him. Shai could feel the vibration of his purring. “I saw what you brought in last night.” She continued to stroke Ringtail while Shai ate. “I don’t remember seeing the crates like that in the warehouse.”

He knew exactly what she was talking about. There were deep rents in the wood, like something was scratching at them. Shai had found the last part of what got accidentally shunted into shadowspace in a cluster floating in the frigid nothingness. Something was collecting the random boxes and bags. Several of the bags were torn and empty. Most of the bags of flour and sugar that had been in the collection were ripped open, there contents blown away by the constant winds that rolled through shadowspace. They weren’t cut open, but shredded.

“I don’t know.” He cut Chloe off in between spoonfuls. “There are stories, legends really.” Shai caught the look from Chloe. “I don’t know too much about them. I was back in seminary when I came across them. It’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” Chloe frowned. “I talked to Brimmer. There’s more than nothing.”

“He was scared. It was just his mind playing tricks.” Shai tried to downplay the situation as best he could. “It was his first time shunting through. You’ve been through with me dozens of times.”

“Yeah, I know.” Chloe gathered up Ringtail in her arms and put him on the floor. He chattered at her. He was obviously enjoying the attention from her. “Go on,” she instructed him, “Go find Brimmer.” Ringtail stood up on his hind legs and pawed at the air. “Go.” She pointed and stomped her foot. The animal complied. Shai saw his stiff tail bounding for the door. The cat-monkey stopped just before leaping through the door and presented his backside to Chloe in annoyance.

“That’s what scares me Shai.” Chloe stared at him; concern laced her face and eyes. “You’re playing this off as nothing. But he did see something, didn’t he?” Shai put the bowl down on the table. He couldn’t keep avoiding her.

“He might have.” Shai conceded, folding his hands in his lap.

“Might have?” Chloe stiffened. “I’ve seen Brimmer do a lot of crazy things and he’s come through just fine. He saw something in there, didn’t he?” She pressed again.

“I don’t know what he saw.” Shai looked up at her. He didn’t like being on the defensive with her. Chloe had a streak in her that was defiant when she made her mind up. “We were trying to get away from Trionite Knight Protectors at the time.” The Trion Trade Barony had a penchant for strict adherence to the law of the Realm and the Great Church. “If they had caught us, there is no telling what they’d do. You know that yourself.” Shai softened his voice and ran his fingers along the scars on her forearm.

She looked down at the scars contemplating them. Shai saw the pain on her face. It had been years ago when she’d been caught by the Trionite Barony. She’d been put through what the Barony called the Ordeal of Truth. From what Shai saw of the marks on Chloe’s forearms and hands, it was an ordeal of torture.

Chloe had spoke about it once, after being confined for three days without food, she was brought into a temple blindfolded. All she heard was chanting and prayers, not to the Great Church as a whole but to Haraan, the God of retribution. It was a bit much for a simple theft in Shai’s opinion, but the Barony loved to go over the top. The flame haired prefect, Baron Ian Trion, seemed to have something to prove to his subjects or to himself. Shai didn’t know which.

A low voice rang out from above her somewhere. She didn’t know where, but it was chilling and powerful. Chloe had thought that is was one of the Justices of Haraan. The voice explained the Ordeal of Truth in brief words. All she had to do was grab a ring placed into a cauldron of boiling water.

Shai traced the scars on Chloe’s arm and hand. The bumps and ridges puffed out a little from where the Trionites and the Haraankin forced her to cook herself in order to prove that she was innocent of what they were trying to charge her with. She had actually stumbled upon the aftereffects of an assassination during her sneak and peek. It was the murder of Jeweler Lofod Maline, the personal jeweler of Baron Trion that Chloe was being put on trial for.

She hadn’t murdered him. Shai believed her when Chloe told him that. There was something in her eyes that told him that. It’s not that she was afraid of wet work like that. It was just that it wasn’t the way she did things. Chloe loved life and living it. She wasn’t a murderer.

When she woke, the House Guard were shaking her. Rough hands were gripping her tightly; she remembered finding bruises on her arms from their handling. All she remembered around her was the blood. The walls, the bed and the floor were covered. Maline’s body looked like something that was left over from a butchery and just dumped on the floor. Her knives were stuck in at different angles.

No one would listen to her initially. There was no doubt in the eyes of the Trion Barony what had happened. She was found with the body. Her hands and clothes were caked with the jeweler’s blood. The Justices of Haraan were called in by the Trion Barony to get to resolve the mystery. There resolution was the Ordeal of Truth. After dunking her hand and arm into the boiling cauldron, she blacked out. All Chloe could remember was the intense pain and then blackness.

She was back in her cell when she woke. Her arm had been bandaged up with linen and there was a wax seal on it with the sign of the scales. The Haraankin had marked the bandage to make sure that no one would tamper it without their knowing about it.

“This isn’t about me, Shai.” Chloe said grabbing his hand and bringing him back to what they were talking about. “This is about what was trying to get into the crates.”

Shai rolled his eyes and settled back onto the pillows. He had never seen anything in shadowspace. It was just a void of frigid windstorms to him. Chloe had never mentioned seeing some beast in their either. Brimmer’s experience was something else entirely. Shai sighed.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you.” He looked up at Chloe. “You and I haven’t seen much of anything during our trips. Brimmer just panicked.” Chloe didn’t seem convinced at Shai’s explanation.

“Something was tearing those crates apart.” Her voice had taken on that familiar edge to it. The edge that Shai knew was going to start a fight. “Something tore those bags of flour and sugar open.” She didn’t know the intricacies of shadowspace like he did. She didn’t have the ability to open up the rent and shunt through reality. She was afraid for Brimmer.

“Something?” Shai spat defensively. “Something could have been the nails or sharp corners of the crates bumping into each other. Something could have been another shadowmorpher. Something could have been anything.” He knew he was making no headway and moved to get dressed. “That doesn’t mean that there’s a dark shadowy thing living inside there who is feeding off of the random bits that get left inside.”

There were the legends though. Shai didn’t want to go into the stories that were told right now. It would only fuel her fire. Visions of old sailor’s maps crept into his mind. The ones that laid out in bold black letters, ‘Here be the Sea Monsters’ that were generated from too much time at sea and too much grog. Shai just shook his head and shoved the blankets off of him.

“Where are you going?” she asked defiantly. A frown was on her face causing the entire beautiful mass to sag into a mask of frustration.

“Downstairs.”

“Shai,” she grabbed his arm, “Brimmer saw something.”

“No, he was hallucinating.” Shai looked into her eyes. Concern was there and frustration. It looked good on her. “He doesn’t know what he saw. He couldn’t even describe it to me. He was scared and frightened.” She let go of his arm as he moved to find his breeches. “How did he describe it to you?” he asked rhetorically, “Let me guess.”

“It was cold.” Shai continued, “It was like the time I rode the bucket down in the well when we were little except there was no opening at the top. I could barely hear my own voice. And then something touched me. I looked for it but couldn’t see anything, but I know it touched me.” Shai paused and dug around until he could find his thick stockings and boots.

“I know it touched me because I wasn’t cold there anymore. It was like a warm tentacle wrapping around my leg. I could feel it trying to pull me away from Shai. I didn’t want to die in that cold place. I didn’t want to die in there. All I could to was fight and scream. It was pulling me down into the coldness.” Shai finished his impersonation of Brimmer and the most current adaptation of his story.

“Is that close?” he asked Chloe as he dressed. “Is that what he told you?” He glared at her. The both of them didn’t understand what claustrophobia could do. He’d seen it before where people would just panic from the oppressive cold and blackness. “Is that what’s got you scared?” Shai was yelling before he knew it.

Chloe sat there on the edge of the bed glaring at Shai. He answered her gaze with his own glare. Few could deal with the intensity of shadowspace. Shunting was looked down upon by the Great Church, ‘It was an affront to the natural order,’ was the doctrine. The clergy was afraid of shadowspace too because of the legends. It was typical of the ecclesiastic minds that ran the Great Church. They saw the citizens of the Realm as so many children who couldn’t make their own decisions. It was part of the reason he left the clergy.

“I’ve been shunting for years.” Shai found his clothes and sat back down on the bed sliding his feet into the thick woolen stockings. “It is how were keeping the bakery open even through the rationing that Prefect Long has put in place.” He tried to reach out for her. She shifted back towards the headboard. Shai frowned at her. “Would you rather us just sink down and be thieves?”

“We are thieves.”

Shai groaned. The argument was going to a place that the two had visited too many times before. She wanted out of the outlaw life. Shai did too, but the debt he had accrued over the years kept him indentured to Martel Fen. There were always smuggling jobs to be done. Martel’s empire stretched its fingers into every prefecture.

“It’s a means to an end.” Shai didn’t want to get into the same old fight again. They had gone over it too many times. They both wanted out from under the shadows and work legitimately in the light again.

“And when is that end coming?” Chloe shot a glance at Shai.

“Gods alive!” Shai swore. “Don’t you see what I’m trying to do for us? For all of us?” Shai felt the familiarity of the argument coming.

“It’s not just you.” Chloe came back. She always did, “It’s all of us working on this. Without Brimmer, you’d be outnumbered and possibly be dead. Without me, you’d be bringing all of the Knight Protectors who could detect your shunting.” She was right. Shai knew it.

“Don’t you think I want to get out too?” Shai asked her, sliding into his breeches. “Do you think that owing Fen for too many favors is something that I want to keep over my head?”

“I don’t know, do you?” Now she was getting nasty. Shai laced up his boots and stood looking at her sitting on the bed. She knew why he couldn’t quit just yet. “We could move, we’ve done it before.”

“Because he’ll find us, Chloe.” Shai moved towards the door, “He always does.” Shai was instantly tired as he left the bedroom and moved down the stairs into the kitchen of the bakery.

The yeasty smell of proofing bread permeated Shai’s senses. It was intoxicating. Shai looked back up the stairs and frowned. Chloe was right; they could move and change their names. It might put Martel Fen off of the trail for a while. They’d have to start over again. It would be hard, but nothing that the three of them couldn’t do. Ringtail chattered at him from the butcher’s block that he had seated himself on. Shai looked at the animal. He was gnawing on part of a loaf of bread that was part of yesterday’s batch. Sitting on his hind legs, Ringtail was stuffing little fists of pillowy bread into his maw.

“Well, I guess that’s four of us now.” Shai smiled at the animal. It ignored him, happily stuffing his face.

Chapter Five: Tiger and Snake

2009-02-24T23:01:00.000-08:00

Obec walked to office in a huff. He didn’t want to meet with the friar from Landsend. Nothing but bad news came from him. Often Friar Gon was up to his eyes in the seediness that swept through the underlying structure that the Bond Trading House had set up. It was so much sweet butter on molded bread.

Still gripping the rag doll he had just been given, Obec strode through the bound door and found Friar Cusslet Gon out on the parapet that overlooked the empty farms and plantations. Greasy black smoke hung in the air on the horizon. The rotund man was leaning against the mortared wall, staring off into the distance.

Obec set the doll down on one of the many shelves that lined his private sanctuary, placing it with care. He slid a finger down the side of the paisley dress and then turned to his charge outside. The friar’s robes were crisp and brilliantly hued in the house colors of purple and white. Around his ample waist was a sash from which hung the sign of the Great Church, a great tree etched within a diamond shape.

Many of the faithful held the symbol of the Great Church. Obec’s own was made of silver and bronze. Friar Gon’s, however, glinted with gold. The man’s own vanity and greed were out for all to see. He was emboldened in it. None could really doubt the importance of such an item as it was the vestment of the Great Church itself. Few would even question it. Obec saw the gold symbol for what it was; an angry cry against his faith. The friar showed too much pride in displaying such a thing.

“Friar Gon,” Obec called to him, “please.” Obec motioned for the man to join him at his desk.

“Will miracles never cease!” Friar Gon let out the exclamation through his fat cheeks and over lips that seemed to be in a perpetual pout. Obec could swear that they were painted. “I did not hear you come in.” Friar Gon gave a truly repugnant smile. Obec accepted the lie. “Terrible things here,” he shook his head. “Terrible things.”

“Indeed.” Obec waited for the man to saunter into the office, his gait shook his robes causing the gold icon hanging from his waist to bounce profusely. The chair opposite Obec’s desk groaned in complaint as the friar sat with some difficulty. “Maintaining the security of the realm is a daunting task.” Obec eyed the friar.

“We’re all blessed that you choose to conduct your business here.” Gon smiled his repulsive smile again. Obec forced himself to remain stoic and blank. “Few would have the tenacity that you do.”

“Faith.” Obec corrected him. Friar Gon blinked twice quickly. It took the friar a fraction of a second to understand what Obec had just said. His addled brain was obviously still overwhelmed with how he was going to get out Midway Tower without staining his crisp vestments with the soot and dust that was sifting through the air.

“Yes, the faith that you have is a testament to the Great Church and the Realm.” Friar Gon quickly backpedaled quickly averting his pig-like eyes from Obec. “As I said, we are all truly blessed.”

“Blessings aside, Friar,” Obec stared at the large man, “You’ve come at a most inopportune time.” Frair Gon looked up to Obec. Something in the friar’s eyes told Obec that the plump man sitting across from him knew the timing of his visit. It was a game for Friar Gon. Obec detested him for that.

“I’ve got news of great importance that could not be relayed in other means.” The look on Friar Gon’s face was all too knowing, all too conceited. He was a cat with a mouse under one paw and a bowl of milk in front of him. Obec waited for the man to continue. “The stores that I had acquired for you are gone.”

It is not what Obec had expected the fat man to say. A wave of shock and fury passed through the prefect that tapped his blood fire. Obec could feel his anger building. He had left an important procurement of food in the hands of a self-centered imbecile who did not have the best interests of the Citadel in his mind. For him, it was all about the trade. The two sat there for a moment as Obec fought to control the urge to blast the friar with his divine power.

“What do you mean, gone?” Obec finally said. Friar Gon’s expression changed. The condescending looks had evaporated.
“Four days ago there was a break in.” the friar started. “I don’t know how the outlaw got by the Bondsmen. A fire had broken out and swept through the district.” Friar Gon was now wringing his sausage-like fingers together. “The entire shipment was lost.”

“Four days?” The shipment of food and supplies was due to arrive at Sturnspoint Tower tomorrow. “Why wasn’t a Speaker sent?” Obec was glaring at the friar. “Don’t you think that this information was important enough to send one?”

“I thought that this matter was too important to leave to the Speakers.” Friar Gon said, still playing with his hands. “Especially under these circumstances.”

“You thought?” Obec was beginning to let his anger show on his face. He could feel the blood fire flowing and flushing through his cheeks. “You thought that the destruction of the supplies that would save the people of this prefecture was too important to send a Speaker to tell me? What do you think is more important, the destruction of supplies that I had to negotiate from Kitless Ran herself, or the fact that these supplies were to feed tens of thousands who are now living all along the Seven Tower Wall?” Obec stared hard at the friar sitting opposite of him.

“Prefect, I…” Friar Gon stammered.

“Save it. The damage is done.” Obec fumed. “And your incompetence and peculiar predilection for ‘thinking’ has struck hard at our prefecture.” Obec stood and leaned over his desk. The prefect towered over the mass that was Friar Gon, even behind the piles of paperwork.

“You thought?” Obec fought hard to control the blood fire that was simmering in his veins. “Did you stop to think what your ‘thinking’ has done?” Obec snarled at the fat man.

“Prefect,” Friar Gon pleaded. “I thought to maintain the sanctity of the Citadel and its relationship with the Bond Trading House.” He was cowering now seated in the chair opposite Obec. “If the Speakers knew what was going on, it may lead to others knowing. This had to be handled with discretion”

Obec thought about the last statement coming from the gilded Friar. It was possible that the truth had finally come out of his overfed mouth. The Raven Trading House had a strong relationship with the Speakers, even after the Schism that Mother Superior placed on the trading house and the Speaker’s Guild. Once they were under the same roof and under the same rule, the Mother Superior thought that was unwise and separated the two factions early in her reign.

Obec paced behind his desk occasionally glaring at Friar Gon. He imagined himself as a tiger with a big, fat, juicy piece of flesh in front of him. He could almost taste the flabby Friar’s flesh. Sinew and bone would strip easily from the jellied and underused muscles lining the man’s frame. Still, it was not all a loss. Perhaps Obec could turn this disaster into a blessing at the Ecclesiastic Council in order to leverage some reinforcements on the Seven Tower Wall. Perhaps Friar Gon was right to wait for a face to face meeting. Lords and Ladies of Heaven, thy Will be done. It still irked Obec to no end.

“Four days,” Obec repeated. “Why did it take four days to let me know about the goods?”

“By the time the tallies had been done, crucial time had passed.” Friar Gon tried to back further into the chair. “Couriers were not an option, especially in Landsend.” Obec stared at him for a bit before he answered.

“Yours is to report to me, not to think. Prefect Ran stated as such and I expect you to obey the leader of your Trading House.” Obec tried to catch fat man’s eyes. “With a matter of this importance, you should have left Landsend the instant that you had heard about the fires.” The glare Obec was sending out was sizzling. Friar Gon winced once the two locked eyes. “You have failed me Gon,” Obec could feel the blood fire trying to escape. “Not only me but the entire prefect. Did you happen to see the multitudes of people gathered around doing absolutely nothing! Did you happen to see my House Guard on patrol with the Knight Protectors? Or did your incompetence miss that too?

“You would be wise to not think of only yourself and open your eyes for once. Landsend has made you soft in mind as well as in body.” Friar Gon tried to shrink himself down to as little as he could. Obec just glared at him. “You are weak willed and serve little purpose managing this relationship between our Houses in Landsend. A stint here at the wall will do nicely to remind you of your duties not only to your prefecture but to the Great Church as well. I will send a Speaker to Kitless Ran and have the paperwork sent post haste.”

Frair Gon’s eyes grew wide. Obec was relieved that the Lords and Ladies of Heaven guided his words. It was something that Friar Gon had not anticipated. The friar had never served along the wall during any part of his service to the Great Church. Obec had looked that little fact up in his records. It was high time that the man put in a tour along the border of the Realm to actually see what Citadel men were made of.

“Prefect, I...”

“Save it. Make your way to Captain Tical.” Obec instructed him, “He’ll find a place for you.”

“There is another matter, Prefect.” Friar Gon looked beaten. Obec considered the man for a brief moment. The friar had friends in Landsend, too many friends. His was a network akin to the outlaws that ran in the shadows between the streets and underfoot in any city.

“Speak.”

“There may be a way to increase your armaments possibly without increasing your troop size.” Obec looked at Friar Gon through half-lidded eyes. To play with a snake is to get bit, as his mother had always told him. Friar Gon was a big fat snake who was more comfortable in the shadows of Landsend. Obec nodded for him to continue.

“Let me ask you a question Prefect, how far are you willing to go to protect your people and the Great Church?” Obec’s eyes flared.

“How dare you question my integrity or piety.” Obec pointed his finger at Friar Gon willing the blood fire within him to form just on the tip of his finger. “For that you should die here and now. By the Laws of the Great Church, you are forfeit.”

“Prefect,” Friar Gon was waving his hands in front of his drooping cheeks as if that could save him from the blood fire blast. The sleeves of his robes looked like wings of purple and white. He was a silken rotund butterfly from the waist up. “This is not what it seems. It is a question not of integrity or piety, but instead of your own perseverance.”

“You have only seconds to explain.”

“It had better be good Gon or tonight will be your end.” Obec had enough of the fat friar’s sniveling. He was hiding behind his position in the Great Church for too long. His information network grew along with his power base. Obec let the blood fire simmer.

“How is it, do you think, that the Bond Trading House is always at your best side?” Friar Gon blubbered the question. “How is it that they survive when your forces are dwindling?”

“Out with it, Gon. My patience are waning quickly. Few would miss your petulance in Landsend. And according to the doctrine of the Great Church, your life is mine to do with as I please.” Obec leaned over his desk and lifted Friar Gon’s wobbly chin and locked eyes with him, “Do not forget that fact.”

“I won’t Prefect. My life is yours.” the friar had tears rolling down his face. “They are studying the Mahallo, the dark arts.”

“He would never...” Obec started.

“A woman, a young woman, trying to prove her worth, trying to keep her position?” Friar Gon asked, “It would be a quick path to power. How do you think she got the SkyKnights together so quickly?” Obec considered the last statement. Kitless Ran, the Prefect of the Bond Trading House did have formidable power from the air with her SkyKnights. According to rumor, they had come out of her divisions of Knight Protectors.

“You had best not be lying to save your sorry skin.” Obec commanded the quivering lump of flesh seated across from his desk. “If I get an inkling of your treachery,” Obec paused, “I will personally end you.”

“I swear by Natish that it is the truth. My sources have seen their rites and black masses. The Bondsmen are using the Mahallo.” Friar Gon’s eyes widened. Obec could see the fear in him. What the fear was didn’t matter. It was the fear that brought out the truth. Obec quickly thought about all he had heard about the Mahallo Rites. The rituals used blood as the base of their power instead of the life giving divine power of the Great Church.

“Tell me what you know, leave nothing out.”

Chapter Four: A Doll and A Blessing

2009-02-24T22:27:00.001-08:00

Obec Long mentally sifted through his itinerary. Chandra had set up a meeting between him and Friar Cusslet Gon who managed the Citadel’s interest in Landsend, deep in the Bond Trading House prefecture. There was apparently an important matter that needed Obec’s authority that the rotund friar needed validation with. Obec didn’t want to see the man. Flax’s trail was forthcoming and Obec wanted to be focused.

The Justices had Flax locked down within the confines of Midway Tower, one of the seven towers attached to the wall that ran the length of the border between the Realm of the Great Church and the Contested Lands from the Cold Sea to the Stone Ridge Mountains. Obec knew that there wasn’t much ground for Flax’s defense and he had to try to come up with a suitable punishment that wouldn’t put an end to the young man’s life. As the Prefect of Citadel Trading House, Obec did have the power to veto the Justices, but it would only cause more infighting among them.

There had to be a fine line drawn between what he wanted and what the prefecture needed. Strong authority and solidarity was the only way that Citadel would survive both the raids and the Ecclesiastic Council meeting. The strength of the land would provide the backbone he needed. It was too bad that the land was getting more and more despoiled as the barbarian horde crept closer to the Seven Tower Wall.

“Tranna preserve us.” Obec sighed. Of all the Gods of the pantheon, Tranna was most revered to the Citadel Trading House. It was Her strength in the land and stone that made the Citadel powerful. It was the strength that she put into the land that flowed into the Citadel. The prefecture really existed only on Her behalf and indulgence. Obec truly believed in the power of the land. It was persistent and eternal. It was the basis of life and when you died, you were returned to Tranna’s Grace.

Life and death were cyclic in nature. Just like the growing seasons. For as long as Obec could remember these were the philosophies that were rampant through the Citadel Trading House. Reap and sow. Growing and the harvesting. Citadel was in tune with the land and in so with Tranna the Revered, the Sacred Autumn Madam, the Source. Faith kept the trading house strong. Faith in Tranna, and in her benevolence and wisdom. Obec was finding it more and more difficult to rely upon his faith.

According to the reports that came back from the farms and plantations bordering the Contested Lands, the land was somehow different. The very earth was not responding to the friars. It was as if it were just barren. It was as if Tranna had let the land go. Obec wasn’t sure what means the barbarians tainted the land, but it was evident that the fields were going to go fallow. It would take a long time to heal the land that the Hordes had ruined. Time and prayer, the things that Obec was finding hard find and to put faith in.

It wasn’t only the ruining of the land that was getting to Obec, it was also the trail with Flax Molt. Chandra’s brother was taking the incarceration as well as anyone would. He was depressed and feeling alone. The clergy were praying with him on a daily basis. The priests of the Great Church were compassionate and willing to listen. The death of the conscript Kyl Den had in fact been not so much accidental but circumstantial. The soldiers of the Old Guard had too much to drink and Kyl Den was the perfect loud mouthed youth to spark their fire.

Kneeling in the quiet of the prayer hall didn’t help Obec sift through the maddening dilemmas. Before him was the altar of Tranna, set out in silver vestments adorned with the peaks of the Stone Ridge Mountains. Obec chose this shrine to Tranna to try to clear his mind. There was often too much bustling in the larger hall enshrined to the Great Church. He needed some quiet time to himself away from his office and the mounds of responsibilities that waited for him there.

Obec tried to drown out the world around him and whispered, “I offer you, My Sacred Autumn Madam, my thoughts: to be fixed on you; my words: to have you for their theme; my actions: to reflect my love for you; my sufferings: to be endured for your greater glory and that of the Realm.”

“Nature alone will suffice.”

“I want to do what you ask of me: in the way you ask, for as long as you ask, because you ask it. I pray, Lady Tranna that you enlighten my mind, inflame my will, purify my heart, and sanctify my soul as you would the earth.”

“Nature alone will suffice.”

He repeated the words of the prayer countless times until the shifting lights of the stained glass windows moved along the floor. They danced along the pews filling the shrine with gay hues of reds and purples. Obec found wonder in the lights, but it did not ease his mind or his soul. It was just not enough today, as it was for most days lately, to lighten the burden.

Obec came out of his trance and prayer with a start from the hand placed on his shoulder. The prefect had no fear as to who might come upon him from behind in his own prefecture, but it was still shocking to him that he didn’t even hear the footfalls of Chandra behind him. He could smell her though. It was always the same scent of lilac and cherry blossoms. She was intoxicating.

“Prefect,” she spoke softly. It was the perfect accompaniment to the scent wafting from her. The two senses melded into a perfect image in his mind. “Friar Cusslet Gon is waiting for you in your office.”

Obec really didn’t want to hear the news that Friar Gon had to offer. He usually didn’t appear out of his cloister without bad news. The last time he came there was a discrepancy in the ledgers at the Church of St. Aparicio of Haraan, where Friar Gon held his office. Obec was not in the mood for more bad news. An accounting of the ledgers was not what he had in mind today.

It was no big secret within the Great Church that there was some skimming off of the top. Repairs had to be done to the offices and structures from time to time. Food and clothing had to be purchased for the clergy. Maintenance did have costs, and sometimes what was best to do was dip into the local coffers and get the dulats needed instead of waiting for the annual accounting at the Great Tithe. It was always better to beg for forgiveness rather than to ask for permission.

Obec rose from the pew and stared at the stained glass windows for a brief moment. He whispered a silent prayer to Tranna once more and then turned to Chandra. Her public face was on today. Every line was in place, there was no hint of her worry about her brother’s trail and possible death. She was the epitome of business and faith.

Her stoicism was complete until he looked into her eyes. Obec knew that she had been in prayer all hours of the day. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed. There was a tired glaze on them. She could, of course, use the countless hours of prayer to write off the fatigue set in her eyes should anyone ask. Obec knew that on top of the hours she spent at the small church in Midway Tower, Chandra threw herself into the business of running the prefecture to avoid her feelings. Obec laid his hands on her shoulders and smiled breathing in her enthralling aroma.

Chandra looked into his eyes and smiled back. Tentatively, she put her own hands on top of Obec’s. They were soft and warm in the perpetual chill of the tower. Her nails were cut short and there were calluses starting to form on her fingertips from shuffling the huge load of paperwork that they both had to scrutinize.

“Let’s go see what Gon has for us.” Obec drew in his face close to hers, whispering. There was a moment where time seemed to stand still between them. He felt a slight tremor in her hands as they rested on top of his. Her breath was warm. She pulled his hands off of her shoulders and held them for an instant too long. Obec knew that she wanted to say something. He thought she would let her emotional armor down and let out the words that were festering within her, but she didn’t.

“He’s been in your office for nearly an hour.” Chandra stated in her business tone and turned from Obec, letting his hand fall to his sides. “He’s assured me that the ledgers are accurate. He won’t tell me anything else.”

Obec sighed softly and followed Chandra out of the shrine. The last time he was graced with the rotund friar’s presence was prior to the Ecclesiastic Council a year ago. He was full of nervous twitches and remorse for his sin of greed. Obec wondered which sin he was going to weep about today. Friar Gon was a man who was weak of character. He often blamed circumstances that were apparently beyond his control to justify his lack of moral standing.

Drawing his robes tighter, Obec sauntered through the breezy hallways and corridors of the tower and headed towards his office. Chandra slowed and walked next to him. The grim faces he passed along the way looked to him with a certain sadness that was easy to place. They were worried about the protection of themselves or their loved ones and how he, Obec Long, Prefect of the Citadel Trading House, was going to rectify the dire situation.

It was for this purpose alone that Obec had to walk with confidence. Without leadership, the people of his prefecture would fall into chaos. Hope and the law was all they had to guide them through this darkness that was rushing at the gates of the realm. He had already instituted rationing of supplies. Food supplies were in high demand as well as sheltering needs. He had already commanded through the assize of bread and ale to lower the prices for all services rendered by the local business to accommodate the ever increasing populace. Price gouging wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Obec looked each of them in the eye with confidence. His public mask had to be in place for them. They couldn’t know of his fears and doubts. In turn, each man and woman that returned his gaze seemed a little lighter in spirit. It was the children he had difficulty with. They didn’t know exactly what was going on for the most part. Children are resilient like that, they endure.

He couldn’t get by their unabashed innocence. In these trying times, space was made for families within the tower as well as the fortified bunkers within the Seven Tower Wall. Makeshift shelters were made of wood and sailcloth of recycled crates and canvas. The corridors were filled with shanties creating a hidden city within Midway Tower. The non-secular areas were off limits though. Obec drew the line at that.

It was a good thing that the Mother Superior and her entourage did not make their way to the Citadel’s prefecture, Obec thought as he approached a family sheltered in a makeshift hut that resembled a cooper’s nightmare. Oil barrels had been split to build an ugly framework that supported canvas. There was a little girl happily playing with a beaten and battered rag doll. She giggled incessantly at the toy. Her mother was busy within the crude tent-like structure grinding her family’s ration of corn.

Obec stopped and knelt down facing the girl. Her head was covered with a knitted cap of green and gold. Her brown hair was coming out in random shocks. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill draft that was always rushing through the tower. Her mother looked up from her task, locked eyes with Obec and averted her eyes. He saw shame in her face.

“Don’t look away,” Obec said in a calming voice. “This is not your dishonor, but mine instead.”

“Naw sir,” she mumbled, still unable to look at Obec’s face. “Not yers, Prefect.” His title whisked out of her mouth as if she had forgotten the some of the vowels, ‘pryfct.’ “Yer only tryin to do what’s right for all us. It’s justa shame t’have sommon as honorific as you to see us in this,” she finally raised her head, “this hovel.” Obec could see tears in her eyes. “We serve the Great Church as best we can. We make the tithe. We attend the meetins. We are just bad.” She bowed her head again touching her chin to her chest. The girl babbled in some foreign tongue, blissfully ignorant.

Obec placed a hand on the girls head. She looked up to him and smiled. The brightness in her eyes was marred somehow. Days living within the tower could do that to anyone. He had seen himself looking the same way after weeks of office work when he was forced to cloister himself in his paneled office.

The child reached up with one miniscule hand and grabbed Obec’s thumb. Her energy was infectious. Obec couldn’t help but smile at her. The little girl had a radiance that rivaled many of the faithful that he had seen during his life with the Great Church. Love was such a simple thing to share as a child. It was the growing up and living life that seemed to crush the impulse to express it.

“You have a beautiful child,” Obec felt relief from the strains of his office for the first time since the raids had started. “What’s her name?” Obec looked past the gurgling child to her mother.

“Sefilia,” she muttered, her cheeks shining in the tepid light coming through the fortified arrow slits within the tower. “After the Mother Superior herself.” A smile crossed the woman’s face. There was a certain amount of pride left in her. Her faith was what kept her. With a thought, the smile faded instantly off her face, “I wouldn’t think to blaspheme the good Mother’s name by usin it directly.” She added, “but she’s such a good and strong one, Mother Superior is. Me an Shipa thought our baby girl could use it.” The light returned to her eyes as she looked at Sefilia holding Obec’s hand.

Obec felt a pang of guilt. Here he was serving the Great Church as prefect of the Citadel Trading House and questioning the rulings coming from the Great Matriarch herself when this mother was using that faith to strengthen her family. It was nearly all she had left.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful child.” Obec looked down on Sefilia again. “It will give her strength and through her, you will be strong too.” Sefilia pulled on Obec’s hand, demanding his attention. Obec let the child take his hand. Sefilia murmured happily sitting on the stone floor on top of a quilted blanket. She looked up to Obec again and smiled the smile of a thousand endless joys. All possibilities and power crossed her face. Obec reveled in her kind extroverted nature.

Obec glanced up at Chandra who was patiently waiting for him. There was easiness in her face. It wasn’t the hard stoic mask that she had in the Shrine to Tranna. It suited her. He looked back to Sefilia who was happily murmuring something unintelligible. Glancing at her mother, Obec saw the pride in her face.

“What’s your name, daughter?” Obec asked.

“Mayhew, sir.” She busied herself in trying to brush of the cornmeal from the skirt of her dress. “My husband, Shipa, is out tryin to find work.” Mayhew sheepishly added, almost as an afterthought. “Awful hard to come by these days.” Obec winced inside.

“Times are troubled now,” Obec let a sigh come through his nose and tried not to frown. “We have to rely on faith. Mother Superior will guide us through this terrible time.” He locked eyes with Mayhew and saw that she believed him. He hoped that his own trials would lead him back to that path of utter righteousness and piety. She, like her daughter was blissfully ignorant.

“Where are you from, daughter Mayhew?” Obec asked after a time. By the look of them they were alien to life in the city. He suspected that they were farmers. They were obviously evacuated as the plantations and free farms turned into battle fields.

“The Hamlet of Rorn, sir.” Mayhew had trouble looking into Obec’s eyes. They were simple people with a great amount of respect for the Great Church. She kept wringing her hands. “A day’s ride south.” Obec knew the place; he’d inspected it last year. It was a community of free men who had collectively bought a share of one of the Citadel’s plantations. According to the trend, they would have been in the red within three years if they were allowed to continue their trade.

“It’s a happy place, Rorn,” Obec smiled at Mayhew. “I remember the slow hills and the countryside.” That brought Mayhew’s head up. A slight smile crossed her face in Obec’s recognition.

“We tried to make it so.” She almost giggled.

“What other skills does your husband have?” Obec asked, “Can he read and write?” Many of the free men who weren’t involved in the Great Church didn’t make the time to learn literacy. Granted, the Great Church didn’t make the time to make literacy available to everyone either. It was a terrible thing that the Great Church held over their heads. Literacy was something that was held for those who were either born into a higher class or enlisted in the service of the Great Church.

“Nawsir,” Mayhew shook her head, “But Shipa is good with ciphering. His tallies were what got reported.” She was proud of that fact. It beamed on her face. “I suppose he can read a little.” She shrugged, not exactly knowing if he could or not. “He also dabbles in tinkering and candle making. But it’s nothin to the craftsmen here in Midway. With the seasons the way they are, he doesn have the time to really put effort into it.”

Obec nodded at Mayhew, letting her speak. Sifilia demanded his attention by squeezing hard on Obec’s thumb still firmly in her grasp. The child drew his hand close to her and shoved the rag doll into it. Obec tried to hide his surprise as he looked down on Sifilia and then to her mother.

“She wants you to have it.” Mayhew explained. “She does that a lot with her toys. I think nearly everyone in Rorn has something of hers.” Mayhew smiled down at her little girl and stroked her capped head. “She’s just as giving as Mother Superior.”

Obec took the doll and looked at it. It still had both eyes, brown buttons really and its hair was a tangled mass of red yarn giving the doll the appearance of an exploding pin cushion. The paisley dress was muted and well used. Stains faded the green and white patterns. It wasn’t like the clay faced dolls that he had seen in some of more artistic shops in Phenso where Mother Superior’s master craftsmen had set up. This doll represented a labor of love. It was stitched and restitched in several places where something had broken the small tight seams holding the wadding in place.

“Gowan, sir,” Mayhew urged Obec, “She does this all the time. I’ll make her another.” Obec looked from the doll up to Mayhew, seeing the proud smile on her face. He couldn’t refuse.

“Thank you, little one.” Obec murmured to Sefilia and kissed her on the top of the head. Sefilia looked up and gurgled in a happy tone. Her rosy cheeks and smile seemed to brighten up the hovel in which they were living.

Obec reached into his robes and pulled out a small leather sack from within. Undoing the leather strap that kept the opening pulled tight, Obec reached in and pulled out what coins he had. There were only two dulats that make a heavy clink when they brushed up against each other. Obec felt instantly guilty that he only had the two.

“Take this, daughter,” Obec took the coins and placed them in Mayhew’s hands. “This is only a token of what you’ve earned today.” Mayehew’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the gold.

“Nawsir,” She immediately bowed her head again, “I can’t take this from you. Sefilia’s offerin up a gift to you. She likes you. It’s not right.”

“And this is what I can do for you now.” Obec rebutted. “You have given me great council today,” Mayhew’s eyes looked up, her chin still trying to merge with her chest. “Please, take them.” Mayhew nodded at his request.

Obec looked again at the frayed rag doll and placed his hand on Sefilia’s capped head. Slowly he tapped into his own divine power and let the blood fire begin to simmer. Obec looked down on Sifilia and felt his hand grow warm on her head. He began to recite in even tones.

“Heavenly Fathers and Mothers, lovers of all, we praise you for giving us your wisdom through your Great Church.” Obec could feel the power flowing through him into Sifilia, “You have blessed the children, who came before and welcome those who come to you now. Look with love upon Sifilia and protect her with your love and grace.” Sifilia looked up at Obec with awe. Her brow furrowed at his words. Obec knew that it didn’t matter if she understood.

“May she grow in wisdom and age and strength in your presence and in the sight of all. We ask this blessing, Lords and Ladies of Heaven, through your beloved Mother Superior and her teachings and through your divine right given to your Great Church.”

“Amen,” multiple voices whispered along with Obec at the end of the blessing. A small crowd of other refugees had gathered around Sefilia and Obec. All heads were bowed in reverence. Chandra had her hands clasped together in front of her. Slowly Obec stood and looked at the makeshift shelter. Looking up and down the hallway he saw others just like them. His blood fire was still piercing him with pinpricks of the divine power.

Obec looked at the faces of the gathering and saw their strength and belief. These ‘uneducated’ by the standards of the Great Church were his fellowship, his task to protect and nurture. This was why he was called to defend the Seven Tower Wall. Slowly he stood and touched each forehead, sharing his cooling blood fire with each one of them.

With murmurs of “Thank you, Father,” Obec hurried down the hallway. Chandra was close behind him. The title didn’t bother Obec, he had started in the clergy before the calling led him to rule over the prefecture. He saw them as his congregation. Obec still gripped the tattered rag doll in his hand as he moved his mind towards the meeting with Friar Gon.

“Chandra,” Obec started thoughtfully, “start moving the soldiers out of the barracks. These people need proper shelter. We can’t have them camping throughout the halls.”

“Right away,” he could hear the softness in her voice. Obec gave her a sidelong glance and saw the smile on her face. “That was a kind thing you did back there.” Obec tried to ignore the comment.

“I’m doing what I can to secure the future for us and the realm.” Obec stated flatly. “Without them, there is no realm to protect.” He instructed her. “And find that Shipa, I’m sure that our chandler needs some help.” Again, that almost imperceptible feeling hit him. Obec looked again at Chandra and found the same smile plastered on her face.

Chapter Three: A Night in Landsend

2009-02-24T21:22:00.000-08:00

Cold wind blew into the port city of Landsend bringing a low fog into the warehouse district. Shai Dagg couldn’t have asked for better weather if he had arranged it with the Weather Monks of Sturnspoint. The bank of fog gave an eerie feeling to the alleyways and side streets. The slowly moving grey haze took the city like a silent predator. It crawled along the cobblestones of the streets and the bricks of the walls of the warehouses with an almost deadly presence.

Shai hunkered down and pulled his leather long coat tighter around him to stave off the numbing cold. The fog had already taken the dark corner that he had taken some time ago. It’s mass muffled the sounds of the buoy set off in the bay giving the bell tones a distant pitch, as if something out of a dream. Every now and again Shai could hear the sounds of the Knights of the Bond Trading House making their rounds. The boot steps were also making those euphoric sounds that weren’t quite like reality.

He wasn’t alone in the alleyway in the complex of Bond warehouses. Ten minutes ago he could see the darkened silhouettes of his partners. The thick fog had totally obscured them. Chloe Moden, his partner in crime and in life, was no more than ten feet away from him. Well, she had been before the marine layer invaded the city. He didn’t worry about her sitting there alone in the fog; Shai knew that she could take care of herself. She had done so on more than one occasion.

Shai smiled to himself in the darkness. He knew Chloe hated the wet dankness of the docks and warehouse district. She had told him more than once that the humidity did nasty things to her hair and that she didn’t appreciate the fact that the job took them that close to the water. The memory of her reaction to the job drifted into his mind.

“But Chloe,” Shai said sheepishly pulling up the bedclothes in the overstuffed bed to cover himself in mock innocence. “What else are we going to do?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. The candle light glazed her naked skin in the darkness of the bedchamber. Auburn curls slid down her back as she moved her head. The expression was hidden from Shai, but he could tell that she was glaring at him.

“This, coming from you,” she slapped at him as he hid under the covers. “What else are we going to do?” Chloe mocked him. “What about our plans to retire? What about settling down and actually working the bakery instead of using as a front? I’m tired Shai. I’m tired of the entire ‘blade and shadow’ work. I’m tired of looking out for the Knights Protector and the Justices.”

He watched the sigh move through her body. It started in her chest, he watched the breath expand and push her shoulders up moving her breasts into the light. Shai knew each curve and watched her body move as the expression of her disappointment shifted through her muscles. Shai placed a hand on the small of her back and felt her warmth.

“Mostly,” Chloe continued, wrestling the warm blankets from Shai, “I’m tired of dealing with what the air in Landsend does to my hair. Have you ever tried to deal with something like that?”

“On a daily basis, love.” Shai ran his fingers over the soft skin of her stomach feeling the muscles underneath. He loved the touch of her skin. Chloe wriggled under the covers trying to block his hands and the coming tickling. She grabbed her feather pillow and threw it at Shai’s head.

“Seriously, Shai.” Chloe shifted in bed holding her head up with one hand as she leaned on her elbow for support. “The profit is good now, but there is going to come a time where the business is going to become a lot more dangerous. The raids are only making things worse.”

Shai knew that she was right. The Mother Superior and her trading houses had problems all right and if they didn’t get themselves out of the Realm of the Great Church, Chloe, Brimmer and he were going to feel the pain that everyone else was already feeling. If he didn’t pay off the mark on his head, he wouldn’t have to worry about living in the realm. The only thing he would have to worry about is his final arrangements.

“A few more jobs and I can pay off Martal,” put his hand on her hip feeling her warmth under the bedclothes. Contact with Chloe always made Shai feel better. “Then we can do whatever you want to do.” Shai looked straight into her eyes. “You know that I’m only doing the jobs so that all of us can get out from under anyone’s thumb, right?” She nodded.

“I just wish it were over.”

“It will be, love.” At least Shai hoped it would be over. Martal Fen was not one for forgiveness or letting go of things. He was one of the shrewdest businessmen outside of the Great Church with almost as many resources as a trading house. His fat fingers were into many pies. Burglary, piracy, prostitution, extortion and a few legal acts were not uncommon activities to be associated with his shadowy character. Martel’s latest foray was into smuggling, which is where Shai had fit in and through his proximity, Chloe and her brother Brimmer were also involved.

“When?” she asked, “When will it be done?” Shai didn’t have an answer for her. He looked down at the covers and then back up to her face.

“A few more jobs.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. Another heavy sigh ran through Chloe. “I’m doing what I can.” The jobs that came down from Martal were easy enough. Go to this location, grab stuff and bring it back. “This one is for us though.”

“I know,” Chloe said as she began to pick at the covers in anxiety. “I just hate the sea air.” She looked up at Shai and smiled, moving her hand to gently rub Shai’s chest. The two locked eyes and Shai could feel her hand making wider circles moving down towards his belly and still lower.

“You, love,” Shai pulled her close, “are a little monster.”

“But isn’t that why you love me?” she asked coyly and kissed him before he could answer.

The faint rattle of a lock brought him back from the warm memory and into the cold fog of Landsend. The Knight Protectors were checking the warehouse. He could see the soft circles of lantern light bobbing up and down as the guards walked their patrols trying to cut the thick fog. There was no chance of that tonight.

Shai looked in the other direction away from where Chloe was hiding and tried to find the spot where Brimmer had hidden himself in the bank of fog. He was a troll of a man with hands that looked like they could bend iron. It was part of his charm though. Brimmer was, in fact, terribly strong, but he knew that there was a time and a place to use it. Shai also knew that Brimmer’s feelings tended to rule his mind rather than logical thought. Brimmer Moden was a man who wasn’t afraid to cry, but was quick to anger if he were teased about it. There were more than a few people with permanent injuries in Midway who had learned that lesson the hard way.

Shai waited for the Bondsman to move past his position before he crept out from his hiding place towards the wall of the warehouse. The blanket of fog covered his footsteps. Tentatively, he reached out with his hand and finally felt the cold stone of the wall. His light touch helped Shai navigate the grey damp darkness to get to the great lock that bound double doors of the workman’s entrance to the Bond warehouse. Licking his lips he let out the gentle warble of a Black-tailed Gull. After a moment, the large form of Brimmer had joined Shai at the door. Chloe was there soon after.

“Keep watch,” Shai instructed. He knew that they knew the drill, but it was always good to be professional on the job. Staying cool and collected meant that all of them would survive. Shai’s brief time in the seminary of the Raven Trading House had taught him enough of the skills to channel the divine magic, the blood fire, and bend it to his will. Whispering the chants he had learned long ago, he began to feel the chill vanish from his body as the blood fire started to burn in his veins.

Shai knew that he dare not open a portal into shadowspace to allow all of them access to the building. Many of the Knights Protector could sense the causal rip in reality between the natural existence of realmspace and the place in between all things. He wasn’t interested in setting off any sensory alarms within the Bondsmen and send them running to the door. This night was about stealth.

Ripping a hole in reality was against the natural flow of things. Shunting, as Shai called it, created a rent in realmspace and allowed people like himself to step into the place in between the air and solid things of the realm and come out just about anywhere they wished. The only problem with shunting through the shadowspace was that it not only lit Shai up like a beacon to any truly faithful Knight Protector (or anyone else in tune with the natural flow of things) but it was freezing cold and disorienting.

Few could deal with the extreme cold or the lack of a natural horizon. He’d shunted with Chloe before, but Shai knew that Brimmer would not deal well with the space in between reality. Not only was it bad for business to have your heavy hitter disoriented and sick to his stomach, but also Shai did care for the big man. For all intense and purposes, Brimmer was his brother. You just don’t do things like that to your family. It was for this reason that Brimmer, Chloe and he rode all the way from Midway to Landsend with a load of baked goods. It was a good cover for the job and they needed the gold anyway.

Reaching out with his senses, Shai attuned himself with his surroundings and let the blood fire simmer in his veins. Locks and doors were not the only tools available to the Trading Houses of Mother Superior. Oftentimes clergy who were taught to utilize their blood fire to place wards of protection in necessary areas using their own divine power to augment the normal means of security.

Shai let the blood fire guide his sight to the double doors. He could see the Divine Mark on the iron bound doors through his blood fire. Mentally, he reached out, letting the blood fire guide his senses. His recognition of the rune was almost immediate when his mind touched the normally invisible etching. Through the blood fire it blazed in shining blue light, cutting deeply through the thick fog. It had the power of elemental air. Shai smiled as he whispered the chant to erase the Divine Mark from the threshold of the door. Within a few seconds, the brightly lit rune seen through Shai’s blood fire had faded from the iron bound door.

Wiping the sweat off of his brow, Shai nodded to Chloe. She moved in and slipped her hands into the pockets of her own long coat and pulled out two thin rods and quickly inserted them into the lock that bound the thick links of a chain through the door handles. With the tensor bar in one hand and the lock pick in the other, Chloe set to work the tumblers of the lock. Shai turned his head to keep watch. Brimmer was doing the same as Chloe applied her special touch to the mechanical device.

The few seconds it took to open the lock seemed to take forever. The encapsulating fog seemed to slow time to an excruciating standstill. Shai kept his eyes to the thick mist looking for any lights. Brimmer was hunkered down as best he could doing the same. The faint scraping of the lock picks against the mechanics inside the lock was all that he heard.

After a time, Shai had lost count of the seconds, Chloe whispered, “Got it.” Shai turned to see her carefully opening the lock and moving the thick links of iron chain, trying desperately not to let the chain rattle. Shai moved closer to her and slowly began unthreading the chain around the double doors moving them one link at a time to keep them as silent as possible and handing them to Brimmer.

It was a slow process moving the links of the heavy chain through the door handles. The three of them sat in front of the employee entrance of the warehouse handling the chain. Soon, it was laid out on the alleyway looking like the lifeless skeleton of some great iron snake.

Chloe was the first one into the warehouse. Shai and Brimmer scanned the fog for lamplights that would signal a guard coming. The big man was next in leaving Shai to ward the door against intrusion from the Bondsmen. He was already forming the image in his head.

It was a simple enough ritual. Most of its power came from those who gazed upon the door. They would see what they wanted to see. Shai smiled, who really wanted to see the door unchained? Who would really want to inspect a lonely warehouse along the coast full of darkness and intrigue? Few of the Bondsmen would really want to go into a scenario like that. Shai had bet on that fact in the past and won.

Silently, he worked through the chanting and the fluctuation of his words. He prayed to the Monard, as he rolled the ritual in his mind. Monard the God of travelers, Master of the Roads, The Merry Maker and the Many Faced Rebellious One. He was the trickster of the Great Church and often found joy in outfoxing his brothers and sisters the Lords and Ladies of Heaven. Shai hoped that Monard would grant his prayers tonight.

Shai could feel the blood fire moving within him. A hot burning sensation filled his body as he recited the words he had been practicing in his head. He could feel the divine power moving in waves shifting from him to create the appearance of the chained doors. Off in the distance he became aware of dogs barking. A tinkling of bells came from further down the alleyway.

Forcing the intruding sounds out of his mind, Shai shaped his will into the illusion. It started slowly, the appearance of his own forged ward upon the doors. Ephemeral chain links manifested between the door handles. A great lock melted into existence, shining brightly as his blood fire burned. As the illusion solidified, Shai let the power ebb from him. Sweat was again forming on his brow. His ears pounded as the last echoes of his chant were loosed upon the air. The chill night air was a relief.

Slipping inside of the warehouse, Shai breathed a little easier. The muffled barking of the dogs was no longer an issue. The three were safely inside of the Bond Trading House storehouse. They were safe as long as the illusion held up. Shai looked up to the raftered ceiling and thanked Monard in advance, hoping to secure the illusion and the power he granted to wayward thieves and smugglers like himself, Brimmer and Chloe.

The warehouse interior was draped in shadows. The skylights in the ceiling were blocked from the moonlight from the marine layer that had assaulted the coastline. It was a shade of bright grey that let some of the muffled light through. The sharp contrasts of light and shadow highlighted the many wooden crates stacked within the Bondsmen warehouse. Somewhere within the bound wooden storage boxes was what they were after.

Shai signaled to Brimmer to cover the southern end of the darkened warehouse. There were none of the Bond Trading House soldiers evident within the place, however the interior of the warehouse smelled of left over dinner. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Chloe moved out to another part of the warehouse at Shai’s signal. Quick work needed to be done.

The boxes and palates of bags were stacked with amazing accuracy. They were packed so tightly that the entirety of the interior was like a hedge maze. The minute pathways took so many twists and turns that Shai found himself lost within the confines of the warehouse more than once. He didn’t know what system the Bondsman Quartermaster used, but it was alien to Shai.

The soft padding on his boots let Shai step around the dizzying crates, barrels and huge sackcloth bags with silence. Shai focused on the simmering embers of his blood fire and used it to enhance his senses. If he concentrated, he could sense more than hear Brimmer and Chloe maneuvering throughout the warehouse as well. The tinkling of bells drifted in from outside of the warehouse. The wind chimes affixed to the buildings outside made a harmonious sound.

Off in the distance in the bay of Landsend, he could hear the more bass sounding bell of the buoy that was anchored out in the lapping waters. His eyesight was red tinged, but could see through the shadows with ease. The chill air of the warehouse tickled the skin of his face and fingerless gloves. Shai let all the sensations in and kept his blood fire bubbling just below the surface.

The slight sound of a door opening snapped Shai’s attention from trying to decipher the detail of the various crates from the code inked upon them. Someone had pushed through his illusion and come into the warehouse. Like a cat, Shai swerved and ran through the tight corridors of the Bondsmen wares that were stacked in disarray like so many children’s toys.

Shai wasn’t sure that Brimmer or Chloe had heard the quiet hinges open and close. Moving through the corridors, Shai almost felt claustrophobic. The looming towers of boxes and bags looked as if they could fall at the slightest touch. The light from the skylights were becoming brighter as the moonlight was burning through the fog. Shai could hear the wind increasing. Soon their misty cover would be blown back to sea.

Finally, he approached the pathway that had let him to the employee entrance. Shai ducked down and hid behind a great wooden thing that may have been coded as over coats or cookware by the Bondsman Quartermaster, Shai couldn’t tell which. To be thrown by a simple codex was frustrating enough, but now to have to deal with an intruder to the operation was more than unnerving.

Tapping into the simmering blood fire, Shai silently whispered sending a warning to both Brimmer and Chloe to stay where they were. The man standing in front of the doors didn’t appear to be a Bondsman. A ragged cloth overcoat covered the figure. There was none of the typical clanking of a blade against armor. A soft groan came from the disheveled figure as he arched his back to stretch it. He held a staff in his right hand and unloaded his pack on the floor as he scanned the darkened warehouse.

From somewhere in his ratty coat an animal crawled out and perched itself on the man’s shoulder. It had a round face and bright yellowish eyes. A large tail helped it balance on the man’s shoulder as it crawled from one to the other.

“Get down!” the man shouted to his apparent pet. “Go find your place and let me alone for a bit.” The man chuckled to his furry companion. It dropped down to the floor and loped about the strange man on all fours, its tail straight up in the air. Shai could make out slight bands of color on the stiff tail of alternating black and white. All four paws were shaped like hands. The animal bobbed its head as it sniffed the air. “Go on,” the man nudged his pet with his foot.

With a great leap, it was climbing one of the great stack of crates that were everywhere in the warehouse. Shai watched the thing climb, it was absolutely dexterous. It screeched softly with excitement leaping from one stack to another. Shai hoped the precarious stacks of merchandise wouldn’t come crashing down to alert the Bondsmen outside. Soon the beast was out of sight as it found its way throughout the warehouse.

Shai focused again on the man who was scanning the darkness. For a moment, Shai thought that he was made. The man was looking at the space that Shai was crouching. The two stared, Shai looking at the man in the well worn clothes and he looking at the great crate that Shai was hiding behind. The man crouched and opened up his pack. There was a slight clatter as he dumped out his tin cup and plate from the pack.

With all the grace and speed he could muster, Shai moved out from behind the crate and ran towards him. He was a shadow crossing through the myriad of other shadows. Slipping his hand to the hidden sheath in his waistcoat, Shai pulled out on of his heavy fighting knives. The crystalline edge shone brightly when the light touched it.

There were a few ways he could take the man without killing him. The crime tonight did not include the wet work that the Knight Protectors were so famous for. Tonight’s crime was about stealth and getting what he needed to keep the bakery open for the rapidly growing populace of Midway. He wasn’t too concerned with the Knight Protectors and the Justices under the authority and auspices of the Citadel Trading House, trading houses tended to take care of their own. It was more about the freemen, serfs and the incoming refugees.

The man looked up, his eyes wide in shock, as Shai brought the flat of the blade down on his cloaked head. A resilient and muffled clang escaped as the blade met the skullcap the man was wearing. The man rolled on his back and kicked at Shai with soft leather boots. Gripping Shai’s arms, the man pulled the smuggler forward and planted a foot into his midsection. Shai had no choice but to follow his body and land upside down on his head against the doorjamb of the double doors. The impact did more damage to Shai’s ego than anything else. Shai reoriented himself and stood. The man had time to recover his staff and let the cloak of his overcoat slide down. His skullcap gleamed in the increasing moonlight.
Shai tapped into the ever-present blood fire that was still simmering in his veins and began to whisper. The man brought up his staff and frowned. Shai looked into his face, crinkles of lines made crow’s feet around his dark eyes. The weathered face looked dark and troubled. The man’s beard was graying, but it was obvious to Shai that he had more than enough experience to deal with physical attacks. Slowly, the man turned his staff end over end in his hands.

“Wrong place, wrong time friend,” Shai brought out his other fighting knife, the twin to the other that was hidden in his leather waistcoat. The two began to circle each other.

“It seems that I was in the place and time where I was supposed to be, friend.” He answered. Shai could hear the sarcasm in his voice, the man nearly spat the word. Careful hands were still turning the staff end over end, matching Shai’s movements.

“You don’t understand,” Shai tried to explain. He knew that Brimmer and Chloe probably heard Shai crash into the wall of the warehouse and would be coming. “This is not the place for you to camp tonight.”

“The doors were open.” Shai pondered this for an instant. The divine power he had channeled would make the illusion appear locked and chained to any passersby. “It’s cold outside.” Shai ran through the ritual while watching the man in front of him. The mark, the chains would be seen if the guards wanted to see them. Shai surmised that the man wanted to see a safe place to sleep and get out of the cold.

“What are we going to do, stare each other into submission?” The two stopped circling and locked eyes. Dark brown eyes looked back to Shai. The man smiled at himself, he was proud of his taunt. Shai let the blood fire take a little more control as he let out mental fingers that reached out for the mind of the stranger in front of him.

There were secrets that Shai didn’t want access to. A man’s mind was his own. It was the one place where he was truly free. There wasn’t the oppression of Mother Superior and the Great Church. There weren’t the limited possibilities of the serfs who worked on the plantations. There wasn’t even the pressure that the trading houses put onto normal men and women. There were only limitless dreams and possibilities.

Shai reached back with his hands and put his knives into place on the waistcoat. “No.” Shai answered the man, “We’re not going to stare each other down tonight.” The man still held his staff in a combat ready stance. Shai slipped his hands into a side pocket and pulled out three gold dulats with the Mother Superior’s face emblazoned upon them. Shai tossed them in front of the man. “Go find a place to stay. You are not part of my business here tonight.”

The man looked down to the gold coins and then back to Shai. He seemed to be considering the offer. The man in front of Shai slipped his staff down with one hand and shifted the coins around with the tip of the staff. The man was being careful, Shai couldn’t blame him. His eyebrows lifted as he looked back to Shai.

“Only three,” the man smiled. “You assaulted me.”

“You were trespassing.”

“Aren’t you?” The man’s eyes crinkled as a smile crossed his face. “Or am I misunderstanding your business tonight?” Shai frowned. The bribe wasn’t enough for the man to keep his tongue. Shai knew he was over a barrel. The man smiled at him knowingly.

Shai didn’t have time to reach into another pocket and pull out three more dulats as a screeching howl came from the far side of the warehouse. Both men looked towards the sound. The man snatched up the coins and ran past Shai heading for the sound of his pet.

“Come on,” he urged Shai, “do you want the Bondsmen to break down the door?” Shai followed the man, twisting and turning through the maze of crates. Tight corridors led to where Brimmer was. The large man was shaking his fist at the howling creature that was at the top of one of the stacks of goods. Brimmer pulled out a thin throwing dagger and was beginning to take aim.

“Brimmer, no!” Shai tried to yell at the man while still keeping his voice down. The man swung his staff up just as Brimmer was about to release the dagger. The staff hit the big man’s arm, causing him to miss. The thin dagger stuck into a cloth sack midway up the tower where the four legged beast had made a stand against Brimmer.

Shai looked at Brimmer, his face told him all that he needed to know. Brimmer’s face was twisted in frustration and anger. What looked like blood was oozing its way down the large man’s face and slopping over onto his collar.

“What’s going on?” it was Chloe’s voice behind him in an urgent whisper. She touched Shai’s shoulder pulling his ear closer to him so that he could hear her.

“Brimmer’s matching wits with,” Shai didn’t know what kind of beast that the other man had come in with, “that.” He pointed up to the top of the stack. The animal seemed to hear what Shai had said and looked down and cooed. The beast was holding two globes of some nature in its paws. With a quick gesture and a repeating chatter, the beast threw them down hitting Brimmer on the top of his head.

Red, pulpous goop ran down Brimmer’s face again. Shai sniffed the air, it wasn’t blood on Brimmer’s face, but the sweet sticky flesh of werfruit. Shai turned and faced Chloe, trying hard to stifle a laugh. She looked at him in disbelief; he knew that she wanted an explanation. Shai could only shake his head when he locked eyes with her.

“Get down from there,” the man commanded his beast. It chattered back at him. “Now,” the man pointed to the ground between his feet. The large eyes glared down at the man that had interrupted Shai’s mission. “Bring the fruit if you must.” The man answered the furry mass at the top of the tower. It cooed again and began to leap and climb down the huge stack of crates. “And bring that knife down too.”

The creature paused for a moment and cocked his head and went back up to where Brimmer’s dagger impaled the sackcloth. The creature maneuvered itself, still clinging to the precarious tower of goods and wrapped its tail around the dagger’s hilt and pulled. For a moment, the blade didn’t come loose, but with a shift of its body and a partial leap downwards, the blade came loose. The hole in the rip in the bag let loose a rain of what sounded like sand being poured over the boxes.

Soon the beast was at its master’s feet happily chomping into one of the small melons that it had been assaulting Brimmer with. Brimmer stiffened and wiped the melon off of his face and clothes with his huge hands. The area around him was littered with broken bits of melon. Brimmer shook his hands adding to the mess on the floor. Rage blazed on Brimmer’s face, it wasn’t a true rage Shai knew he was embarrassed by being outmaneuvered by an animal.

“What in the Realm is going on?” Chloe was the first to speak. Shai looked from her to Brimmer and then to the animal happily chomping at the melon he had secured in his paws. He couldn’t help but laugh. Chloe clapped him on the shoulder, by the look of her face; Shai knew that she didn’t appreciate the humor.

Shai opened his mouth and tried to speak. Laughter was what came out. He looked around and saw Brimmer seething. The man was tending his pet, scratching it behind the ears. Soft cooing sounds came from the thing. The man grabbed the dagger out of his beast’s tail and handed it, hilt first to Brimmer. The contents of the sackcloth finally hit the floor, piling up on the floor. The beast left its master’s attention and went to inspect the newfound treasure.

Another clap from Chloe brought Shai back to attention. She stared at him and glared. A sidelong glance to the foreigner and back to Shai asked the question again. Shai pulled out three more coins from his waistcoat and handed them to the man, smiling. “That was well worth more, but I’m short.” Shai grinned. The man nodded and pocketed the coins quickly.

“Are you going to explain, or not?” Chloe was now more than on edge. “What is going on? Who is this?” Shai quickly explained the story and was about to introduce the man and suddenly realized that they had never given each other their names.

“Genad,” the man offered without Shai having to ask. “That horrible cat-monkey is Ringtail.” Genad explained, pointing to the beast rolling itself in the pile on the floor that gathered from the punctured sackcloth. “And if he eats that much sugar, I’m going to be in for a night.”

Shai looked to Brimmer and then looked up to where the sugar was. The stiff pallet surrounding the bags of sugar kept the entire tower from coming down. He looked to Chloe and nodded. Her mouth was agape. It was obvious that she had not thought that there would be that much sugar in the warehouse.

“There’s bound to be flour too.” Shai urged her. “Look at the sign on the bags, Brimmer,” he instructed him, still picking out seeds off of his face, “The other grains and milled goods are bound to be around here somewhere.”

Genad looked at the three of them quizzically. He scratched his beard looking from Shai to the other two. “Interesting,” was all he said as he gathered up the cat-monkey that was rolling in the pile of sugar. “You’ve assaulted me over sugar and flour?”

“Times are rough Genad,” Shai smiled at him. “You get what you can these days.” Genad stroked Ringtail shaking his head.

“You’re job is safe,” Genad, “at least on my part. You are the strangest outlaws that I’ve seen.” Genad turned to leave the three.

“You might want to find someplace else to spend the night,” Shai called after Genad, “The place is going to be crawling with Bondsmen soon.”

“Great,” he sighed. “Well, with six dulats, I should be able to open an inn.”

“What do you mean, ‘crawling with Bondsmen,’ Shai?” Brimmer looked down on him with his eyes wide in concern. The juice of the werfruit melon was starting to stick on his face. The shimmer of the fruit juice glinted in the moonlight.

“How did you think we were going to move the material, Brim?” Chloe asked her brother in surprise. “You didn’t think that we were going to just pull up a wagon and load it up did you?” The shock of his face told Shai, and everyone else, all that he needed to. The last time that Brimmer had been shunted through shadowspace he had panicked.

“Brim,” Shai grabbed his huge shoulders, “you can handle this.” Shai smiled up at the big man. “All you have to do is breathe.”

“That’s the point, Shai,” Brimmer was shaking, “I can’t breathe in …” Brimmer stammered. “in there.” Brimmer looked down at Shai. His face was all cramped up. Deep frown lines had formed in his face.

“No.” Brimmer shook his head. “I’m not going in there again.” Shai thought hard how to calm the man down, but no words were coming.

“Brim,” Chloe tried, “How do you expect to keep the bakery going with all of the rationing going on?”

“I don’t care anymore,” Brimmer sobbed, “I’ll enlist.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shai shook him, trying to convince him that serving the Great Church would be far worse than a quick shunt through shadowspace. “The Citadel won’t care about you. You’re a big man who can sling steel. All they care about right now is that.”

“I don’t care.” Brimmer shoved Shai. “At least in the service of the Citadel, we’ll all get a share.” A screeching came from a different part of the warehouse. Loud voices were carrying. Voices that weren’t Genad scolding the cat-monkey.

“Shit,” Shai swore through clenched teeth. Chloe looked around in panic just in time to catch Ringtail. The cat-monkey clenched at her leather coat. “This is not how I wanted to do this.” Shai stared up at Brimmer. “Get yourself together.”

Shai let the floodgates open that was keeping his blood fire at a low boil. He pushed through the intense burning and focused on the thread into shadowspace that was beginning to form in front of him. Chants flowed nearly silent out of his mouth as he focused on channeling his will in order to push open the rent that he had summoned into realmspace.

Wind from the frigidness of shadowspace started to blow through the aperture. Shai concentrated on moving the widening crack in reality into a position where the entire stack of goods containing the palate of sugar would fall into the negative area of shadowspace. He hoped he had enough time.

He heard the yelling coming closer. There was the distinct clang of swords and heavily booted feet. Shai couldn’t concentrate on the battle that was coming there way. He had to rely upon Chloe and Brimmer to protect him. The wind was whipping out of the hole, buffeting against the stacks of the Bondsmen Quartermaster. Shai stood in front of the aperture willing it underneath the tower of goods.

His leather long coat flared out as the freezing wind blew into realmspace. His blood fire was boiling with the effort it took to slide the rip in reality underneath the cornerstone of the tower of goods. In an instant, the entire stack of goods were sucked into shadowspace causing a lapse in the icy gale that was pushing through into the warehouse.

A huge crash sounded off behind Shai. Something had made the impossibly high stacks of crates topple. Shai didn’t know if it was Brimmer and Chloe or the rent in realmspace. He didn’t have the time to consider which it was that knocked the goods over. It was a blessing. Shai couldn’t hear the clamoring from Bondsmen anymore, the chill increased throughout the warehouse as the rent to shadowspace began pushing out again.

“Brimmer!” Shai yelled trying to get the man’s attention. Wind ripped through the warehouse. Shai tried to split his attention between controlling the aperture into shadowspace and Brimmer. “Now’s the time to test your mettle!”

“Not going!” Brimmer screamed back.

“Don’t be a fool,” Chloe screamed at her brother. “Jump!” Shai could barely hear her due to the rushing of wind coming through the increasing gap into shadowspace.

“No!” the man screamed. Boxes from the spilled stack of crates were being sucked into the orifice that Shai had summoned. He had no idea what was being spilled into the negative realm. Shai had no time for Brimmer’s trepidation. With a quick thought, Shai concentrated on the gap. His veins screamed in agony as the blood fire continued to burn. Shai clenched his eyes shut trying to focus on his divine power and the energy he was unleashing into realmspace.

He could hear the Bondsmen again. They were getting close. Shai forced his eyes open and through sheer will, he moved the aperture along the floor. Shadowspace sucked up the crates, barrels and sackcloth bags that were tied into neat towers as he moved the tempest towards Brimmer. Shai hated to do this to the man, but he had no choice. Brimmer screamed and then dropped out of reality.

Shai locked eyes with Chloe. She looked concerned and annoyed as Ringtail was still clutched to her long coat. It was chattering in panic. Chloe pushed at the cat-monkey in vein and finally jumped into the fissure. Shai saw the beast’s eyes grow wide as Chloe was sucked into shadowspace.

With the load of supplies he had come for already shunted into shadowspace and several more stacks of boxes, Shai knew it was time to leave. Quickly, he channeled his blood fire and began to shrink the aperture. Calmly, he jumped.

Chapter Two: Chandra and Flax

2009-02-24T21:00:00.000-08:00

“Prefect?” came a voice along with a soft knock from his behind his door. Obec knew it was his assistant, Chandra Molt. She opened the door and looked in. Obec straightened his posture and quickly moved some of the stack of paperwork that was growing on his desk to cover up the burn marks. Her face was full of life and energy. It was her faith that kept her that young, it had to be. Immediately Obec felt more tired than ever.

“Yes, Chandra.” Obec answered her. He locked eyes with her soothing brown eyes for just a moment before she lowered her head and bowed slightly. She closed the door after entering into the paneled office, took two steps and stood silently. “Is there something wrong?” Obec asked.

“There has been an incident.” She bit her lip. Obec could see the tension in her stance. He suspected that he was one of the only one’s in his personal staff that could detect that tension. It was a matter of proximity. As his personal assistant, he worked long hours with her pounding out policy for the prefecture. There was little that she didn’t know about that crossed Obec’s desk.

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t serious.” Obec smiled at her, trying to alleviate her tension. She looked up again into his face. The seriousness was still plastered on her face. Her mouth twisted as she was choosing her words.

“A body has been found down in the city.” Obec blinked, waiting for her to finish the report. If Chandra was this tense, the news was not going to be good. Obec fought a reflex to pinch the bridge of his nose and shake his head. “It was one of our newly conscripted soldiers.” Obec sat back down in his chair, leaned his body forward towards the desk and rested on his elbows as he folded his hands together. He focused on Chandra, furrowing his eyebrows together. Infighting was the last thing that he wanted to deal with or needed at this point.

“What did our justices find out?” Obec stared through Chandra. He didn’t really want to know the answer, but it was a necessary task for him. He was the Prefect of the Citadel Trading House and deigned protector of the Realm. “Who was responsible for the crime?”

“Prefect,” Chandra bowed her head again, avoiding eye contact. “As near as the justices can piece together, the conscript had just finished at the training academy. Witness reported that the young man, Kyl Den, was touting his prowess. He was just out of training and was feeling pride in what he’d learned from Captain Tical and his lieutenants. He was itching for a fight.”

Obec sighed. He knew the conscripts didn’t have the calling, but what else could he do? The Great Church wasn’t answering his pleas. The Archdeaconry was either putting his letters at the bottom of the pile or just disregarding them altogether. This was the result of the Archdeaconry’s favoritism. The results of that favoritism was more death in a place where it was in excess.

“Go on.” Obec said. Chadra wrung her hands together. She didn’t want to bring this burden to him, he could tell. “Please,” he added, again trying to ease her tension.

“Conscript Den was killed down in military quarter. It was at Wergren’s.” Obec closed his eyes when she had said the name. Wergren’s was the place where the grizzled soldiers with numerous campaigns against the barbarian hordes frequented. Scarred and twisted, they had no patience for a young pup that was just weaned and given a weapon. It was a dark place for dark souls. Obec knew that the soldiers that frequented Wergren’s were also being tested.

“Lords hear our prayers.” Obec sighed.

Wergren’s in times past was a mercenary tavern. It was a seedy place where the unfaithful were often found. It had a reputation for strong conversation, bold warriors and even stronger and bolder hard drinks. It was once a place you could find the exact someone you were looking for, for the right price. It was a den of debauchery. Powders and spices could be found there to enhance just about any sensation you wanted. Wergren’s also had a private staff of working girls that could make a warrior forget certain pains.

The place started to change once the hordes started their attacks. The mercenaries apparently had families too. It was the one positive thing that the barbarian raids did for the Prefecture of the Citadel Trading House. There was a sense of camaraderie between those warriors and the standing army. It was a tenuous brotherhood, but at least they were all on the same side. Many of the most notable mercenaries enlisted in the standing army and rose quickly in the ranks. Tical was a prime example.

Now, it was a place where those comrades in arms could drown their sorrows in liquid courage. The stimulant trade was still an ever present problem, but it moved away from Wergren’s. There just wasn’t the need anymore. The tavern still wasn’t a place the Great Church condoned, but it was a necessary evil in these trying times. Not all soldiers were as faithful as the Great Church would have them. They often needed to supplement their prayers and time in congregation with something else that would help them alleviate the horrors that the barbarians brought with them.

“Have the justices arrested anyone?” Obec tried to keep his hands from shaking.

“Yes, Prefect.” Chandra continued using slow and deliberate words, “the initial investigation rounded up nearly a dozen soldiers, Old Guard.”

“Have they narrowed down who killed the boy?” Obec’s eyes flared open, staring through Chandra. The Old Guard – seasoned soldiers who knew better than to believe any stories that came out of a trainee, let alone a conscript. Seasoned soldiers that should have had the tenacity and skill to know when to pull their punches.

“Yes, Prefect.” She said more sheepishly. Obec knew he was projecting his anger and anxiety into the situation, and through the situation onto Chandra. “The justices have concluded their investigations and have delivered a name to me.” Chandra’s face twisted and she bit her lip again. She knew the soldier; Obec saw that on her face. She knew him well. “It was Flax Molt, the Earl of Cusslershire.” She finally let out with a soft sob as tears ran down her cheeks.

Obec stared at her a moment in disbelief and then the information processed in his brain. Flax Molt? The Earl of Cusslershire was Chandra’s brother. Their father was a noble in the Realm and a devout pious member of the Great Church. Much of his holdings at been given to Great Church upon his death. A minor plantation was left to his only son Flax, who also inherited the title.

Flax was already in the standing army of the Citadel Trading House when his father had passed. Chandra was in seminary, attending a different path in her service to the Great Church. Flax contributed all of his profits from the plantation back into the Great Church, save the small portion he had to keep for upkeep and payment of the serfs on his land. His heart was full of compassion. All of this was before the hordes started moving in on the Realm of the Great Church and started mutilating the land and those who worked on it.

His piety had turned Flax into something of a holy warrior. He was fanatical in his devotion to rid the land of the barbarians and had served the Great Church in many skirmishes to defend the outlying farmlands. Through the grace and benevolence of the Lords and Ladies of Heaven, he kept coming back alive. But he was never the same after each battle.

Obec moved to Chandra and put his arms around her. Her heart was breaking. She knew the consequences that had to be place on her brother. It wasn’t going to be pleasant for him. Obec guided her to a chair on the opposite side of his desk and sat her down. She kept her head down. She was embarrassed to have to tell Obec such bad news. Flax was a formidable unit commander and the prefecture would suffer without his influence.

Silently, Obec walked towards a bookshelf on the wall and grabbed two crystal cups and a decanter filled with amber liquid. The prefect poured two drinks and handed one to Chandra. She took the glass and looked up at Obec. Tears had made her cheeks shiny in the lamp light. She looked confused and desperate. Obec sipped his brandy and urged her to do the same.

Chandra slowly lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. Her face had told Obec that she hadn’t acquired the taste yet for brandy, but she drank it anyway. He studied her while they shared the drink in silence. Her hands were shaking and she kept staring out into the sky through the open doors behind Obec’s desk. She was coming to terms with what she had done. It wasn’t an easy choice.

Obec sat down at his desk and waited for her to continue the conversation. Now wasn’t the time where she needed leadership. She had led herself to the correct path. It was now that she needed a confidant. Obec moved his chair to face the open doorway as well. The orange glow was still painting the sky. He frowned and took another sip of the brandy.

“What are you going to do to him?” Chandra’s voice cracked.

“What would you have me do Chandra?” Obec answered, still focusing on the now night time sky. “It’s not the fact that he killed a man. Without the facts, who can say exactly what happened? I will need to hear the case.” Obec sipped again.

“The fact of the matter is that he should have known better.” Obec explained his back still to Chandra. “Mother Superior is obviously not sending reinforcements to fortify the Realm against the hordes of motherless sons who are burning our food supplies and killing our citizens. It is up to us, you and me, to find a solution to protect the Seven Tower Wall and the Realm beyond it.”

Obec turned his chair back to face Chandra. Her soft brown eyes were red rimmed from her crying. Her glass was now only a quarter full. Obec could see her hands had stopped shaking. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Her thought must have been more emotionally based, Obec thought.

“We need every soldier, every conscript, every mercenary who is willing to help us defend the wall and the realm. This conscript,” Obec paused, trying to remember the name of the dead boy.

“Kyl Den.” Chandra offered.

“This Kyl Den,” Obec rolled the name around his mouth and mind in order to remember it, “was one of the newer soldiers. He was one of the newcomers to the faith. Lords and Ladies will be done,” Obec raised his glass to the heavens and rolled his eyes, “he was another solder, conscripted or not, to help us maintain. Flax should have recognized that.”

The two sat silent for a time letting the brandy soothe their frazzled nerves. Obec’s thoughts invariably shifted to the systematic problem of morale. The people were nervous and cloistered together in tight spaces where there wasn’t enough room. The crowds of people couldn’t get away from each other. They were feeding off of each other’s fear. It was all around them. The clank of swords against armor filled the streets. Inns and hostels were filled to capacity. Every nook and cranny of the passages within the wall was also being used as shelter for the refugees.

“What are you going to do?” Chandra finally broke the silence.

“Pray for guidance.” Obec sighed heavily putting the glass down on his desk. “The Gods will guide me, I know they will.” He smiled at Chandra, trying to reassure her. “Their will be done.”

“Lords hear your prayer,” she whispered under her breath.

“You know as well as I do,” Obec stood from his desk, “the right thing will happen. It is our duty to serve the Great Church.” He walked around and grabbed the glass out of her hand and placed it next to his. “Come, Chandra, go to bed. Trust in your faith.”

She stood and nodded at Obec. She was calmer now; her stature was back to normal. Chandra held her back straight and she wasn’t wringing her hands anymore. “Prefect,” she turned before she got to the door, “please don’t let him die.” She turned back to the door and left Obec’s office as silently as she came.

“Lords hear your prayer, Chandra,” Obec said softly. “Lords hear your prayer.”

Chapter One: Fires Burning

2009-02-24T20:51:00.000-08:00

From the overlooking balcony of his office, Obec Long looked out over the Seven Tower Wall. Orange highlights dotted the landscape. The raids on the farms were getting more and more frequent with winter coming on. Obec’s prefecture bordered on the Contested Lands. It was fertile and arable land, good for wheat and other grains that could be imported into the Realm of the Great Church. The tallies had been down since the hordes of barbarians started finding new ways to supplement their own food supplies. The raids wouldn’t be such a problem if the barbarians didn’t burn everything that they couldn’t take. The burgeoning cities along the Seven Tower Wall were full of refugees from privately owned farms and clergy plantations.

The fire line was far enough off in the distance that it looked like a bright orange snake, undulating towards the wall and towards the Realm. Obec leaned against the stone wall and stared hard at the landscape. The setting sun was only enhancing the fiery glow. Thick black smoke rose from the destruction of the crops. Obec sighed heavily; people would grow hungry this season. As Prefect of the Citadel Trading House, it was his duty to ensure the safety and survival of those in his protection.

It wasn’t a choice; it was a calling to become a prefect. It was a benevolent honor to serve as a prefect under the Great Church of the Gods, under the Ecclesiastic Council of the Mother Superior. It was his duty above all else, to serve as best he could to the Great Church of the Gods. The test of his faith was enormous this year. Obec’s eyes flicked over the horizon watching the fires blaze. Crops were stolen, the land was razed, sleepy hamlets were destroyed, and his people were dead and dying because of the barbarian hordes.

Obec clasped his hands together and bowed his head in the direction of the encroaching fires. His heart hurt knowing that his prefecture would be suffering this season. He tried not to be envious of the other prefectures that did not have to witness this test of faith. It would affect them though. The Citadel Trading House was responsible for much of the grain that would flow into the Realm of the Great Church. Many would be hungry or have to tighten their belts, or worse.

“Watch, O Lords and Ladies of Heaven and Earth, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight, and give your angels and saints charge over those who sleep. Tend your sick ones, O Lords and Ladies of the Great Church. Rest your weary ones. Bless your dying ones. Soothe your suffering ones. Pity your afflicted ones. Shield your joyous ones, and all for your love's sake.” Tears came to his eyes as he finished his prayer and watched the fires burn.

The hordes of barbarians had been getting bolder every season. The Ecclesiastic Court of the Mother Superior had been concentrating more on the infrastructure of the realm instead of its defense. Roads had been built to aide the trading routes from one prefecture to another. Monastic schools had also been constructed to insure the next generation of the faithful would be educated not only in the teachings of the Great Church but also the newer sciences of Astrology and Metallurgy. Great strides had been made in the Realm, but at what cost? If the Realm was going to fall against the hordes of barbarians, the newly revamped infrastructure may lead them straight to the Great Cathedral in Phenso.

“Lords protect our Supreme Matriarch.” Obec whispered turning away from the musky smell of the fires that were destroying his prefecture and testing his faith.

His office was well lit from lanterns hanging on sconces. The brick walls were lined with a burnished oak to give the office a more warm feeling. He never liked the feel of the cold stone of many of the other rooms within Midway Tower or the other towers along the Seven Tower Wall for that matter. If he were to run the prefecture, he may as well be comfortable in doing so. There was no reason as to why little creature comforts like paneling couldn’t be afforded without guilt. Obec had been anointed by the Mother Superior after all.

He had sent missives and reports to the Mother Superior’s aide, the Archdeacon Busim Hrad explaining the situation that the Citadel Trading House was having. In the first few letters, Obec omitted the grisly details. It wasn’t necessary in a plea for help and manpower. After explanations that there were more pressing matters and that the Mother Superior was indeed concerned but could not commit her Captains or Knight Protectors to Citadel aide, Obec became more and more verbose and descriptive in his letters. In the last package to the Archdeacon, he had also sent the bloodied rag doll that was left behind along with the slightly damaged diary of the young girl who owned the toy. There hadn’t been a response back from the Archdeaconry. At least not on that matter.

Obec Long sighed as he looked down on the ornate scroll case that was sealed with the Seal of the Great Church along with the Archdeacon’s signet embossed in wax. He read the missive again from the Archdeacon Hrad trying hard to understand, it did not address the growing situation with the barbarian hordes on the Realm’s very doorstep.

“Greetings Honored Prefect Obec Long,

For nearly forty years, the Great Cathedral in Phenso, home of the Great Church of the Gods has been my home, and it is my honor as the Archdeacon Busim Hrad of the Deaconry of the Great Church of the Gods to invite you to the Ecclesiastic Council in the Court of Mother Superior Sefil. As time passes quickly in the Realm, so do our attentions drift in and out of our responsibilities to the Great Church of the Gods. Let us join and in so, plan the Great Tithe and give thanks for our existence.

Lords hear our prayer.

The Mother Superior Sefil has spent the last season traveling through the lands belonging to the Great Church, meeting with her most Honored Prefects, Captains of the Knights Protectorate and Clergy of all of the Trading Houses, and has decided in her benevolent wisdom and glory bestowed upon her by the Lords and Ladies of Heaven, to hold court within the halls of the Great Cathedral in Phenso.

Lords protect our Supreme Matriarch.

The Peripatetic Court of the Mother Superior Sefil, the Ecclesiastic Council, the Deaconry of the Great Church of the Gods, the faithful company of master craftsmen and artisans as well as the excitements of the Great Tithe Celebration await you. Her Grace, the Mother Superior Sefil of the Great Church of the Gods anticipates your arrival personally, and I, the Archdeacon of the Deaconry of the Great Church of the Gods, have prepared a suite in the Great Cathedral for your stay.

Lords protect you and show you the way.

Let the celebration of the Great Tithe begin!

Archdeacon Busim Hrad.”

The Ecclesiastic Council was to meet in two months. Obec stared in disbelief at the summons to council. There was no word at all of neither reinforcements nor aid to his prefecture. Already the Citadel’s standing army of 2500 strong was dwindling down in numbers. Farmers were being conscripted into the army in order to win back their farms and their freedom from the overcrowded cities that made up the Seven Tower Wall.

It was not an easy proposition to enlist farmers to put down their plowshares and take up swords. There were certain prices to pay for the better good of the Realm. Obec Long did what any good leader would do; he started granting pieces of clergy plantations to free men not associated with the Great Church. There was little else he could do to protect the Realm as was his obligation.

Obec moved the gilded parchment and the ornate scroll case to another part of his desk. He rubbed his weary eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “This is only a test of faith,” he whispered to himself. “The Gods have chosen me for some task and are testing my mettle.” He shuffled papers on the top of his desk and dug out a report from his Captain of the Knights Protector. The loyalty and fanaticism from the conscripted farmers was not up to the same par as was one of the Faithful in the Great Church. For the poor souls in Captain Tical’s battle school, it was a rough transition.

His eyes scanned the report. Phrases such as ‘cowardice under fire,’ and ‘extreme ineptitude of swordsmanship’ peppered the report. Obec could feel a slight beating at his temples. His prefecture was to be protected not by the Faithful of the Great Church, but by the common man. “Lords will be done,” Obec murmured. The conscripted Citadel men would be fine on the ground, but could never be molded into the soldiers that Obec needed to defend the wall.

The determination was there, of that there was no doubt. He had no qualms with the training regimen of Captain Tical and the rest of his Knights Protectors. It was just the motivation that had to be done in order for the common man to pick up arms against an ever increasing foe that Obec had an issue with. For the Faithful, there was never any need to question the will of the Gods or the Great Church. However pious these men may be, they did not receive the calling that the Faithful had been given. They were not the fervent ones who did all and was all for the Great Church and the Mother Superior. These were the men and women who the Great Church was supposed to be protecting, not the other way round.

How could the Realm of the Great Church survive if all were lost? The Lords and Ladies of Heaven willing, there would be a Realm left to live within after all was said and done. The normally cool breeze was not cool, but instead a warm gust helping to fan the flames that the barbarians had set loose. The Great Tithe was soon coming and Obec needed guidance. This wasn’t the first time his faith had been tested. During his initiation into the Clergy, his faith was tested almost daily.

The regimen of the Clergy was not as physical as those of the Knights Protectors, but might have been more strenuous nonetheless. The simple skills of communing, discerning and summoning were the hardest to learn. Some Clergy didn’t have the sheer will to control their blood fire, the divine magic given by the Gods of the Great Church. There were many who did die while in seminary, immolated by their lack of control.

These matters though, were very different from the matters of self control. These were matters of State and of the well being of nearly 40,000 souls. Oftentimes Obec wondered how things would be different if he were back in the Clergy proper, fulfilling his duty in other places. The prefect put down the report from Captain Tical and pushed back from his desk. The mounds of bureaucracy were pilling one atop another on his desk.

His temples blazed in pain. Obec could feel the blood fire beginning to burn in his veins. He was becoming more and more agitated as the days went by without any word from the Archdeacon. Now he was to report at the Ecclesiastical Court on how the prefecture of the Citadel Trading House was going to tithe. Obec Long frowned darkly and stood.

With wide eyes he looked down at his desk. The solid oak table top was burned where his hands were pressed down against the polished wood. The dark scorch marks had little wisps of smoke coming from them. Looking at his hands, they were red from the heat, but no blisters had formed. Hanging his head low, Obec silently prayed to the Gods for guidance.