For Alex, as promised
Next update on story below. Last night's game was very short and silly. Largely involved trying to turn Ged into a barrel mecha with mounted side artillary.
The sky remained clear as Zephyr and Michael made their way south and they were able to make good progress. Soon they had left the narrow road that lead to Riverra and joined the main causeway leading down to the capital. They had only been travelling an hour or so when they saw the first group of paladins. It was a group of four, all mounted on snowy white chargers. They were all armed and armoured, wearing white cloaks with an image of the sun embroidered on them. Zephyr pulled his hood down, but the group passed by without a glance in their direction.
Another paladin overtook them later, riding his horse at a gallop southwards. They caught sight of two more groups of four, one heading east and one west, some distance from the road.
“Lot of God-botherers around,” Zephyr commented. “What do you think has stirred them up?”
Michael shrugged, but he had a suspicion.
They decided to stop in the town of Clairwell, as they were tired and the snow had started to fall again. They found and inn, and were about to go in, when Michael spotted something pinned to the fence. He pulled down the piece of paper and stared at it.
“Hey, look at this!” he called to Zephyr. Zephyr took the paper from him and squinted at it.
There was a pen drawing of a scowling man, wearing a large hat with a feather. Meaningless words surrounded the picture.
“What is it?”
“It’s a poster about you. The reward for your capture has gone up again,” he noted.
“That’s supposed to be me? Not very good, is it? I’ve got to get a hat like that, though. That’s an amazing hat!” He let the paper fall to the ground and headed into the inn. Michael stared at it for a moment, watching the melting snow seep into the paper, destroying the words and distorting the picture. He wondered how Zephyr could be so blasé about it. Granted, this time the image was a poor likeness, but there would be better ones. Michael wondered how long it would be before his own face appeared on posters.
He pushed open the door and joined Zephyr at the bar. The bartender, a rotund man with eyebrows like a pair of elderly caterpillars, was discussing the snow.
“It’s a rough time to be out on the road. If you haven’t come far, I’d turn around now if I was you,” he counselled. “No one knows where this snow has come from or how long it will last. It’s going to start getting hard for folks, you mark my words.”
“Why? It’s only a bit of snow,” Zephyr protested. He pushed a tankard towards Michael as he sat down. “I mean, how bad can it be?”
“Tell that to the farmers. Their crops are under that snow. Those that managed to take in the first place.” He rolled his eyes in distain. “How bad can it be, you say.”
“Well, at least the roads will be safe, with all those paladins going up and down.”
“Hah!” the man snorted. “There’s a thing. Something’s got them stirred up like a hornet’s nest with a stick through the middle. Now, I’m a god-fearing man, anyone will tell you that’s the truth. I go to church, say my prayers, live a good life, but do they take any notice of that? No, sir! They came trampling through, turned my inn upside down, and then left again without so much as a by-your-leave. I don’t know what they were looking for, but I could have told them it wasn’t here, if they’d bothered to ask.”
“Are they still around?”
“I think so. They said they were staying at the church and that I should come and see them if I saw anyone suspicious. Of course, if I were hiding something from the paladins, the last thing I’d do is act suspicious. It’s just asking for trouble, acting suspicious.”
Zephyr grinned. He finished his drink and stood up. “Maybe I should go and have a word with them. Prove I’m not a suspicious person. I’ll be back shortly,” he told Michael, heading towards the door.
Michael hurried after him. “Are you crazy?” He hissed.
“I’m going to find out if the paladins are looking for what I think they are. It’s okay, they won’t recognise me. I’m not wearing a hat, remember?”
“And if they see through your cunning disguise?” Michael snapped.
“Then we might be leaving here sooner than expected.”
“Stay here. I’ll go and speak with them.” He did not wait to see if there was any further argument, but headed out to the street again. He pulled his cloak close around him as the wind swirled snowflakes at his face. There were few people around as he hurried, head down, towards the church. A he walked he made a mental calculation to determine if the bounty for handing in Zephyr was enough to set him up for life.
He decided it was not, largely because he would have to employ bodyguards for the rest of his life. He could deal with Amari: though she would easily best him in a one-on-one fight, she was sort who was easily blinded by grief and anger. He would only have to hold out a sword and she would probably run herself through to get at him. As long as he could keep her in front of him, she would not be a problem. Saffron, however, was a different story. She was intelligent and she was resourceful. She would not get her hands dirty herself, but would send people after him one after another ceaselessly. He knew also that while Amari would try to kill him, Saffron would be satisfied with nothing less than destroying him utterly.
The church, though small compared to some of the ones Michael had seen, still dwarfed most of the other buildings in the town. Ornate stained glass windows dominated the length. Lamps from within the building created pools of coloured light on the snow. Up on the roof, the copper sun was dull and lacklustre.
He walked round to the main door, a huge iron-bound oak structure eight foot tall and six foot wide. It was open a jar, spilling more light out onto the ground. Michael slipped inside and stood, shivering slightly in the entrance. It was a fact he would reveal to no one, but churches always scared him slightly. He felt he was being watched, from the dark spaces in the roof, or from behind the fat stone pillars. Something was there, in every church, watching him; watching and judging him.
It was only within the walls of a church that he ever had any doubts about music. Outside, he was certain it came down to politics, and the fact that music was a power that potentially anyone had access to, no matter what their birthright might be. But standing in front of the great west window, with the light constantly streaming through, he would always start to wonder if there was another reason.
There was one paladin in the main body of the church, knelt in front of the west window in prayer. He stood and turned at the sound of Michael’s boot against the stone floor. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and muscular, in his early thirties. He was clean-shaven, with an angular jaw and a sharp profile. His close cropped hair was blonde and his eyes were pale blue.
“If you are looking for the priest,” the paladin called, “you’ll not find him here. He’s off giving comfort to the dying.” His voice betrayed no emotion. Michael could not tell if he was being helpful, or irritated at being interrupted and trying to hurry the intruder out of the church.
“Actually it was you I was looking for,” he replied. “I understand the paladins are searching for something and I wondered if I could be of any assistance. Maybe I’ve seen something in my travels that might aid your quest.”
The paladin walked down to meet him. As he approached, Michael could see a scar across his cheek and various other old injuries on his arms. Very little remained of his left ear. Michael was reminded that the paladins had seen more combat than any other man in the Free Kingdoms had. Though smaller in number than any one country’s army, they had shown by their conquest of Dresrin that they could not be stopped if they chose to attack.
“I thank you for your offer, but it will not be necessary. God is behind us in our mission, so it will not take long.”
“What are you searching for? Is it anything to do with this unnatural winter?”
The paladin nodded gravely. “I believe so. There is a dark force aboard. However, do not worry good citizen. Though the sky is dark the Sun has not set on us yet. God is with us and has sent us a prophet to guide us in these harsh times.”
“A prophet?”
“Indeed. A man from across the sea where the sun is high. He has shown us the form of our enemy, though it is a strange and deceptive form. Still, have no fear: balance will be restored before long, you have my word on it.” With that, he gave Michael a stiff bow and then returned to his prayers.
Michael left the church quickly and headed back to the inn. He found Zephyr sat alone at a table towards the back of the room. He was sat with his back to the door, openly watching the barmaid as she worked. I could have bought the paladins back with me and he would never have noticed until it was too late, Michael thought in disgust. He dropped into a seat opposite him. The room was fairly empty and no one was near them, but he spoke as quietly as he could.
“I’m back.”
“Find anything interesting?” Zephyr enquired, turning his attention from the tavern wench.
“They’re not eager to give any information away, but I’m certain it’s that boy they’re looking for. I guess they didn’t want to explain why they were so desperate to seek out a small child.”
“Well, that proves he can’t be anything bad then, if the paladins are after him, right?” He stretched and stood up. “If the church is against him, then he’s on our side.”
“‘The enemy of my enemy’? “Michael commented thoughtfully as they walked upstairs. “Do you ever wonder if we’re wrong? About the church and music and so on. Do you ever stop and think maybe it’s us doing the bad stuff?”
“Nope,” Zephyr replied truthfully. “I’ve never even considered it.”
“Why not? How can you be so certain?”
He pushed open the door to their room and headed to the bed. “Because it feels right,” he answered, lying down. On the ceiling above his head a plump spider crouched in the centre of a sprawling web.
“That’s it?” Michael asked in astonishment. “That’s the reason you’re a wanted man, that you risk your life? Because it feels right?”
“Pretty much.” The spider was slowly stalking across the slivery threads towards some flying thing that had been ensnared. “Why, is that a problem?”
Michael sighed and sat down on the other bed. “I just thought it would be for something a bit nobler. Like trying to change the world with song or something.”
Zephyr grinned. “No one can change the world. You can try, but you’ll only get so far until you come across someone else who’s trying to change it to what they want. And then what do you do? No, the best anyone can hope for is to change a life.”
Michael looked across at him, surprised. “That’s very deep, for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“Seriously, though, you’ve never thought about it? I mean, the church is supposed to be the voice of God, right? Surely they should know what the Sun approves of. You’re right, it doesn’t feel wrong, what we do, but none of us know what music was like in the past, what it was capable of. Imagine an army of singers, think about what they’d be able to achieve.”
“But I’m not an army of singers, I’m just me,” Zephyr pointed out. “Besides, I’m a musician, not a magician. I don’t care about magic; if it were to disappear I’d barely notice as long as I can keep playing. It’s my life, right? As long as hurting anyone, then it’s mine to do as I please. You never know when you’re going to die, when the chance to do something is going to disappear. So you’ve just got to do it. I don’t want to look back on my life when I’m old and say ‘I wish I’d done that.’ I don’t want any regrets.”
You’re not going to live long enough to have any regrets if you carry on like this, Michael thought, but he said nothing aloud.
The sky remained clear as Zephyr and Michael made their way south and they were able to make good progress. Soon they had left the narrow road that lead to Riverra and joined the main causeway leading down to the capital. They had only been travelling an hour or so when they saw the first group of paladins. It was a group of four, all mounted on snowy white chargers. They were all armed and armoured, wearing white cloaks with an image of the sun embroidered on them. Zephyr pulled his hood down, but the group passed by without a glance in their direction.
Another paladin overtook them later, riding his horse at a gallop southwards. They caught sight of two more groups of four, one heading east and one west, some distance from the road.
“Lot of God-botherers around,” Zephyr commented. “What do you think has stirred them up?”
Michael shrugged, but he had a suspicion.
They decided to stop in the town of Clairwell, as they were tired and the snow had started to fall again. They found and inn, and were about to go in, when Michael spotted something pinned to the fence. He pulled down the piece of paper and stared at it.
“Hey, look at this!” he called to Zephyr. Zephyr took the paper from him and squinted at it.
There was a pen drawing of a scowling man, wearing a large hat with a feather. Meaningless words surrounded the picture.
“What is it?”
“It’s a poster about you. The reward for your capture has gone up again,” he noted.
“That’s supposed to be me? Not very good, is it? I’ve got to get a hat like that, though. That’s an amazing hat!” He let the paper fall to the ground and headed into the inn. Michael stared at it for a moment, watching the melting snow seep into the paper, destroying the words and distorting the picture. He wondered how Zephyr could be so blasé about it. Granted, this time the image was a poor likeness, but there would be better ones. Michael wondered how long it would be before his own face appeared on posters.
He pushed open the door and joined Zephyr at the bar. The bartender, a rotund man with eyebrows like a pair of elderly caterpillars, was discussing the snow.
“It’s a rough time to be out on the road. If you haven’t come far, I’d turn around now if I was you,” he counselled. “No one knows where this snow has come from or how long it will last. It’s going to start getting hard for folks, you mark my words.”
“Why? It’s only a bit of snow,” Zephyr protested. He pushed a tankard towards Michael as he sat down. “I mean, how bad can it be?”
“Tell that to the farmers. Their crops are under that snow. Those that managed to take in the first place.” He rolled his eyes in distain. “How bad can it be, you say.”
“Well, at least the roads will be safe, with all those paladins going up and down.”
“Hah!” the man snorted. “There’s a thing. Something’s got them stirred up like a hornet’s nest with a stick through the middle. Now, I’m a god-fearing man, anyone will tell you that’s the truth. I go to church, say my prayers, live a good life, but do they take any notice of that? No, sir! They came trampling through, turned my inn upside down, and then left again without so much as a by-your-leave. I don’t know what they were looking for, but I could have told them it wasn’t here, if they’d bothered to ask.”
“Are they still around?”
“I think so. They said they were staying at the church and that I should come and see them if I saw anyone suspicious. Of course, if I were hiding something from the paladins, the last thing I’d do is act suspicious. It’s just asking for trouble, acting suspicious.”
Zephyr grinned. He finished his drink and stood up. “Maybe I should go and have a word with them. Prove I’m not a suspicious person. I’ll be back shortly,” he told Michael, heading towards the door.
Michael hurried after him. “Are you crazy?” He hissed.
“I’m going to find out if the paladins are looking for what I think they are. It’s okay, they won’t recognise me. I’m not wearing a hat, remember?”
“And if they see through your cunning disguise?” Michael snapped.
“Then we might be leaving here sooner than expected.”
“Stay here. I’ll go and speak with them.” He did not wait to see if there was any further argument, but headed out to the street again. He pulled his cloak close around him as the wind swirled snowflakes at his face. There were few people around as he hurried, head down, towards the church. A he walked he made a mental calculation to determine if the bounty for handing in Zephyr was enough to set him up for life.
He decided it was not, largely because he would have to employ bodyguards for the rest of his life. He could deal with Amari: though she would easily best him in a one-on-one fight, she was sort who was easily blinded by grief and anger. He would only have to hold out a sword and she would probably run herself through to get at him. As long as he could keep her in front of him, she would not be a problem. Saffron, however, was a different story. She was intelligent and she was resourceful. She would not get her hands dirty herself, but would send people after him one after another ceaselessly. He knew also that while Amari would try to kill him, Saffron would be satisfied with nothing less than destroying him utterly.
The church, though small compared to some of the ones Michael had seen, still dwarfed most of the other buildings in the town. Ornate stained glass windows dominated the length. Lamps from within the building created pools of coloured light on the snow. Up on the roof, the copper sun was dull and lacklustre.
He walked round to the main door, a huge iron-bound oak structure eight foot tall and six foot wide. It was open a jar, spilling more light out onto the ground. Michael slipped inside and stood, shivering slightly in the entrance. It was a fact he would reveal to no one, but churches always scared him slightly. He felt he was being watched, from the dark spaces in the roof, or from behind the fat stone pillars. Something was there, in every church, watching him; watching and judging him.
It was only within the walls of a church that he ever had any doubts about music. Outside, he was certain it came down to politics, and the fact that music was a power that potentially anyone had access to, no matter what their birthright might be. But standing in front of the great west window, with the light constantly streaming through, he would always start to wonder if there was another reason.
There was one paladin in the main body of the church, knelt in front of the west window in prayer. He stood and turned at the sound of Michael’s boot against the stone floor. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and muscular, in his early thirties. He was clean-shaven, with an angular jaw and a sharp profile. His close cropped hair was blonde and his eyes were pale blue.
“If you are looking for the priest,” the paladin called, “you’ll not find him here. He’s off giving comfort to the dying.” His voice betrayed no emotion. Michael could not tell if he was being helpful, or irritated at being interrupted and trying to hurry the intruder out of the church.
“Actually it was you I was looking for,” he replied. “I understand the paladins are searching for something and I wondered if I could be of any assistance. Maybe I’ve seen something in my travels that might aid your quest.”
The paladin walked down to meet him. As he approached, Michael could see a scar across his cheek and various other old injuries on his arms. Very little remained of his left ear. Michael was reminded that the paladins had seen more combat than any other man in the Free Kingdoms had. Though smaller in number than any one country’s army, they had shown by their conquest of Dresrin that they could not be stopped if they chose to attack.
“I thank you for your offer, but it will not be necessary. God is behind us in our mission, so it will not take long.”
“What are you searching for? Is it anything to do with this unnatural winter?”
The paladin nodded gravely. “I believe so. There is a dark force aboard. However, do not worry good citizen. Though the sky is dark the Sun has not set on us yet. God is with us and has sent us a prophet to guide us in these harsh times.”
“A prophet?”
“Indeed. A man from across the sea where the sun is high. He has shown us the form of our enemy, though it is a strange and deceptive form. Still, have no fear: balance will be restored before long, you have my word on it.” With that, he gave Michael a stiff bow and then returned to his prayers.
Michael left the church quickly and headed back to the inn. He found Zephyr sat alone at a table towards the back of the room. He was sat with his back to the door, openly watching the barmaid as she worked. I could have bought the paladins back with me and he would never have noticed until it was too late, Michael thought in disgust. He dropped into a seat opposite him. The room was fairly empty and no one was near them, but he spoke as quietly as he could.
“I’m back.”
“Find anything interesting?” Zephyr enquired, turning his attention from the tavern wench.
“They’re not eager to give any information away, but I’m certain it’s that boy they’re looking for. I guess they didn’t want to explain why they were so desperate to seek out a small child.”
“Well, that proves he can’t be anything bad then, if the paladins are after him, right?” He stretched and stood up. “If the church is against him, then he’s on our side.”
“‘The enemy of my enemy’? “Michael commented thoughtfully as they walked upstairs. “Do you ever wonder if we’re wrong? About the church and music and so on. Do you ever stop and think maybe it’s us doing the bad stuff?”
“Nope,” Zephyr replied truthfully. “I’ve never even considered it.”
“Why not? How can you be so certain?”
He pushed open the door to their room and headed to the bed. “Because it feels right,” he answered, lying down. On the ceiling above his head a plump spider crouched in the centre of a sprawling web.
“That’s it?” Michael asked in astonishment. “That’s the reason you’re a wanted man, that you risk your life? Because it feels right?”
“Pretty much.” The spider was slowly stalking across the slivery threads towards some flying thing that had been ensnared. “Why, is that a problem?”
Michael sighed and sat down on the other bed. “I just thought it would be for something a bit nobler. Like trying to change the world with song or something.”
Zephyr grinned. “No one can change the world. You can try, but you’ll only get so far until you come across someone else who’s trying to change it to what they want. And then what do you do? No, the best anyone can hope for is to change a life.”
Michael looked across at him, surprised. “That’s very deep, for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“Seriously, though, you’ve never thought about it? I mean, the church is supposed to be the voice of God, right? Surely they should know what the Sun approves of. You’re right, it doesn’t feel wrong, what we do, but none of us know what music was like in the past, what it was capable of. Imagine an army of singers, think about what they’d be able to achieve.”
“But I’m not an army of singers, I’m just me,” Zephyr pointed out. “Besides, I’m a musician, not a magician. I don’t care about magic; if it were to disappear I’d barely notice as long as I can keep playing. It’s my life, right? As long as hurting anyone, then it’s mine to do as I please. You never know when you’re going to die, when the chance to do something is going to disappear. So you’ve just got to do it. I don’t want to look back on my life when I’m old and say ‘I wish I’d done that.’ I don’t want any regrets.”
You’re not going to live long enough to have any regrets if you carry on like this, Michael thought, but he said nothing aloud.