Chapter 2
The next morning Zalar stepped through the black (though not to him) hallways of the Brokerage. He first walked to the weapons room and opened his personal chest. In order to make the duties of the smith easier, most of the weapons and tools used by the Brokerage were kept in a single room, which the smith had access to. His (and sometimes her) job was to look through the tools, weapons, and armor and repair them as necessary. Since most of the Brokerage rarely used weapons or armor, it was only called a 'weapons room' as a formality.
Personally, Zalar's chest contained a handful of shuriken, which he used as either a distraction when beating a hasty retreat or as a hand held weapon as they were easy to conceal. He also pulled out a small set of thieve's tools and a pair of gloves. To the untrained eye, the gloves seemed to be made of basic cloth, but with the appropriate knowledge it was clear that the gloves were made of some kind of metal. Holding the cool sheaves of metal in his hand for a moment, he regarded their weight with interest before quickly putting them into a pack he carried. He also pulled out a shirt made of the same weave and slipped it on over his undershirt.
Next he silently stalked his way to the Brewmaster, from whom he secured a large portion of the winter brew. Finally, he walked out to Dar-Nel's room, and softly rapped on the door. “I don't think he wants you to enter,” a voice from behind him whispered.
Turning around and looking down, Zalar smiled at the ranger. “Certainly not. So, friend, how am I getting out of this city?”
“Grashin Trueblade, an old friend. He came by for prices a few days ago, and I obliged. He's heading out in a short hour as soon as they open the gate, and if you hurry you may just catch him. He travels with a pair of Imperials who bear the mark of the Master Smith, as well as an Ellonar mage. Oh, and for both our sakes, give your respects to Anaar. He cares for all of us as if we were his very sons and daughters.”
“I know, I was planning to see him next.”
“One last thing...” Dar-Nel hesitated, looking unsure of how to proceed.
“Yes?”
“I need to enchant your face. I let him know that you were running from the law as Grashin is a Barbarian with no more love for the Empire than the Rangers, but they are still checking the identities of all who leave, and Grashin can't afford to be caught harboring a criminal. Here are your papers,” Dar-Nel handed Zalar a forged passport and an entrance visa to the Empire. “But now... I...”
“Oh get on with it already,” Zalar muttered, bracing himself.
As Dar-Nel began chanting, Zalar's face grew hot and uncomfortable while swallowing became difficult. The spell was taking shape. After thirty seconds, Dar-Nel finished his gesturing and stepped back to admire his handywork. “I'm sorry, I'm not the best of mages. I tried to make it as comfortable as possible, but I'm just not talented enough,” he apologized.
“No matter.” Zalar scratched his cheek, his breathing had grown heavy. “You did a great job.”
Dar-Nel viewed his friend, and then said “Goodbye, Zalar. May your tale not be told by the fireside.”
“And may you not need to hear it.” Zalar finished, turning from his friend and heading down the hall.
Zalar continued until he approached the compound's exit where Anaar stood at around his hight. “You are leaving?” Zalar nodded. “I suppose it would be a breach of etiquette to ask where you are heading?”
“I don't know yet, wherever life takes me I suppose.”
Anaar chuckled softly, “As are we all. What is it you search for? Maybe I could speed your quest.”
“Doubtful. I was searching for the Shadowbandit, but he has come to me already and sent me on his own mission. Now I seek the Heretics.”
“The Heretics?” Anaar asked, agitated. “You know our policy concerning the Heresies.”
Zalar recited, along with Anaar, “The Brokerage knows nothing of, nor will they pursue information regarding, the Imperial Inquisitions.” Zalar rolled his eyes, “But there is seven hundred thousand gold available for information regarding the Shadowbandit, and a further three hundred grand from the Shadowbandit himself should I discover where the Heretics are.”
“You take this quest on you own,” Anaar said. “Though I advise you don't. A million gold may be a fantastic sum, but it won't bring you back from the dead, nor can you carry it with you to the afterlife.” Zalar merely glared at Anaar, prompting him to continue, “but you know that. You also know that the Brokerage can't take a cut of these profits, and because of that we have to remove you from our active roster.”
Zalar shrugged. “I don't think I'll need a job any longer if I find out all I hope to. A million gold would last ten lifetimes. Besides, the Brokerage still owes me payment.”
“Do you have time to take your wages now?”
“No, keep them for now. If I do not return then you may split the money between yourself and Dar-Nel.”
“I can't believe you're leaving us, you were the best agent we've ever had Zalar.” Anaar shook his head, downcast. “I'll keep your gold, and hope against hope that it never becomes mine.”
“I...” Zalar looked at his long-time boss and friend, “I'll miss you.”
“You are always my brother, even if you are not my employee, and I will always help you whenever you have need within Zalon's city's walls.”
“And you mine.” With that, Zalar left the compound and found a wagon with a single brown mare attached to it sitting out front, with a full wagon load of “The Mule's Kick” ale, and the Brewmaster staring back at him.
“Goodbye, friend! May you have luck on your travels!”
Zalar smiled and nodded, mounting the wagon and trotting down the road to find Grishna Trueblade and his cohorts. As he approached the gates, which were set to open in thirty minutes, he had to slow his cart for the streets became more and more crowded. The line to exit the great city was long and the wait arduous, with Zalar picking his way through until he saw a small convoy with the description that Dar-Nel had given him. “Hoy!” He called, “Grishna Trueblade!”
“That is my name sir, are you Doras Molaine?”
“That I am,” Zalar lied while nodding, his face burning under the veil placed on him by his Ranger friend.
“Hop in line then. We've a good spot and should be out by noon time.”
Taking a spot in the rear of the convoy, Zalar nodded to his new compatriots. The sun started rising and heating up the dusty road, which was full of horses and carts. An earthy smell of horse droppings and dirt wafted into Zalar's nostrils as the rising summer sun baked the men and women waiting to leave the great city. Idle conversations of trade drifted into the agent's ears as he looked about, cataloging a vast amount of information.
From the passing talk, the prices of wheat would be higher in the fall due to a blight that had been spreading across a few of the more prominent farms in the Reserve. Some minor mine in the Iron Hills struck silver, the Shadowbandit murdered another junior officer off west of Zalonar out by the gates of Mount Flaalu, and a Small raiding party wiped out the leaderless company. Apparently the junior officer was the son of a minor noble who has sworn revenge, and was going to use his personal guard to attack a Small settlement. One of the Zalonar street gangs was making a push on one of the three main criminal family's territory, possibly driving up the prices of certain contraband. All this information and more was stored into the back of Zalar's head as he itched under the enchantment and burned in the sun.
Time inked by slowly and Zalar became antsy, though he managed to hold his anxiety inside, and the rush of information flowing to his brain didn't make it any better. Inch by inch the cart moved towards the western gates, as the guardsmen checked to ensure that the proper tariffs were paid, the proper officials bribed, and that no one was hiding the Shadowbandit in a wine barrel.
“Dammit,” Zalar seethed, “this is taking too long.”
“Would you prefer lax security?” one of the Imperials in the convoy asked. “Perhaps the guardsmen shouldn't care whether or not terrorists enter or leave the city.”
“Perhaps they shouldn't care if the terrorists leave,” Zalar said, “for if the terrorists leave they are no longer here are they?”
“And forgo the opportunity for justice? An imperial would sooner cut his own throat.”
To this, an Ellonar woman towards the back glumly added, “if only they would, and the world could be rid of Imperial justice.”
“We do not claim to be perfect,” the second of the two Imperials said, “nor even good. But justice is a worthy pursuit, worthy enough that a few setbacks cannot dampen a movememnt.”
“Which I suppose is exactly why Kirak lead his armies against the Ellonar?” She was about five foot five, supple, and wore a dark olive skin. Her long black hair fell loosely but well-ordered about her face, covering her ears mostly from view. Other than the oddly shaped jet-black eyes and six-fingered hands, the only other indication that she was not human would have been the pointed shape of her ears. Deep in her voice was the melodic voice of a hobby singer, not as grand as the great melodists of the empire, but still something in it that caused Zalar to temporarily perk his ears and forget his headache. Carefully ordered, her hair was a small indication to those who knew the signs (and Zalar did) that she was a spellcaster of sorts, but nothing else about her dress hinted at her skills. She was guiding the middle cart with the Imperial brothers guarding the last cart, Grishna and Zalar in the front.
The two Imperials she debated with could very well have been twins, having the pale and pallid white and faded brown hair of the Empire. They were adorned in chain mail and traditional black-and-silver livery of the Master Smith. Their voices were not harsh, but lacked the grace of the Ellonar woman's. “Soraya, if it weren't for Imperial justice, Zalon would not have had the opportunity to stay Kirak's hand.”
“Besides,” Grishna added, “the Battlemages saved us all, including the Ellonar, and it was their choice to secede from the Empire. They should have anticipated the reprisal, especially since Kirak was an ardent imperialist.”
“A reprisal which was illegal, I might add.” Soraya countered, shaking her head. “That's why the Floating City withdrew and the Empire lost its grip on Zalonar and the far Eastern Reserve, or even Lagromaalth.”
“Lagromaalth is free because Tevar negotiated with us after the second invasion. We were unable to contribute arms to the Empire as a whole since so many of us suffered when the Smalls overran our longhouses. We had nothing to give and the mages saw this. Rather than accept debt, our people stood tall and withdrew from the protection of the Empire so we could rebuild.”
At this one of the two Imperials started laughing, “A Ranger sentiment if I ever heard one!”
Grishna rolled his eyes, and said, “Mardo, if it weren't for the fact that you and I have such an extensive history, I'd pluck your eyes for that comment.”
“You'd have to get through both of us!” his brother, Radoh, called. “Even your vaunted Barbarian skills are no match for us both!”
“That's why my experience stops me,” Grishna grinned, “I know better than to take either of you on in a straight up fight.”
During this entire conversation, Zalar swayed back and forth, about to pass out. Fortunately they arrived at the gate, and the stifling heat coupled with the pins and needles of the spell cast on him caused his vision to swim and his hearing to fade in and out. Somehow, but not easily, he managed to present his papers to the guard and come up with a reasonable facsimile of conversational topics. He noted that the guardsman was a bit distracted, as if he was worried about something other than his inspections, which implied that there were pressures on. Whether or not the pressures were designed to catch Zalar was unknown to the thief, but the faint edge in the guard's voice worried him.
Quickly they were out of the way and the cool breeze caused by the cart moving forward at a decent pace caused some relaxation in Zalar, but his vision was still blurred and his hearing still faint. He heard something from the Barbarian next to him, and after a couple seconds he managed to puzzle out the words, “Are you all right?” coming from the giant's mouth. Miming that he was about to pass out, he felt a waterskin be pressed to his lips and he drank from the water.
“Remove the enchantment,” he hoarsely croaked before he flipped sideways off the cart.
A few minutes later he choked and sat up in the middle cart as the Ellonar woman looked him over. “No permanent damage, maybe a slight concussion. It's a pity I don't know much Death magic, or else I could fix that up just fine.”
After a few seconds from waking, his senses returned to him. “No magic.”
Nodding in agreement, Soraya looked grim. “I've never seen an untreated allergy before.”
“I was an orphan,” he explained, “and by the time I had the wherewithal to get such treatments, it was too late to do anything with it.”
“It's a particularly severe reaction, too. More's the pity, you would have made an excellent mage.”
“That's what I've been told. It's so bad I can actually feel when there are spellcasters in close proximity from the magic coming off their bodies.” Instantly Soraya blushed and moved back away from her charge, who quickly comforted her, “It's ok, it's not uncomfortable at all. I'm used to it by now. It's really just like a little part of my body saying, 'She can use magic.'”
“That's... impressively strong. I'm surprised that face-enchantment didn't kill you!”
“Len-Rad is fantastically capable with that particular brand of nature magic, and as you know the more powerful the spellcaster the less fierce the reaction. I think a cleric explained it to me once as them having a more refined control over their schools?”
“Ha ha ha,” Soraya laughed, her hair shaking along with her head. “In that case I better be careful and not cast any spells near you!”
Despite himself, Zalar smiled, “I'm sure you're not that bad.”
“My old master would disagree,” Soraya started. “He always said I was largely incompetent.”
“So you're an Elementalist, then?” Zalar asked with genuine interest. “I've only ever worked with Naturalists and holy-users.”
At this, Soraya pulled what could only be described as a sour face, as she said, “No, I'm a Naturalist in contradiction with my heritage. That's partly why I struggled so hard: I couldn't figure out why I couldn't figure out the elements, until I started traveling and realized my natural affinity to nature, if you'll pardon the pun.”
“I guess the talent must be somewhat evenly distributed, or else who would tend the grand forest?” Zalar asked with a wink.
“Seyala?” Soraya asked. “Oh, no, Seyala does fine without any Naturalists at all. We keep it carefully temperature controlled by manipulating the elements, which means it has no winter season. Over several thousand years not having a winter season takes its toll on a forest, and eventually the trees reach massive size.”
“Seyala?” Zalar asked again, unaccustomed to the word.
“It is our word for what you call the Grand Forest. Roughly translated it means 'Home Trees.'”
“I must confess that while I am well versed in Barbarians and Rangers, I know little about the Ellonar,” Zalar said, “and I must also confess that I do not wish to learn much more.”
His worries that she would take offense were dissuaded when she let out another melodic laugh, “I must confess I have no desire to spread the culture of Seyala! I left there for a reason, and the reason was not because of a deep love.”
Sitting up, Zalar took note of his surroundings. They were passing perhaps the most famous battleground in the history of the world, mostly because virtually every major battle had been fought there. From the depths of time, the story of Versuras' betrayal of his fellow priests ends with him defeating the Empire's army single-handedly marks the first battle. After fast forwarding a few thousand years, this was the sight of where the Warlock met, with his warlocks at his back, a massive Small army, and broke the tide of what appeared to be a ceaseless onslaught, and not a hundred years later, Kirak, Tevar, and Zalon defeated the last remnant of what was the second Small invasion.
There was a lot of history here, and the grounds still tinged slightly with the residual magic left over from those fantastic battles... or perhaps the magic was there from the beginning of time. Zalar had no way of knowing, he just felt the familiar prickle of spare magical radiance triggering an immune reaction.
After a few more hours of traveling, they came to the edge of the Eastern Forest, a massive forest that sat in the middle of the Eastern Reserve and spanned the whole way to the hills of Lagromaalth. It was still two hours to sundown, but the path through the forest was dangerous in the best of times... and with the Shadowbandit's effect on the region it was down right treacherous. Feeling better after his ordeal, Zalar helped set up a rudimentary camp.
Zalar piled up a few sticks for a fire, and set about it with a tinder box. In the meantime, Soraya was a few dozen paces away practicing her art, drawing the grass into vines and shaping them, then untangling them and letting the plants fall back to the earth. Grishna was nowhere to be seen, but Zalar suspected he had stepped into the forest to hunt. Mardo and Rodah sat near by, discussing current events in the Empire, a discussion involving a political suicide by the mayor of Gatewatch. Apparently the mayor had been caught working with a ring that forged entrance passports to the Empire proper.
The Empire proper was a somewhat inaccurate term regarding the portion of the Empire of Lore that resided within a great wall. Technically and historically, the proper term for this region was the Holy City of Lore, but for thousands of years the once-enormous city -about the size of a nation on its own- had fractionated into about four or five major cities with a long connecting network of roads, towns, and villages. There were three gates to enter the Empire proper, the eastern gate (which faced the Eastern Imperial Reserve), the southern gate (facing the Southern Imperial Reserve) and the western gate, which faced what was typically known as the “wildlands,” stretching from the western gate to the edge of the Grand Forest, home of the Ellonar people.
At the center of this patch of land was a tall, mysterious tower called simply the Vault of Lore. Legend stated that in millennia long past, the tower was both the seat of power of the mythical priests when they walked the earth and a repository of all knowledge. It is said that there is a lonely scribe, or a succession of lonely scribes, who sit down and record every piece of history ever, down to the conversation two siblings might have had all the way across the world, and that if one knew how to navigate the vault, one could figure out anything.
Needless to say, these are widely considered merely rumors, and even those who have spent their whole lives familiarizing themselves with the layout of the vault have so far been completely unable to navigate it properly. That being said, it is the current seat for the government and the judges of the Empire are often said to derive their judgment from the holy scrolls stored in the tower, if just to increase the mythos behind both the government's legitimacy and the Vault of Lore itself.
Because of the low number of gates in and out of the Holy City, it was historically very difficult to gain entrance: one would have to prove citizenship of the city or provide papers proving that one was merely passing through for business. Large settlements appeared on the outside of the towns, havens for those who had lost their papers or for convoys who did not have papers but were doing business with merchants from inside the Holy City. After the death of the Priests and the decline of the empire, the settlements to the south and west eventually dwindled to nothing, while to the east (where the Empire still enjoyed a prosperous trade route) the settlement of Eastern Gatewatch remained: a settlement divided into two at the great wall itself. Since it was the only Gatewatch left, it was no longer “Eastern Gatewatch” (which began to refer to the part of Gatewatch outside the wall) but rather just Gatewatch, and it was to this settlement that Zalar and his companions were headed now.
After arriving at Gatewatch, Zalar hoped to learn the underworld of {city directly next to the Vault of Lore} on the off-chance that an imperial higher-up could be convinced to tell him where the Heretics went. He would then return, find the Shadowbandit, give him the information, collect his payment, determine the identity of the Shadowbandit, and return to Zalonar where he would inform the General of exactly who the Shadowbandit was. In theory, it would net him well more than enough gold to comfortably retire wherever he liked.
Shortly after the sun set, Grishna returned from his hunt with three rabbits, and Soraya came from her exercises with some herbs and vegetables preserved with magic from the food stores they had brought. Pulling out an iron pot, Mardo and Radoh began discussing the finer points of rabbit stew while Grishna skinned and sliced up the rabbit. Soraya, to the subtle irritation of Zalar's magic allergy, used spells to instantly preserve the rabbit skins, remarking that they would at least have the use of fetching a few coppers on the market.
After dinner, Zalar told a story about the exploits of General Zalon, the Great Spearman (after whom his hometown was named), while Grishna worked the rabbit skins into small pouches. After Zalar finished his story, Grishna handed him one of the rabbit-skin pouches. “A fantastic story, and telling of the great exploits we Barbarians would expect from our heroes! Please accept this pouch as a payment for such great fireside revelry.”
Zalar smiled at the Barbarian and thanked him, and shortly afterwords they all drifted to sleep save Zalar and Soraya. “Having trouble sleeping?” She asked.
“It's too bright here,” Zalar shook his head, “I'm not sure how you can sleep with all this light out.”
Soraya looked about the moonless sky, and said, “It'd be a bit darker if there were clouds, but this is pretty dark. Where do you normally sleep that you are this unaccustomed to light?”
“I sleep in a basement with no windows,” Zalar said. “There are no torches so this is pretty much how bright it is during the day, and at night it is completely black.”
“How do you navigate, then?”
Zalar tugged his necklace from under his shirt. “It's a magical pendant that lets me see.”
“I thought you were allergic to magic,” Soraya said, a bit puzzled.
“I am. The more powerful the wizard and less complicated the spell, the less it affects me. This amulet was apparently designed by an extremely powerful wizard, and I guess that the ability to see in the dark isn't a particularly difficult spell.” Zalar shrugged a bit.
“It depends on how it's done, I suspect.” Soraya gave a small smile, “In nature there are many creatures that can see in the dark, so I would transmute your eyes to be more like, say, a cat's. Elementalists would probably use a bit of special fire or lightning to allow you, but no one else to see, while Holy magic would simple make your eyes work so well that the dark would become no obstacle. To turn your eyes to that of a cat, for example, wouldn't be particularly difficult.”
“Really? I thought shapeshifting was advanced magic.”
“Only total form shifts,” Soraya allowed, and changed her arm into an octopus' tentacle. “Partial shifts are pretty easy. The idea behind it is...” she was interrupted by Zalar.
“Not that I wouldn't love to learn the secrets behind your trade, but I'm afraid that magical theory puts me to sleep and I'd rather stay up and talk to you more.” Zalar passed her a small grin which was returned.
“Magical theory puts me to sleep as well,” Soraya admitted, “I'm much more of a practical person.”
“Part of the reason you're no longer with the Ellonar, I suppose.”
“Master wanted fifty hours a week in book work, and ten a week in actual spellcasting. What's the point of studying if I never cast a spell?”
Zalar chuckled, “I have no idea: I try to avoid spells and their casters.”
At this Soraya looked a little disheartened. “I'm sorry if my presence bugs you.”
“No, no!' Zalar said, looking a bit alarmed. “You're quite capable, I didn't even feel you changing your arm there,” he lied. The partial shift was still making him itch quite a bit all over.
“Oh, thank you.” Soraya blushed a little bit as she changed her arm back, and there was a small awkward silence.
“So are you betrothed?” Zalar asked. “I know it's tradition for the Ellonar to be engaged well before their apprenticeship ends, and you are not traveling with a master.”
To this, Soraya looked down and away. “Yes and no. I'm still an apprentice, technically, and will probably always be an apprentice since there are no Naturalists amongst my people willing to train me. Especially not since I left my old master. So while I have found my future husband, we will probably never marry.”
“Oh,” Zalar asked, “But do you love him?”
“Ellonar do not marry for love, they marry to procreate. Love is for our lovers, but procreation is far less intimate and more important. It is important that the best traits are bred for, while undesirables, like my Naturalism talent, are avoided. As such my breeding partner is a highly accomplished Elementalist, while my life-partner... well I have yet to meet my life-partner.”
Zalar mused over this to himself, saying “Ellonar culture sure is different from the Empire.”
“Part of me thinks we practice it simply for the sake of being different,” Soraya said, tossing some twigs on the fire. “One of our philosophers talks about tradition simply for tradition's sake, this idea that we have to set ourselves apart from the world in order to have value.”
“I disagree with that,” Zalar said. “I don't think our value lies in how different we are from the people around us, but how similar we are. I guess the best example I could give is, if your beliefs ideals and tastes were the same as mine, it would be easier for me to relate to you.”
“Yeah,” Soraya agreed.
For the rest of the night, Zalar and Soraya shared their company with one another, openly and honestly sharing their deepest secrets and cherished beliefs until at last they drifted to sleep, each with dreams of the days to come.