Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

In the city of Tier, a place of intrigue and mystery, a group of adventurers takes the first steps into a dangerous place.

Prologue

Think about magic.

Magic is a force of change. It can change the colour of a flower. It can change the fate of a nation. It can change a life.

There are many kinds of magic, and they each change lives in their own ways. The shamanism of the northern clans can change the very ground, and bring either fair winds or harsh storms.
The sorcerers of the Arcane Order bring fire and lightning in the service of their kings, changing the outcome of wars.
The devotees of the gods are granted the power to bring the changes their creed calls for.
For each temple or academy proudly displaying their magic to the world, there are a dozen hidden factions, secret cults, or half-forgotten cabals working their own arts behind the scenes.
Change will happen, whether we see it or not. That is the nature of magic.

Changes come naturally to the secretive Lacunai Mystics in their mountain stronghold. They embrace the change, and draw their power from it. Every mystic, once they finish their initiate training, goes on a vision quest to find the monster that will forever after be their spiritual form. While they are able to pull power from other creatures they encounter throughout their lives, the one they meet during their vision will always be with them.
It will always wait beneath the surface, to be called when needed.

As the mystic grow stronger, their bond with their inner spirit grows as well. With time, this shows as physical signs on the mystic. The sentinel of the stronghold, Alam Hetagon, blessed by his gryphon spirit, soars above the walls on strong wings and tears through steel with his claws.
Most mystics take great pride in the changes their spirits bring them. They are treated as badges of honour.

It is only rarely when a mystic would be ashamed enough of their signs to hide them, or even refuse to call upon their spirit’s power unless they had no other choice. Such mystics often leave the Lacunai’s mountain home and find their lives where they can hide the truth inside them as long as possible.
Some become bitter recluses. Others, though, strive to become great heroes.

Let’s follow one of them for a while.

Chapter One: Opening Steps

A wind started to blow. It rushed across the skies, bringing with it the faintest promise of the summer to come. It whispered of changes.

The clouds moved back enough for the moonlight to pass over the rooftops of the city. The tall skyspire reaching up above the other buildings, the domed great temple, the arc of the clarion bridge — shapes that let there be no doubt about where in the world you were. A city where the plains of Olmar met the hills and forests Alband, where the ocean met the land, where stories began and legends were told. The moon painted a silvery picture across the rooftops of Tier.

While the taverns still shed light into the dark streets, most of the city was asleep. Only a few people walked those streets, going home after a long day, or a short stay at one of those taverns. Some guards dutifully did their patrols. Fortunately, the guards seldom raised their eyes toward the rooftops.

Barely visible, almost hidden, behind a decorative outcropping on top of a proud old townhouse was a figure leaning over the edge. Whoever it was couldn’t fully appreciate the large house, fit for a lesser noble or wealthy merchant, since they were struggling to hold onto something.

From hands covered by supple leather gloves, the kind worn for fashion rather than warmth or protection, dangled another person. Her short, red hair was just barely visible in the darkness of the alley between the two houses. She worked deftly on an upstairs window, prying at and teasing the firm clasp.

A small tremble made her look up sharply at her companion, a look that was heartily returned.

“Why am I up here?” He asked, adjusting his grip around her legs a little. Moonlight wasn’t enough to make out all his features, but the tips of his slightly pointed ears showed through black hair tied back with a string.

“You’re the only other one who doesn’t have metal underwear,” came the hushed reply from the woman below.

“That’s not true. Rhyce and Kel dress sensibly,” he protested. As sensible as their lifestyle permitted, he supposed. Rhyce favoured his heavy leathers, and Kellen tried to avoid the thick robes most of his sort wore.

“You know how Kel is about heights. Don’t be mean to him.” The redhead paused to brush some grime out of the window’s frame. The owners clearly didn’t clean the outside as much as they ought to.

“Well, what about Rhyce, then?”

“He didn’t want to.”

The rest of their friends waited down in the cover of the dark alley, too far away to hear the hushed conversation above. From time to time, the moonlight managed to make its way far enough to reflect on the metal some of them wore. They were clearly ready for any danger that might lurk inside that house.

The one named Rhyce, athletic rather than strong, solid rather than tall, was closest to the street side of the alley. They trusted his keen eyes and sharp hearing to warn them if any guards would break off from their tired routine and explore their alley. You could never be too careful. His bow was still tucked away in a special quiver made to carry both arrows and weapon, but it would be in his hands in the blink of an eye should the need arise.

Up by the rooftop, the black-haired man struggled on.

“How are you this heavy? I can’t feel my hands anymore!”

“I’m not heavy! Shut up!” She complained.

“Seriously, you’re a foot shorter than I am, and of the girly persuasion. I should be able to dangle you like a cat’s toy.” His hands were really starting to hurt. Either that window was locked tighter than a dwarven vault, or his friend was starting to get rusty.

Oleander glared up at him, her face red from either embarrassment or from hanging upside down for too long.

“And what does that tell you?” She hissed.

“That you’re impossibly heavy?” He could just barely see her face. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to tease her?

“No! That you’re really, really weak!”

Jaden scowled back down at her. He wasn’t weak. He was… average. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t a musclebound Northman like Kel or Stann. He shifted his grip again, causing Oleander to sway a smidgen. Hopefully some blood would start flowing back into his hands.

“Say, do you know who’s stronger than me?” He asked.

“Everyone?”

Jaden was quiet for a while. He grimaced.

“This is true. However! You could’ve made a bit more of an effort to badger Rhyce into being your living foothold. He’s got strong hands from pulling that bow of his all day long.” There was no real doubt about it. Rhyce could probably break Jaden’s wrist by just squeezing hard enough. Now, Jaden was by no means frail; Rhyce just had a grip like that.

“I told you already. He didn’t want to.”

“Neither did I!”

“Well, it’s that special connection we two share. Also, I don’t have blackmail material on him.” Her tone had gone from irritated to sounding amused. He could always make her smile.

“I’ve been telling you that the bathhouse incident was not my fault. Not entirely. Completely blown out of proportion,” he explained. Someday he’d live that one down. Clearly not tonight, though.

“’Blown’ being the operative word, eh?” She was definitely smiling.

“I’ll drop you, Ollie.”

“No you won’t. You know you love me too much.”

“You’re right, of course. I love you like I love that special cousin, who lives under the stairs. And eat socks.”

Oleander couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image, causing one of her tools to slip and drop down into the alleyway.

“Shoot! Look what you made me do? I dropped one of my picks!” She almost had it, too. The bracing pick had the clasp nudged almost out of the way.

“I can’t see anything since my view is blocked by your impossibly large-"

With a careful push, she flicked the clasp up, and it fell away. The window tugged open reluctantly.

“Ssh! I got it open. Call the others.” There was no lock she couldn’t pick. Especially with friends to lean on.

It was a while later when they were all gathered by the rooftop. It had taken Jaden two tries to send a magic message down to his friends in the alley. The spell required precise gestures, even if they were quick and small, and his stiff, abused hands didn’t want to cooperate.

Even this late at night, they didn’t dare risk raising their voices high enough to be heard in the alley. While he was flexing his fingers, Oleander had been busying herself with putting her precious tools back into her pack.

Shortly after the magic whisper snuck down into the alley to deliver the invitation, the two of them could hear the approaching noise of people in armour trying to be sneaky. They exchanged a smirk. Of all of her friends, only Rhyce and Jaden could walk across a room without waking the neighbours. Stann and Mirena used their heavy armour as an excuse; Kellen had only his bull-like grace to blame.

The wall blocking off the alley from the street behind it shuddered slightly, and simple stone steps pushed their way out and formed a crude stairway.

The first one up was the strong, tall Northman in his noisy chain mail armour. Long, blonde hair, clear blue eyes and the short beard made him the very image of a winterland warrior. Stann stepped to the side, and offered a hand to the even more heavily armoured knight who followed close behind. Mirena smiled politely and accepted the help, her brown hair made up into a sensible braid. Unlike many of her fellow knights of her order, she wasn’t too proud to take the offered hand. The noise of their metal died down as they gave the last two of the group room to come join them.

Next up was another tall and blonde man, the resemblance between the two clear enough to speak of their close family bond. Kellen, though, wore simple wool trousers and a light leather jerkin. The softly glowing symbols on both arms spoke of why he needed no armour. A thick belt carried several pouches where he kept his runes. One hand clutched an inscribed stone tightly, a focus of his earth magic. It was one of many like it. Kellen walked close to the wall and hurried the last few steps. He didn’t turn to look out over the city like the others did, but instead focused on the roof under his feet.

Rhyce brought up the rear, as always. Slightly curly light brown hair moved in the wind. His brown eyes never left the street below them. He must have heard a noise, since his hand was raised, close to his quiver and the bow.

“Another patrol comes. Lose the steps, Kellen.” Rhyce didn’t command. He just said what was needed to be done. Pragmatic only began to describe him.

The taller of the two Northmen let his hand relax around the stone, and the stair created by magic fell apart into dust. The cloud would settle over the alley and cover any tracks they left behind.
They waited until the city guards had strolled past the house before moving on to the next step of their plan. Put a knight, a rune seeker and a cat-burglar around any map, and there would be plans. This was one of the strengths of the group. Unlike some of their colleagues in the adventuring business, they were well prepared before entering into potential danger. They had all heard the stories about groups who weren’t as willing as they to spend the extra time. Most of those stories were tragedies.

“Here we are. Good work, Oleander, Jaden,” said Mirena. The knight wasn’t the leader of the group. They didn’t really have a leader, but when a situation called for expertise in a subject, they respected the direction of the one best suited for it. She always had a kind word ready, though. “Kellen? Please give us steps to the window.”

The stone had never left his hand, and Kellen called on the power of the rune once more. As he shaped the stairs from the roof down to the open window, his kinsman held a comforting hand on his shoulder. Kellen never liked being too close to the edge.

“Same order. Red and Jay, Rena and I, Kel and Rhyce.” Stann wasn’t a tactician like Mirena, but he was very familiar with close quarter brawls. Keep the ranged people in the back, with Mirena and him in front. Oleander and Jaden had their own mission, and the rest of the group would provide the diversion for them to work.

Rhyce stepped back from his watch to give Jaden a wry look.

“Was she teasing you again? I could hear you bickering, like mice fighting over cheese.” The archer had a slight accent, betraying his background as a borderlander. Jaden glanced over at the redhead and shrugged.

“If you go with her next time, you’ll find out,” Jaden offered. Rhyce gave a slight, lopsided smile and shook his head, declining the experience.

The quiet grinding of stone stopped as the stair was completed. The red and black hair was caught in a sudden night breeze as the sneakier two of the group headed into that proud old townhouse. The quiet wouldn’t last long. The plan depended on a ruckus loud enough to draw everyone in the building, but not loud enough to concern the city guards. Stann smiled at the moon, feeling the blood start rushing deep inside.

He and his cousin were very good at just the right amount of commotion.

The night before

Three people leaned over the map.

“As far as we know, the Sons of Husk keeps the obsidian skull inside this old building. Rumour has, the previous owners disappeared mysteriously shortly before the house passed to a previously unknown nephew.” Oleander pointed at a section of the rough sketch of the house. “We should be able to get in through this window, bypassing the guards we spotted on the first floor.”

“How reliable is this map?” Mirena brushed some hair back over an ear. When not preparing to enter into a fight, she preferred to dress according to her station and let her long brown hair fall freely down over her shoulders. The soft blue velvet gown contrasted greatly with her usual plate mail.

“I paid the previous manservant enough to jog his memory. Working fifteen years for the old couple, I trust he got the rooms and hallways right.” The redhead looked pleased with herself. She was almost as good with picking knowledge out of people as she was picking locks, or pockets. “By the way, I’m taking that back out of the reward, just so you know.”
Mirena sighed and turned back to the map. At her other side, the much taller Kellen just grinned.

“Let the girl focus on her gold coins, while we turn out attention to the plan.” His voice was resonant. He could’ve been a great storyteller back home, but home had other plans for him. Mirena nodded resolutely.

“See here, the only obvious way to the third floor is the stairs here. We could easily hold most of the cult there long enough for Oleander and Jaden to secure the skull.” For all her skill in battle, it was her tactical knowledge that had brought her the most recognition amongst her peers back in the order.

“And anyone lurking up there with us?” Rhyce asked, mostly for the groups’ benefit. He already knew what to do. As the oldest, he had a lot of previous experience planning ambushes and traps. More than he ought to, in fact.

“You and Kellen will focus on suppressing them while Stann and I guard the stairs. Once the top floor is cleared, return and help us.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’ll sneak down the secret passage the old man told me about — uh, with Jay — and grab the skull before anyone’s the wiser!” Oleander stabbed a finger down at a marked section on the map. The previous owners apparently enjoyed classics like a hidden door behind a bookshelf, leading to the basement. Whether it was intended as an escape route or just a novelty hadn’t been made clear, but for now it would serve the group’s purpose wonderfully.

“Just remember to let Jaden inspect the skull first, Oleander. We don’t want you to get stricken by any curses the cult may have placed upon it as protection.” Mirena looked up from the map to make sure the other woman had heard her.

“Yes, okay, mommy. I’ll let big brother Jay poke it until he’s sure none of us will turn into frogs.”

Jaden looked up from where he and Stann were sitting with their playing cards. There were two tankards, both on the Northman’s side of the table. Most of the copper coins they were playing for were, too.

“Actually, knowing a little about the Sons of Husk, any curses are more likely to rot your insides or turn your blood into bees, than make you small and green.” He waggled his fingers ominously at Oleander, who looked like she was getting a little nauseous.

“Here’s an idea: Jay takes the skull!” She pushed back from the table, and pointed at the young mystic. Her friends were smiling.

“Very well. Then we have a plan.”

Things never go according to plan.