Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Travelling from the golden city of Tier to the town of Carrick Field in western Alband would take nearly five days on horseback, but using their connections with the Whitewater Cartel, Jaden and her friends secure passage on a riverboat to get them there more quickly.

Flashback: Jaden and Oleander hadn't imagined what it would be like to go on a real adventure, but only weeks after their first meeting in Tarad the opportunity sat down at their table during a particularly busy night at the Count of Cups tavern in Carrick Field.

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Chapter 24: Bridge of Memories, part 1

CARRICK FIELD

He was the largest man Jaden had ever seen. Of course, Jaden had also seen all manner of manifested monster-forms, including Master Viskeri’s very impressive golem spirit, but aside from all that the man sitting on the opposite side of the table might as well have been a giant. The Northman had a simple leather jerkin that left his tattooed arms bare, arms with muscles upon muscles that left the young mystic feeling more than a little envious. The fact that the light blonde hulk of a man sat as tall as Jaden stood only served to drive the difference home even further. He used his thick fingers to stroke the bushy moustache that almost hid his mouth while he waited for the smiling barmaid to finish refilling their mugs. The brunette slip of a girl winked at the second Northman sitting by the table, who returned the smile and eagerly reached for his mug. He was almost as big as the first one, but instead of simply large, he had the toned and conditioned strength of a warrior. Kellen and Stann were the first Northmen Jaden had seen in his life, and they sure made an impression.

“Now, where was I?” The larger Northman rumbled thoughtfully as he put a hand on one of the mugs to keep his cousin from claiming it as well.

“You were telling the kids about the Horrors,” Stann grinned, emphasising the last word as if to see if it provoked any reaction from the two sitting opposite of the Northmen. Jaden looked to his side, and the small redhead there seemed suitably impressed by the story so far. He had known her longer than the others, having met them only the other night.

"Actually, it was a misunderstanding that's stuck to this day. The original elven tribes of the Sorun forest had a name for the creatures, calling them the Kinien Harir, which loosely translates to-" Kellen began to explain, lecture rather, with his deep voice. Listening to it reminded Jaden of the books he had left behind back home.

"'The old tribe below'?" Jaden offered helpfully.

"Yes, basically. Now, Marshall Gerriod didn't fully understand the dialect of this new elven people, so naturally-"

"He went like, 'Horrors, eh? Yep, that sounds about right'." Oleander wrote history her own way most of the time, Jaden had come to realise, and liked to ham it up with an outrageous old accent. She snapped her fingers at the end, flashing a cheeky grin. Cheeky described several of her qualities, from the way she walked, talked and how she wore her simple, boyish clothes, to how she kept her short, red hair.

"If you two would stop interrupting me!" Kellen almost yelled, then visibly gathered himself and continued.

While the winter scholar launched into the engrossing details about the strange creatures, Jaden let his mind wander. Only a couple of weeks ago he had met Oleander, who turned out to have been as alone as he was. She had become his first friend outside the mountain. The first real person he had got to know outside the walls of Talraman. She was so real, so unburdened by the magical world. She could never understand the trouble magic would bring upon its users, the curse that had befallen Jaden. But she didn’t need to. When Jaden had explained that he was on a personal quest, she had readily agreed to help. She became his guide in the world outside the mountain, a place he had mostly only read about in books.

"Why do you call it a seed, then? The Horrors are insect monsters, right?" Oleander’s voice broke through Jaden’s reverie. He had been thinking again. That mostly led to bad places.

"Not entirely. Well, they're not insects at all, but something altogether different, but they're not completely fauna, in the same way most creatures are. They share qualities of plant life, according to some people wiser than I. For instance, the queen does not need anyone else to be able to lay seeds that will hatch into workers."

"Oh, come on now! Seeds hatch? Why don't they sprout?" The redhead had grown up in small town in Olmar, right between the forest and the farmlands. She knew at least a little about what was supposed to hatch, and what shouldn’t.

"There's an interesting story behind this, dating back to when the scholars Bennett and Palivar first studied the creatures, when the kingdoms of man began to settle into the area we now know as the midlands. You see, after careful examination, Bennett - the Marshall's First Herbalist - announced his findings being in accordance to previous knowledge about-"

"Are you hungry, Jay?" Oleander turned to him, her cheek propped up on a hand.

"I could eat." They had mostly been eating tavern snacks since breakfast.

"Want to grab something while the giant is talking to himself?"

"You're being rude, Ollie. The giant's just trying to help." Jaden couldn’t help but play along.

"Help put me to sleep, you mean?" Oleander rocked back on her chair, arms over the backrest and rolling her eyes with dramatic suffering. She reached over and swatted his tied back hair like a cat paws a toy on a string.

"Bear, I'm not sure I like these two," Kellen scowled at his cousin, who just patiently patted the rune seeker's shoulder.

"What's on the bottom of the barrel is still better than the gutterwater that was the rest of these Albander townsfolk." Stann hadn't been too impressed by the local talent. For a reasonably large town, Carrick Field didn't have much in the way of a restless youth interested in adventure. "That aside, it might be good to have someone like the black-haired kid along."

"Ah, yes, that could end up as a boon. It would be nice to have someone naturally gifted with Sorunese along with us. Stormfather knows I'm struggling with the elven tonguetwisters sometimes." Kellen had to agree, despite everything. The rune seeker just hoped that the youth knew how to use that sword he carried around with him. "Also, he seems to know a thing or two about portals."

Jaden looked up from where he had been keeping Oleander’s hands off his hair. She was like a little sister sometimes. It almost made him miss being around Lilya.

"What do you mean, 'naturally? It's not as if I'm a-" The mystic was interrupted by the redhead tugging his him close by his hair.

"What was that about portals?" Oleander asked, whispering exaggeratedly into his pointed ear, while looking at the Northmen.

"We suspect that the Kynian Horrors may actually be visitors from another place-" Kellen began explaining, hoping that the two youths might actually listen to him if he answered their questions.

"Plane." Jaden corrected the rune seeker, freeing himself by keeping Oleander at arm’s length so that she couldn’t reach him.

"Plane. Thank you. Jaden, was it? That instead of coming from the deep underground, they might have ways of entering out world from realms beyond. One of my colleagues believes that explains why the dwarves of Atun seldom have any problems with running into Kynians when they excavate new tunnels under the Erbor Mountain." Kellen lapsed into a more comfortable lecturing tone when he realised he was keeping their attention.

"Pretend I'm stupid, like Jay, and walk me through what portals are, now?" The redheaded Olman girl asked, feigning relaxation. The mystic just rolled his eyes and answered the question instead, before the huge Northman had gathered his thoughts.

"I'll try to use small words, Ollie." That earned the black-eared mystic another swat at his pony-tail. "As far as I understand it, portals are magical constructs that make use of naturally occurring shallowings - places where two planes touch or even briefly overlap - to allow objects or creatures to transfer between worlds. Like between our world and the Myriad Nether, for instance. They're often in the shape of actual doorways, but could in theory be anything."

"That was the simple version?" Oleander tried to make sense of the explanation. She understood doors and locks, but windows into other worlds went over her head.

"You should hear my aunt explain it."

There was a metal noise heralding the return of the Tierin knight. She was fully armed when she stepped into the tavern, closely followed by the grim archer who had barely spoken two words since they had met last evening.

"We have the count's permission to delve into the hive and do whatever necessary to put an end to the infestation." Mirena stood almost as tall as Jaden, but carried herself with a powerful dignity and strength. Even before he had seen her wearing her plate mail, Jaden had still been able to feel how she was armoured by her faith, sending prickles across his skin. She had already done her hair up in a braided bun to keep out of the way once she donned her helmet.

"Well, that's our signal," Stann stood up and stretched as if he couldn’t wait to get back into the action again. With a single gulp he finished his beer and returned the mug to the table with great vigour. He was the kind of man who felt that too much sitting and talking was bad for you. "Get your weapons and make ready; we ride out in a quarter of an hour. We're on a mission!"

Oleander grinned with excitement at Jaden as they hurried up the stairs to get their light packs. This was their first real adventure.

The temple guards stepped to the side to allow the cloaked man and his assistant through in the narrow hallways. The heavy doors that led down into the crypts weren’t guarded at this time, but enough people were moving up and down the short stairs for it not to be an issue. The cloaked man nodded at the captain of the guards, wearing the copper badge of office over his white surcoat, and who waited at the bottom of the stairs. Together they walked to the scene of the battle.

The man pushed the hood of his cloak back, showing short reddish-brown hair and a brow already wrinkled in thought. His eyes darted across the chaos left behind by the fighting some nights ago. The reports that had reached the city were enough to prompt his superiors to send him with the Temples’ quick coastrunner ship as soon as the morning tide allowed.

“What do you make of it?” The captain tucked his thumbs into his sword-belt and grimaced. No matter how many times he saw the place, he could not get used to it. By now the bloodstains had turned brown, but little else had been done to alter anything except taking the survivors to another room in the temple to be tended to. It had been a place of serenity, where the dead had rested in peace. But the acts of a single man had turned it into an abattoir. “It’s good that the temple guards were prepared for battle when they came down here, or this would have been entirely one-sided.”

“The prelate?” The man asked the captain.

“Got away with minor injuries. The clergy of Kuros are no paladins, but rile them up enough and they fight back nonetheless. The prelate is away on personal business at the moment, though. Any questions will have to go through his first acolyte.” The captain returned his thumbs into his belt again and puffed out his cheeks. He had seen much in his days, part of what had made him take the commission of keeping the peace in a sleepy town like Rosehaven. This, however, was outside his range in every sense of the word.

The redheaded man merely hummed to himself and carefully made his way to the epicentre of the disaster, where death had stepped into the world once more. His assistant hesitated by the captain for only a moment before following, pausing in front of a spot of particularly disturbing gore before carefully stepping around it.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before, sir?" The assistant tried to make out whatever his boss was seeing in the mess.

"Only once before, when I was an acolyte like you. It was during the aftermath of the great purge in Otchedar when I was young, when some heretics stirred up trouble trying to fight the Temples."

The investigator bent down and looked at a finger bone, broken in two on the cold stones of the temple crypts. It looked like most of the other fragments of the long dead priests interred in the crypts, except for a small dark band of cloth that had snagged or knotted around it. He nodded to himself and stood up again. Nethermancy. He left the rest to the paladins to sort out while he returned outside with his assistant. They passed several of the local acolytes carrying fresh bandages and ceremonial incenses to help those who were still hurt from the battle.

The younger man looked expectantly at his superior as they stepped out into the sun, leaving the Temple of the Sheltering Hand.

"So, what did you make of that mess down there?"

"It looks like the baron had a... bone to pick with the prelate" Temple Investigator Kane flipped the hood of his dark robes down over his brow to shade his eyes from the sun.

"Yeah," acolyte Delek agreed.

A pair of dragonflies stirred the air as their translucent wings beat a faint buzzing note against the gurgling of the river. They landed briefly on top of some reeds sticking out of the water at the bank of the Odar, the great river that formed the natural border between Alband to the north, and Olmar to the south. Ripples in the water made the reeds sway, startling the dragonflies into flight.

The river was quick enough that the water couldn’t reflect the overcast skies above, but despite the grey clouds the late summer air wouldn’t stay chilly. Instead it was a sort of warm humidity that made clothes cling to their wearers, and caused one to tire easily. It was the kind of day where the only agreeable thing to do was to lie comfortably somewhere in the shade with a drink close at hand.

“Refill!” A hand belonging to the voice thrust out of the light and silky curtains surrounding the palanquin, waving an exquisite crystal glass around as if his demands didn’t get the attention quickly enough. The small tassels that framed the roof bounced with every step the porters took.

Wordlessly, one of the servants walking alongside the somewhat ostentatious sedan chair stepped up with a pitcher of kelshadelic punch, kept perpetually cool due to the enchanted ice crystals tumbling along the bottom of the jug. While the Arcane Order made a tidy profit from selling combat solutions or security measures, the greater share of their revenue came from much more mundane services like keeping streetlights lit, or selling lesser charms to keep drinks cold. During a time some generations ago when the sorcerers’ tradition moved towards its more mercantile attitude, one of its archmages coined the phrase ‘small streams make great rivers’.

Oleander watched the display of magnificent sloth from the back of her tan pinto with amusement hiding a quick fit of envy. She couldn’t help but smile a little, even if it made the bruise around her cheek sting.

“You know, for a man so concerned about Tierin values, riding in an Etrian sedan chair and sipping Kasmani drinks comes across as quite cosmopolitan, Pered,” she said with a big smirk.

“Quiet you. Let me cling to what solace there is in this awful excursion,” the Whitewater smuggler slurped his punch, not having the strength to put any effort into the banter. “The gods know there’s little to be found as is.”

“You know, we’d already be there if you’d just hopped on a horse like the rest of us, or at least gone with a wagon.” Oleander glanced at the sweating porters. They were strong men, mostly Olman like her, but sweating freely in the clammy air.

“Please, Ms Lockless, who do you take me for? Some common brute?” Pered took another noisy gulp of his drink, smacking his lips decadently. “Men of my station have some standards, after all!”

When they had concluded their business arrangement last evening – that is, Pered agreeing to help them get to Carrick Field quicker than the road would allow in exchange for keeping his drug trade secret and most likely sabotaging his competitors – the smuggler had insisted on coming along to the cartel’s docks. It was far enough upriver to keep it outside Tier’s jurisdiction, and Alband didn’t much care about what happened along that stretch of the Odar river. Since the docks were on the Albander side of the river, Olmar couldn’t do anything about it either. It was the perfect spot for the cartel to move goods along the midlands to the coastlands and avoiding most tariffs along the way.

Why Pered had wanted to come along, neither the redhead nor her friends could say. Maybe the smuggler was concerned about what a paladin like Mirena would do if she saw things she shouldn’t have at the cartel dock? But if that was the case, what could the man do about it? Kellen had proposed, during last night’s discussion, that Pered might just want to come along to make sure his men didn’t do anything stupid to provoke a knight of Telum and her group.

Either way, when the morning came and the sun turned the golden city into a shining beacon of the east, Oleander and her friends found themselves riding alongside Pered’s palanquin through the inland road, through the Tradegate and the sprawling market. Even if the smuggler’s choice of transportation was slower than simply riding would have been, the promise of a quick riverboat carrying them up the water would turn a week’s journey into a few day’s trip.

Jaden had watched the brightly coloured merchant tents of the Tradegate market pass by, and barely kept herself from sighing. Who had bought her protector’s sword? Why wasn’t that Etrian trader, Zajid, able to tell her anything about who it had been? There were so many questions. Turning back to keep her eyes on the road, she had caught Mirena looking longingly at the tall towers of Tier, once more to leave her home city to go where her duty demanded. The knight and the mystic had seen each other, and shared a small, bashful smile. Nostalgia or regret would have to wait.

Now, though, they were several miles inland and had passed the official border separating the kingdom of Alband from the sovereignty of Tier. This close to Olmar, just across the wide Odar river, Alband seemed to have forgotten its forests and hills and instead showed lowlands that would become open steppes and grasslands further south.

The river itself was quite wide. The mighty Odar, tumbling down along its path from the Erbor Mountain to the Inner Sea, was too wide at most of its run for a single arrow to fly across. It was often a joke that the reason why Alband and Olmar seldom had been at war with one another was how it was such a bother for them to do so. They couldn’t even stand at the bank of the river and shoot at the other side. It was only at the edge of the ocean when the river split up into several narrow streams, forming a small delta estuary upon which Tier had grown; the golden city would brook no quarrel that close to its walls.

The road followed the river at a very slight upwards incline, and a welcome breeze passed through the traveling group. As the palanquin tilted a little, Pered pushed back the silk curtains and peered out critically. His first glance, however, was a furtive look at the sky and the open fields on the far end across the river. With a slightly sick expression, he waved with his empty glass once more.

“Are we there yet?” Oleander chirped, feeling that warm feeling inside that only came from the misery of people she didn’t like.

“Just about. Now go bother someone else, you Olman pest!” Pered retreated back into the safety of his palanquin, caring little that he insulted the men carrying him at the same time.

The redhead simply exchanged a meaningful look with the porters, some of whom was frowning by that point. Still, the coin in their pockets would soothe the sting of any harsh words, and they kept on carrying the sedan chair silently except for their breathing.

The others had moved on ahead along the riverside road, their horses keeping a quicker pace than the porters’ march. Oleander could see them talking amongst each other, but they were too far away for her to make out what was being said. She was used to the feeling. From back where she was, it looked as if Kellen was pointing at the river and making wide gestures. Was he talking about the fish, or was he explaining how he could turn the waters into his ally with his magic, making it perform impossible tricks? Jaden looked like he understood. The rune seeker and the mystic spoke the same language, after all. Oleander felt the distance sometimes.

She looked back at the elf-like mystic, with that long, black hair tied up in a tail that sat a little too high on the back of the head to be entirely masculine. It bobbed with every motion, and revealed the pointed ears. Oleander felt a small twinge inside her chest. Ever since they had seen Jaden as he truly was, unconscious after his ordeals in the Farcrest harbour and whatever had happened in the tunnels below, Oleander had told herself how it was Jaden who had changed. How everything had occurred on his end. But maybe Oleander had changed as well? She couldn’t make heads or tails of her feelings. There was anger and sadness about how Jaden hadn’t trusted her, trusted their friends. There was relief and joy that he hadn’t been hurt worse and how he seemed the same person as before. Then there was also all this… confusion. Oleander held her hand to her throat, as if she could feel her heart ready to burst out. Instead, she just felt the rough stones of the necklace she had been wearing from the same day Jaden’s lies had been uncovered.

Had it been her fault? Had she forced Jaden into lying to them, in an attempt to keep her from being hurt? Or, had he even known how she felt? Sometimes it was so hard to tell what Jaden was thinking, since he never really spoke his mind. However friendly they had been these last two years, there had always been that invisible distance, those last few doors tightly shut between them. Oleander’s hand went up from her rune necklace to her cheek, where his hand had touched her without those gloves. She winced as she felt the bruise again.

“Does it hurt?” Mirena had been watching Oleander for a while, seeing her friend’s face play through a wide repertoire of emotions. “I offer again to heal it. Telum grants aid to any who are injured in battle.”

“Eh? Oh, that tussle yesterday at Pered’s? That was no real battle, helmet-hair. You shouldn’t waste your blessings on this,” Oleander said, waving her hand at the discolouration around her left cheekbone.

"Are you sure you don’t want Rena to take a look at it?" Jaden leaned forward in her saddle to look past Mirena riding between her and the redhead. While Oleander had been lost in her own thoughts, she had caught up with her friends. Or, maybe the mystic had slowed down for her?

"Eh. I'm used to this sort of pain." The Olman girl shrugged.

Once again, Jaden was reminded of how the redhead had grown up on the streets all on her own. Casual violence must have been something the smaller woman had grown used to. While Jaden's childhood hadn't been any easier in its own ways, at least she had always had her family to rely on. Even Lilya had been there for her when things had been tough. Jaden's big sister had been so different back then, not nearly as hard. Jaden remembered smiles. She missed those smiles.

The boathouse was in a bend in the river, using a natural indentation in the waterway as a place where riverboats could anchor down. The building had both a roofed dock, but it wasn’t large enough for anything but regular rowboats. This partially enclosed area led to the house proper, a place large enough to hold some wares, but not of a size to attract undue attention. To most eyes, it simply looked like a riverside homestead or maybe an inn. Outside, a pier extended far enough into the wide river to allow a larger boat to be tied down to the strong posts. Moored there was a long and shallow riverboat with a small stern castle. It had single mast with a folded sail, and a set of metal hoops to the starboard side, next to which were several ropes coiled in neat piles.

Jaden saw how workers were busy unloading the boat, rolling barrels, pushing crates and sacks with wheelbarrows down the ramp. A dark grey tabby cat presided over the affairs from its perch on top of a wooden fence along the short pier, yawning lazily as the men passed by. This far away from the coast, the cover of clouds had finally cleared up enough for the sun to find its way through and men and cats alike took a moment to look at the sky.

Hardly pausing to let the dockworkers move out of the way, Pered's palanquin trundled on up to the boathouse, leaving Jaden and her friends to follow. Two men had to scramble to get a heavy barrel under control when the palanquin pushed through the line of workers, or it would have rolled into the porters and likely knocked someone off their feet. There was some irritated muttering in the wake of the sedan chair.

Stann had already put both feet on the ground as soon as they had entered the yard next to the boathouse. He didn't hesitate as he helped the pushers get their large barrel upright and out of the way. The workers nodded gratefully, and one of them even shook hands with the Northman before they headed back to the boat to continue unloading it. At the very edge of the southern Alband border there was considerably less bad blood with the Northern Lands, and anyone willing to pitch in was welcomed with open arms.

"Strong arms, Northerner!" One of the workers called out, taking a short break from moving sacks of grain from a rough pile onto a cart.

"They have to be, to carry off your Albander women! What do you feed them to make them so stout?" Stann shouted back, flexing an arm.

"Iron and oak, Northerner. Iron and oak!" The men laughed back in good spirits. It was the traditional wealth of Alband, oak from the great Albar Woods in the heart of the kingdom, and iron from the Erbor Mountains in the west. It had also been the heraldic motto of the current king’s father, Bannor Ambermane, 'Hard as iron, strong as oak'. The banter made the workers shrug off their tiredness and redouble their efforts to get the cargo off the riverboat.

As the rest of them sat off from their horses, the tabby immediately hopped off the fence and trotted up alongside them. It sniffed with curiosity at Alisan, and then began rubbing itself against Rhyce's legs. The archer pushed the cat to the side with a foot without looking at it twice.

Pered's sedan chair was set down close to the door and before the rest of them had caught up, the smuggler quickly pushed his way past the porters and into the building. The air inside the boathouse was noticeably hot and stuffy, with little fresh wind finding its way indoors. When Jaden got inside, Kellen and Oleander had already sat down by the small table offering meagre refreshments to the workers once they were finished with the cargo. Pered walked around and inspected some crates that were stored inside the warehouse section, having some pried open so that he could take a closer look at the contents. Some he even picked up, rubbing various leaves between his fingers and smelling them critically.

While their tenuous ally busied himself with this, Rhyce and Mirena entered the boathouse as well, having seen to their horses. They had agreed on leaving the saddles on in case something took an unfortunate turn here. Granted, between Kellen's magic and Mirena and Stann's skill of arms they had little to fear from the thugs Pered kept in his employ, but the unexpected could always happen. Arrogance was something everyone had to deal with in their own way, or it would be their downfall. For Jaden and her friends, they tried to remind themselves that even with all the magic power they had at hand, an arrow or knife would still bring their story to an end.

There weren’t enough chairs for everyone to sit around the table at the same time, so Rhyce simply held Mirena's seat like a gentleman, which she graciously accepted. Kellen got up from his own chair, but froze like a sheep surrounded by two wolves as his eyes flickered between Alisan and Jaden.

"Oh for the love of... Give it to Alisan, Kel!" Jaden snapped irritably and instead leaned on the warm wooden wall. It felt strange, with only the thin cloth of her jacket separating the rough wood planks from the smooth, bare skin of her shoulders and back. The backless blouse they had found for Jaden always made her feel like the thin ribbon that went across the back of her neck would break off and expose her for the world to see. The warmth felt nice, soothing some of the discomfort she had been feeling lately.

Kellen exchanged a look with Alisan and Mirena. The elf shrugged imperceptibly and took the offered chair, while the knight just nodded slightly.

"Is Stann coming?" Mirena craned her neck to see the archer standing behind her.

"He's working the workers," Rhyce replied softly, and pushed the cat away once more. The main point of their cooperation with the cartel was using their boats to reach Carrick Field faster, but it would be a shame to pass up any opportunities to learn more about the smuggling operations using similar routes as their quarry.

There were other men in the boathouse as well, a couple who followed Pered along on his inspections. These people looked more like the kind to read books rather than haul barrels of Olman brandy off boats. More than one of them actually carried books in which they made notes as they checked the newly arrived goods. Most, however, remained to the side and continued with whatever they had been doing. One of them glanced once again at the strange newcomers who had sat down around the table near the door. He took note of the elves in the group and then kept his head down as if engrossed in the worn ledger in his hands.

Rhyce kept a watch on the other people in the boathouse, never staying too long on a single person. On his second pass, there was something that stood out with one of them. He recalled seeing that one before, from a lofty perspective. The archer put a hand on the back of Mirena’s chair and leaned a little forward, enough that his voice would carry to her alone.

"Keep your eyes on that one," Rhyce murmured, indicating one of the accountants with his eyes. Mirena turned her head slightly and saw a thirty-something man with centre-parted red hair and fashionable sideburns that reached down across his cheeks.

"Anything in particular?" The knight asked with a low voice that wouldn't be easily overheard. She trusted her friend's keen ears would make it out, and she wasn't mistaken.

"He killed someone to be here."

"Do you know why he did that?" Mirena casually looked across the crates in the middle of the large room, reaching out with the senses her temple training had given her. None of the people inside were entirely innocent, her friends included, but the man with the sideburns pulsed with recent acts of evil.

The archer merely shook his head slightly, his fingers twitching slightly as if stroking the feathers of an unseen arrow.

"But we can make educated guesses. Competitors would make most sense. An undercover city guard wouldn't have murdered someone. Unlikely to be someone following us, either. If we wanted to get to Tarad by road, we would be using the old imperial road from Tier to Radent." As the second empire had swallowed Olmar, they had paved quality roads to connect Etrana to their conquered cities. While Tier would never admit to having been conquered by the empire, the war had completely surrounded the golden city once the imperial forces pressed north of the Odar River into Alband.

"Competitors, then," Rhyce agreed.

"Most likely, yes. Which means we should probably ask this man some questions. We could also expose him to garner some favour from Pered Ghaveri." Mirena’s eyes took on an appraising look, like a merchant who eyes the balancing of a scale.

"Whitewater aren't good people." Rhyce knew more than enough of the cartel’s business practices.

"No, they're most definitely not," Mirena nodded, but glanced over at their host, "but we have to pick out battles, my friend. There are more nuances than white and black in our world."

"Once you put some black into your white, no matter how much white you later add, all you'll ever have is grey," the archer warned the knight from experience.

"I'm alright with that," Mirena said. "Absolutes are for nobles, and contrasts are for artists."

She cleared her voice to attract the attention of Whitewater’s regional controller, buying his allegiance with something more precious than gold; knowledge. Steel was grey, and Mirena's god was a sword.

The deck of the boat had been cleared, and the only noise came from a couple of men rummaging through the shallow hold for the rest of the cargo, as well as the tired-looking man sweeping the deck with a broom. A dozen people tracking dirt and mud all over the deck as they unloaded the boat made for a mess. The rest had begun packing the bags, crates and barrels away that wouldn't fit on the carts into sheds next to the boathouse. Stann noted how some boxes, all of which were marked with a small dab of white paint, were instead carried into the boathouse proper.

From the smalltalk between loads, he had been able to piece together a fair impression of the cartel's operation out of this small dock. Boats carrying goods that wouldn't easily pass through the city's inspections, waiting by the river as it passed through Tier towards the sea, would instead stop at these small docks outside the city's reach and then use smaller carts that were more likely to pass unnoticed. Not that there was a whole lot of truly illegal things coming out of the borderlands at the far west, but there were rumours about small plantations in hidden parts of the Erbor mountains where they grew the ash-leaf tarrathin. Some claimed it was even more potent than the infamous Etrian desert zalach that had dominated the market for a long time. Was the cartel perhaps planning on expanding their reach from the coastlands and into the midland region as well?

"A lot of work today," Stann said casually, while leaning on the fence at the pier. The boat was floating higher than when they had arrived, a sign of how much the men had unloaded in a short amount of time.

"The late summer is always a busy time. Harvests going from the outer villages and farms to the large warehouses in the city," the brown-haired worker said, wiping his brow with a cloth he then returned to his belt. The man's short-sleeved tunic was stained with sweat from the heavy lifting. He glanced around a little before adding, "among other things."

"I can imagine. You carry any livestock down this way?" Stann couldn’t see any permanent arrangements for keeping animals stabled nearby, but perhaps the smugglers moved any critters they received as soon as they got off the boat.

"Naw. Makes a mess, and is too loud. Makes people look too much into things we rather they didn't, if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I reckon I do." The Northman nodded, figuring that the whole ‘hidden in plain sight’ trick would only work as long as no attention was directed their way.

"Still, sometimes the odd thing comes by. Last night there was a fellow coming to this tavern we usually go to after the work is done. Carrus, the scarred lad over there, said how the man was dead on his legs, driven like demons were whipping him on, but offered a gold box - the kind where the lady folks keep their trinkets, see? - to anyone who would ferry him up the river." By now the worker had stopped scraping away dirt from the deck with his broom, instead leaning on the shaft with a dreamy expression. "I'll be kicking myself for years to come that I decided to call it an early evening and went home."

"Do you have a boat of your own?" Stann asked with more than professional interest. The Winterheart boys had spent more than a few summers at the wharfs in Agerhon, following the longships as they left to brave the inner sea.

"Yeah. Just a small skiff, sure, but for a prize like that? I would've rowed all the way to the Shelmot Plains and kissed a borderlander lass before heading back." The younger man held out the broom as if it was a maiden, swooning in his arms.

Stann laughed, and clapped the man's shoulder with sympathy.

"Your time will come, good man." The winter warrior gave a final squeeze before leaving the man to his dreams of wealth and flaxen-haired women.

Pered Ghaveri drew himself up to his full height. It was easy to think of him as someone slightly shorter than average, but that was just how he was often hunched over, yet even then managed to look down his nose at you. With his back straight and his eyes glittering dangerously, it was now just as easy to imagine the hard-hearted man he must be, to be trusted with the cartel's affairs in Tier. When he turned his gaze towards the redhaired man standing at his side, echoes of the person who had climbed his way to the top of dead or humiliated competitors slipped through his civil facade.

"Master Ghaveri, no! I have no idea what they're talking about!" The man dabbed a cloth to his forehead, sweat making his face and sideburns glisten.

"We will be reasonable, of course. I suppose you can substantiate this claim, milady Kaladon?"

"You may want to check the shrubs behind the outhouse. The previous place you had your latrine, making it easy enough to dig in and not suspicious that it was disturbed. You'll find a body there." Mirena pointed towards the door leading out the back. Rhyce stood at her side, having told her about what he had been made aware of some days ago.

Pered nodded to some of the workers watching the spectacle, who readily got up from the crates they were sitting on and headed out to go on a gruesome treasure hunt. Oleander slipped off along with them. She felt the tension in the room, and didn't want to add to it. Some people had great chemistry, and knew from the moment they met that they would stick together no matter what; Oleander and the smuggler had no such thing going for them. That aside, this wouldn't be the first time she dug up a grave.

"We wondered what happened to Jordon. He just never came back to work one day," one of the other accountants murmured, looking deeply unsettled. They had moved away from the redhaired man in question, leaving him standing by himself. "That's why the boss hired on this new fellow here. Said they had been drinking together at the tavern lately."

"That was just a coincidence! I just got talking with Hammond, and he asked what I did for a living. I said I was looking for a new job, and since I'm good with numbers he offered me this position." The accused man looked from his former co-workers to Pered, wringing his hands pitifully.

"I don't like coincidences, and I can smell a half-lie a league away. Lads, wrap him up like a precious gift in the storage section. I want to have words with our friend here." Pered snapped his fingers, indicating the suspected man, who began to look like he wanted to run away. "Being a beet-head isn't doing you any favours either right now."

A couple of strong-looking men who had been watching the exchange from the side walked up to the redhaired man and grabbed each of his arms, dragging him toward the far end of the room. With a length of rope usually saved for securing barrels on the river boat, the man soon found himself tied to one of the posts supporting the ceiling. While Pered’s thugs checked the knots a final time, there a change came over his face. The nervousness seemed to melt away into a resigned expression, like a man settling into the fact that he was going to spend the foreseeable future in pain, the psychological equivalent of preparing for a siege.

“Anything you would like to say before they find whatever there is to find out there?” Pered pursed his lips in thought, already considering how to pry the truth from the bound man, should it come to it. Suddenly, he turned to one of the other bookkeepers. “What is his name, anyway?”

“Savus, master Ghaveri. Savus of Veren.”

“Another Olman? I swear I’m surrounded by them,” the smuggler exclaimed, although with Oleander having left, the building was mainly Albander and Tierin aside from Jaden and her friends. “Well then, Savus of Veren, tell me something I’d like to hear.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the man called Savus replied, looking past Pered at something closer to the door.

“I see. Well, I don’t plan to spend the entire morning with you. I have people to do that for me.” Pered snapped his fingers, and pointed at the tied-up man. “Find out what sort of person he is, and what he knows.”

“Shouldn’t we wait to see if they discover anything out there?” One of the people who had up until this point worked alongside the man called Savus spoke up, clutching a number of rolled up parchments to his chest. His brow was sweaty from more than just the humidity. Pered merely turned ever so slowly and stared at the man until the actuary’s voice trailed off in a low mumbling of excuses.

“Right then.” One of the heavies started towards their prisoner before thinking of something that made him turn to his boss once more. “What if he’s being difficult like?”

“If so, beat him out of recognisable shape. Maybe that will straighten him out.” Pered waved his hand dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less about the fate of the man he just so casually ordered his henchmen to work over.

Mirena and Rhyce exchanged a look, while Jaden shrunk back towards the door where the pale elf and the rune seeker had remained next to the table. The promise of… physical interrogation made the mystic think of the stories she had heard growing up. Whispered stories of what went on in the depths of the citadel, the things the mageslayers did with the ones who had betrayed the mountain. Jaden squeezed her eyes shut for a quick moment, forcing the images from her mind. She kept seeing the shed behind the mansion in Redwall, with the archer chained to the wall, his body a litany of suffering.

Oleander tagged along with the pair of men who had followed their boss’ nod towards the back of the boathouse area. An outhouse sat next to the edge of the clearing, with some high shrubs and weeds. It looked relatively newly made, with a slanted roof to keep the rain out while the occupant did their business. She also noted that there were handles sticking out of the sides, so that the entire thing could just be uprooted and moved to a new location when necessary.

One of the men had grabbed a shovel from the stack of tools leaning against the back wall of the boathouse, and began to pace around the area nearby the outhouse with it over his shoulder. All their eyes were on the ground, for any signs of disturbances.

“This is where we had the latrine last time,” the man with the shovel said, pointing with his free hand at a spot of freshly turned soil.

“How long since you moved it?” The redhead asked. The dirt couldn’t have been sitting for long. No fresh grass or anything had begun to cover the mound of earth.

“Less than a fortnight, I’d say,” the other man said and spat on the ground, also noticing how something seemed to be wrong with the scene.

Without another word, the one with the shovel got to work while the other went to grab a spit to loosen up the ground. They were strong men, and within minutes they had uncovered a large and deep enough area that they found something. The workers backed away once they saw what poked up from the loose dirt. A few other men had gathered around to see what was happening.

"What sort of man buries another face-down in old shit?" A stocky-looking man with scarred hands and a vague borderlander look reached down to help the other worker by pulling at the legs. Once they rolled the dead man over, both of them held an open hand over their hearts, the sign of Kuros.

"The really rotten kind," Oleander mumbled as she watched them drag the body out of the hole. Once she saw how the unburied man had been killed, she got up from her squat and headed back to the boathouse. She had seen that style before.

The knight knew how this would probably play out. She weighed the fear and greed emanating from the smuggler and his men, against the darkness in the heart of the bound man. Neither would, or could, back down and it would only lead to another burned bridge or lost lead. She kept her face serene as the first couple of fists connected with the prisoner, and then she took a breath and carefully chose her words.

“In war as well as business, the winner is the one who dictates the terms of engagement,” Mirena spoke easily in her most cultured Tierin voice. “And your opponent’s fears are your best leverage.”

Pered looked at her with a confused smile on his face for a moment, and then quickly glanced back at his prisoner. Confusion hid when the dawn of realisation hit him. The smuggler snapped his fingers, causing the thugs to stand back from pummelling the bound man.

“I have to agree, milady Kaladon! Let our friend here stew for a bit. I’m sure he can imagine all the terrible things we will do to him.” The last bit was for the prisoner’s benefit, spoken nonchalantly in his direction.

“While he is doing so, did I tell you about the current deals my uncle is enjoying with the baron of Risan?” Mirena put a hand on Pered’s arm, steering his attention as well as his body away from the interrogation. “It turns out that Olmar has a much more relaxed import tariff on Etrian fabrics than Tier.”

“Is that so? With autumn barely more than a month away, there will be call for silk and velvet for the new season.” You could almost see the merchant scales balancing the profits against the expenses in Pered’s eyes. The cartel moved many things, and weren’t afraid to venture into new markets when the opportunities presented themselves. “May I impose on you to tell me more?”

“Naturally. Should we continue this somewhere else? The heat is stifling in here.” Mirena touched her brow briefly, with a delicateness she didn’t feel. The knight was used to field exercises in full armour during any season.

“Right this way. The boathouse docks have both a roof over our heads, but open to the river to give us a fresh breeze.” Pered patted her hand on his arm, and allowed himself to be led away.

Mirena looked once more to make sure she had been right. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw how the bound man once again stole a glance in the elves’ direction. Whenever he did, his inner darkness seemed to call out. As the knight and the smuggler passed Jaden and Alisan, Mirena smiled sweetly to them.

“Why don’t the two of you see if there’s anything you can do for our… guest?” She asked innocently.

“Bah. What use is there to treat a man who is only due for worse later?” Pered sniffed dismissively, more so at the elves than at the suggestion. He didn’t refuse it, however, his mind much too focused on future gold.

“I… sure, but-” Jaden was about to argue that Oleander or Stann would be much better suited to talk with the man called Savus. Both of them had their own ways to win people over on their side. Even Rhyce would be a better idea, with his silently intimidating anyone he turned his eyes on. But before she could voice her misgivings, she felt a strange pulling inside her. Like a few times before, she became keenly aware of Mirena’s hidden meaning, and the equally hidden feelings of relief wafting from the bound man. This Savus wanted Alisan and her to stay with him for some reason.

“It appears as if I can bind some of his welts,” Alisan said carefully, not understanding what was happening, but placing her trust in her new friends. To her credit, her face betrayed little of the confusion Jaden felt leaking forth from within.

“As you wish, milady Kaladon,” Jaden changed her tone easily. They were lying right now. Jaden knew all about lies. She drew upon a little of that presence she felt lurking under her own surface. She could feel the fire on her tongue. “Don’t crowd us. I will ask everyone else to leave us.”

Within moments, most of the other workers and bookkeepers had either joined Mirena and Pered on their stroll, or found something else to do that left the mystic, the pale elf and the man called Savus alone. Two pairs of eyes turned to the prisoner; Alisan’s emerald green, and Jaden’s burning gold.

“Alone at last. I thought I’d have to tough it out until nightfall,” Savus licked at a split lip and winced.

“Was there anything you wanted to say to us?” Jaden kept some of that fire going inside her, bringing a persuasive heat to her words.

The man with the red sideburns nodded, taking a breath as if gathering himself.

“The seraali blooms early.” Savus pronounced each word with clarity, despite his earlier Olman accent.

Yet the forest is still

“Yet… I,” Jaden blinked to clear her head. It was like an itch. She glanced at Alisan for help. The pale elf was about to say something, but suddenly turned to Savus with a wide-eyed expression.

“But the woods are silent!” Alisan almost clapped her hands, first looking at Jaden, then at the man, and finally back at the mystic once more. She had a wide smile on her face. The elf had a really pretty smile, and it was a shame she was so serious most of the time.

“Finally! Okay, that was a bit of a risk, but I didn’t know when to expect you guys.” Savus made a half-laugh that broke off from the pain he was feeling after the beating he took. “Also, I wasn’t really sure it was you at all. No offense, but you elves tends to look the same to me.”

Jaden bit back her immediate response, even managing to keep from rolling her eyes. Just once she’s like someone to see her for who she was. Pointy ears did not an elf make!

“Since you had hidden yourself so expertly, we weren’t sure which one was you either. That’s why we had to do what we did.” More lies. They ran so easily off her tongue.

“Huh. I guess. Wish you hadn’t needed to blow my cover. I had only completed half of what I needed to do here.” The redheaded man struggled a little against the ropes. “Anyway, get me out of here and I can set up somewhere else.”

“You realise why we can’t do that. It would compromise our own position too much.” Jaden shook her head slightly. “We’ll send someone to extract you once we’re gone, though. What you’re doing here is important.”

“Yeah. Without me to tip the guard off and turning their attention toward the Whitewater cartel, we would have a much harder time moving our transports across the border. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up for a while then, huh?”

Alisan just watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression.

“Have you received your new orders from your superior, yet?” Jaden continued to spin her web of lies, pulling at strings to see what truths appeared. “Or have your position here made it harder for you to communicate with them?”

“No, not really. I’ve kept Toben up to date with messages every week using the couriers, but it’s a long road to Tarad. What new orders?” Savus seemed to have forgotten his bruises, looking intently at the black-haired mystic.

“The next season is blooming. It’s a tangled, elven thing, clearly not for your ears.” Alisan spoke for the first time, distracting the redhaired man.

“I don’t understand…” Savus looked back and forth between the two elven women.

“When you need to find out, you will find out.” Jaden said mysteriously, and then pointed imperiously at the bound man. “Just wait here and all shall be revealed in time.”

“Yes, mistress,” he nodded.

As soon as Jaden and Alisan was out of his hearing, they began to whisper to one another. They kept walking while holding their hushed conversation, wanting to catch up with the others as soon as possible.

“May I ask of you to share with me what transpired?” The pale elf demanded of the mystic. She looked like she was bursting with questions.

“Mirena must’ve known something. Either way, we just got lucky! We’ve got more signs pointing toward Tarad.” Jaden felt excited, almost exhilarated. There was something about deceiving others that gave her a buzzing feeling inside. It was almost enough to make her forget about the cramps. However, it didn’t explain one thing. “Hey, Ali? How did you know the counter-sign to that phrase?”

"’While the wind blows outside, the hearth is still warm. The sun chases the moon across the sky. The seraali blooms early, but the woods are silent’. It seems to be a poem by a songshaper who was mostly remembered for his isolationist ideas. Kirellien offered many beautiful songs for the two tribes, but according to him, they were for the Serecean people alone."

"Well, that explains how you knew about it, but how come an Albander actuary knows so much about obscure elven poetry?"

“Perhaps he was merely taught those verses by another? I barely remembered it myself, and I spent my budding summers with the songshapers. Despite my youth I was considered quite gifted with the art of voice and melody.” Alisan held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as they stepped out into the yard, then paused and glanced at Jaden with some confusion. “I am uncertain why I felt compelled to share that with you at this point. That said, it appears as curious to me why someone would seek to learn obscure things of a culture not their own. During my brief travels, I have noted that many humans, especially adolescents, seem to have an unwholesome fascination with our people.”

“Oh yeah. Elphiles. I’ve met a number of those.” Jaden shook her head, feeling the fire recede back into the hidden parts of her soul. Almost together both she and Alisan turned to look towards where Stann was talking to some of the workers.

Jaden turned away from the boathouse and what had happened inside, and followed her friends along the short pier to the waiting riverboat. She didn't know much about boats, but the boat looked like it was sitting noticeably higher than when they arrived. It showed more of its shallow curved hull, made for running the riverways. Jaden wondered how it would fare on the open seas, when it seemed to dance the surface rather than course through the depths.

With one foot on the railing and leaning on the knee, a man who could be none other than the captain of the boat stood waiting for his new passengers.

"Welcome aboard Samissa's Sweet, or just The Sweet, as she's known between friends. I'd boast that she's the fastest river-runner between Telasero and Saitelli, but The Sweet, she's a proper lady full of grace. She will get you where you're going quick enough, however, never fear." The captain pulled off his tricorn hat, marking him as a former Albander marine officer, and bowed with a lopsided smile. "I am Ebel Foxglove, your host for this voyage along the mighty Odar."

"Thank you, captain," Stann spoke for the group and stepped up to grab the captain's hand, giving it a solid shake. "I hope the lady won't mind carrying our horses? I understand that's not her usual tune."

"Normally I'd turn down any request of moving animals. Makes too much of a mess, you see?" Ebel tucked his thumbs below his wide leather belt, and looked towards where the smuggler was seeing his new allies off. Pered had not left the comforts of the boathouse, but was at least waving a little. "But since Ghaveri there asked me so nicely, I'll graciously make an exception. It's not as if I'm carrying anything back up-rivers anyway."

"We'll be sure to make it worth your while, captain," Mirena said, knowing how people in the mercantile world worked.

"No need, my fair lady; your fee has been sorted. The only worry is how speedy the trip back up the Odar will be with more than half a dozen horses weighing The Sweet down. Tacking up the stream is bad enough on a strong river like the Odar, without the extra load." Ebel pointed up along the river with his entire hand, making a few brushing gestures as if to show how powerful the river could be.

Jaden felt a hand on her shoulder pushing her gently to the side. Looking up she had to keep craning her head back to see the taller of the Northmen make his way to the front. His other hand was already inside one of his many beltpouches, seeking a stone by touch alone.

"If I may, Captain Foxglove." Kellen inclined his head in a greeting. "I am Kellen Winterheart, a member of the society of rune seekers. I believe I can assist in our journey."

"Is that so? Do you have a wind blessing? I once sailed with a stormcaller sorcerer from Marsantias. She kept our sails full for the entire voyage. Never made such good time from port to port before."

"Not exactly, but you'll find the end result as satisfactory." The giant Northman finally plucked a smooth runestone from his pouch, rubbing the inscribed surface with a thumb before moving his closed hand towards the river. There was a bubbling, almost rumbling noise as something began to move underneath the surface. It seemed to follow the motions of Kellen's hand, like a puppet on the strings. With a small smile, Kellen brought his hands up further, and a gout of water erupted from the river, flowing into the air in a serpentine pattern. He had used the very same rune to control water from nearby wells, when putting out the burning rubbles of the Umnir slaughterhouse in Tier.

"That's very impressive, Rune Seeker! Can your water snake help guide The Sweet against the current?" The captain leaned on the railing, watching the display of magic with fascination.

"Better than that, captain! My wave companion rune can push the entire vessel." Kellen allowed the water to return to the river by opening his hand. He briefly inspected the runestone before putting it back into the pouch. "You'll just let us know how fast you want to go."

"I can see this will be a very interesting trip. Please, step aboard and we'll see what we can do about your steeds." Ebel moved to the side, and waved them aboard with a flourish.

Rhyce and Stann began leading their horses along the loading ramp, while Jaden and her friends found places out of the way around the deck. The riverboat didn't have much in way of passenger space. Aside from the shallow hold below deck and the aft castle, the rest of the boat was simply the wide and open deck around the single mast. Jaden guessed that, since The Sweet mainly ran the Odar, there was little need for on-board amenities. Going with the stream, the boat could probably make the trip from the borderlands to the golden city in little more than a day. In fact, she suspected that a boat leaving from the Shelmot Plains at dawn would arrive by the cartel's secret dock by moonrise.

With that thought in mind, Jaden sought out the captain. Overseeing the preparations, the man was striding the lengths of the deck, shouting out orders to the handful of crew who would be returning up the river with the rest of them. Most of the yelling was done in good nature, though. There seemed to be a general good feeling among the people riding The Sweet. Criminals, or those who associated with them, were persons too. Jaden realised that these men were just... people, who probably didn't spend all their waking hours planning on how to bring zalach or tarrathin into the jittering hands of their customers.

"Captain? Do you have a moment?" Jaden had to quicken her step to keep up with the man with the tricorn hat, who seemed to be everywhere at once, telling his shipmates to tighten knots or angle the sail.

"For you, I have at least two," the captain said with a grin that he managed to turn into a compliment rather than a leer. Jaden could understand how this man might charm women, with his rural Albander good looks. Dark brown hair with just the slightest of wave to it, stormcloud grey eyes hugged by some wrinkles caused by a life filled with laughter. There was something along the jaw or perhaps the shoulders that looked appealing. Yes, Jaden could certainly appreciate the man's handsome profile. "Please, call me Ebel."

"Ah, alright. Ebel, how much time does it usually take to make the voyage up the river?" Jaden brushed some of her black hair back over an ear with a subconscious gesture. Some ringlets had slipped from where she had tied it back into a tail.

"Well, usually, it takes three days. Two, with good, strong winds to help us with the first leg. After we get into the midlands, there won't be enough of a breeze to let us tack against the current." The captain made zig-zag gestures with a finger against the other hand's palm to show the path of the boat. "After that we just drag the lady the final distance using horses or oxen."

"Drag? But..." The black-haired mystic looked at the river. If it was a tenth as deep, maybe, but any animal would just drown if made to ford the Odar.

"No-no, you see those eyes there?" Ebel laughed and pointed at the iron hoops fixed along the starboard bow. "We tie the ropes from the yokes to those, and the oxen can just amble along next to the banks. It's not fast, but it'll get us there. Though, with a magician pushing The Sweet, I can only imagine how fast the trip'll be. Between you and me, my black beauty, can he really do it?"

"Kellen?" Jaden didn't pay any attention to the captain's flirtations. Her mind was on her rune seeker friend, who had begun walking around the boat, rubbing his hand along the wooden planks and rails. Aside from some of the masters back home in Talraman, she had never met anyone as strong as Kellen. "Yes. Yes he most certainly can."

She almost believed that Kellen could carry the world if he needed to.

Kellen had a very good memory. It was a good quality in a rune seeker, being able to recall the particulars regarding a certain sigil or the legend behind some half-forgotten inscription. It was necessary to have good memory to keep track of all the individual runes a seeker collected over their lives. The same good memory allowed Kellen to remember how so many of his colleagues kept asking him why he chose to limit himself so. Why, they asked him, did he almost exclusively work with water and earth runes?

Of course, like any rune seeker worth his name, Kellen meticulously collected every single magic symbol he came across, but he only ever made use of the ones that provided influence over the sea or the land.

'As a battle magician', they said, 'won't firestorms and windblasts serve you better? The earthquakes and floods limit your allies as much as they do your foes!'

Kellen couldn't argue that point, but he had his reasons. In Northern mythology, the earth and the sea were the traditional sources of life. People were born from it, as was every animal and tree. The flame and the sky, however, was the domain of death. The people of the North burned their dead, and let the winds bring the smoke and ashes into the heavens, and the reward that awaited a warrior after a life of glory and blood. Kellen had made a choice when he left his home, when his chieftain had banished him from Strom and the North. Kellen had vowed to use his magic to promote life, not death. The lives he took while helping his friends were exclusively those that made the world a worse place. He was willing to endure a little fire for the greater good.

The rune seeker looked at the two stones in his hands. Wave Companion. Such a useful rune. All the companion runes were, allowing the magician to shape and draw an element away from its source. In his other hand was a stone marked with several barely waving lines close to one edge. He had never had much use for the Ebbing rune, except maybe for pranking his cousin while the warrior was taking a bath. But today, he had another idea for when lowering water could make all the difference.

Kellen walked to the middle of the stern castle. He was tall enough to see the river both at the fore and the aft of the boat. His left hand reached forward, while his right beckoned behind The Sweet. There was a mighty burbling noise as the river further down from the boat began to swell and roll in a wave that gently began to break across the aft. Despite the flow of the river, the waves kept rolling in, pushing and shoving. Next, The Sweet began to tilt a little forward. The water at the bow seemed to flow away, and before long the entire boat started to surge up the river against the stream, gaining speed with every wave that came from behind.

From his vantage at the stern castle, he could see when Rhyce finally bent down and untangled the cat from his legs, putting it down on the pier as the boat began to pull away against the current. The tabby took a few steps before sitting back down, watching The Sweet sail off until it passed out of sight. Once the last bit of the mast had disappeared, it began to lick a paw while keeping an eye on the boathouse.

The Northman checked the form of his enchantments briefly, already knowing they would hold strong. Unless he willed otherwise, the boat would continue in this speed and direction for several hours before the magic was worn away. Enchantments on stationary, mundane things could last almost indefinitely, but in this case where the water was ever changing, and the wood of the boat was constantly assailed by forces from within and without, he would have to renew his casting every so often. This was yet another reason why Kellen argued that the Society of Rune Seekers were the custodians of the strongest tradition of magic.

Not only could a single practitioner learn, given time and fortune, an unlimited variety of magic, he could also sustain his enchantments for much longer than any other tradition, as well as keep casting even costly spells where a sorcerer or spellsinger long ago would have succumbed to exhaustion. Kellen didn't often allow himself such immature feelings as smugness, but right then, when nobody could see it anyway, the giant Northman smirked a little and gave the stones in his hands another squeeze.

"Sorcerers. Heh." Let them keep their lightning and fire. They couldn't take the land and sea from him.

Captain Foxglove left the rudder to his first mate, more because his boat seemed to steer itself than anything else. It was an uncanny experience as a seasoned sailor, having a vessel with a will of its own. That was usually a bad sign in most other situations, if the tales were to be trusted. But he had to hand it to the giant leading his lady for this dance; it was a smooth ride despite how fast they were going. Ebel figured they would reach Carrick Field a good hour before sundown, maybe even sooner. That was just as fast as going downriver would be. He patted the railing at the aft castle affectionately before heading down to the deck. He had to trust that his lady was in good hands. Speaking of ladies, however...

Ebel walked over to where that redheaded Olman girl sat perched at the fore of the ship, a spot usually reserved for a shiphand who could give ahead warning if any shallows or sunken debris were coming up. Riverboats rarely had crow's nests, and had their eyes fixed much closer to the boat. But Ebel and his men were more at home along the Odar than in either of the countries it separated. In a way, the river was their country. Strong and fast, beholden to none but themselves. The captain watched the girl for a moment, before sitting down on a tight coil of rope reserved for mooring The Sweet when it was time to rest between runs.

"Have you and your friends sailed many times? The Northmen seems like they've got their sea legs, but the elves look a little awkward." Ebel pointed back at the creamy, pale-blonde elven woman holding her hands out a little from her sides, as if she's constantly trying to find her balance. The swarthy one with the raven tresses was sensibly sitting down with her back to some barrels. She didn't seem to realise that when she sat like that, everyone who walked past her could peek down her blouse. Ebel noticed that many of his men found a reason to check on something or other, which required them to pass her.

"Uhm, yeah, Kel and Bear most likely grew up with a longship in their cribs. I'm sure Rena's been on her share of trips as well. Not sure about Rhyce. He's never spoken about any voyages, but he held up fine when we went from Etrana to Tier last autumn." Oleander pointed at each of her friends in turn as she spoke of them. "I'm pretty sure Jay's never spent any time aboard ships, no more than I have, anyway. We're both midlanders."

"Really? I thought 'Jay' would be a little more familiar with the seas than that? I hear that there are more of those dark elves in the other city, the one near the far coast by the Misty Sea? So, she's from Ral Sona, then?"

"Yeah, sure, that works," the redhead said mysteriously.

"Huh. Okay." Ebel didn't know what to make of that statement. "Say, do you know if she's... does she have a special someone?"

"Jay? I... I honestly don't know," Oleander wondered. Why couldn't Jaden just hear what she was saying?

"Indeed? Well, then," Ebel tugged at his lapels, and began smiling wider. He darted a quick look in the direction of where the black-haired mystic had sought refuge from the motions of The Sweet and her crew.

"Actually, you don't want to do that!" Oleander said hurriedly. There was a strange feeling in her stomach at the thought of Jaden in someone else's arms.

The captain looked back at her with a confused frown. Had she jumped conclusions again? No. She knew that look in the eyes of men. She had seen the worse of it more times than she cared to remember, and she doubted that the captain would be the kind of man who would force his attentions, and more, on someone. But, still...

"He, she, Jay, she's riding more than one river at the moment, if you know what I mean?" The redhead thought desperately for something that would keep any man away. There was always the good old standby. It was a little white lie, made in the best of intentions. Or, in this case, a red lie.

"What are you saying?" Ebel looked in the mystic's direction once more. Was the elven woman sulking, or was it some other malady? Suddenly he connected the pieces of the puzzle, and recoiled a little. "Ah. Oh. I see."

Oleander tittered to herself as the captain excused himself and strode off to see to the unnecessary details of working the magically propelled boat. Jaden would have such a laugh if he knew what Oleander had told the captain. It was fun to pull off the more outrageous cons, when the bait was willing to believe what you said.

"Weather's finally clearing up a little, huh?" Stann said.

"Gratefully, it seems to be so. I would rather watch this country under the splendour of the sun, than the cover of clouds." Alisan turned to face the countryside passing by next to the river.

"Yeah, it's pretty enough I suppose. But it doesn't hold a candle to the old brothers east of Strom, my home village."

"Brothers?" The pale elf tilted her head to the side.

"It's what we call the mountain peaks. Rhuir, Burut and Drunn. Great warriors who fought off the frost drakes during the times of myth. But Drunn, the youngest, left their home to follow the evening star in the south. That's why Kaland, where the Drunn peak is, broke off from the North and is now an island off the eastern coast."

"That's not how islands are made, Winterheart."

"We know that now, sure, but back then legends and stories were all people had. I imagine a boy pointing towards the horizon and asking his father what those towering peaks in the distance were. His father would lift him to his shoulders and tell the boy the story of the old brothers."

Alisan watched Stann's face while the warrior spoke, her eyes losing the hardness they often had around him.

"Belan tama. I offer gratitudes, Winterheart, for showing me a glimpse of the soul of your people." Alisan smiled a little at the larger man.

"What? Oh, uh, sure." Stann grinned widely, coming back to the present. He had to admit that the pale elf was a real beauty when she wasn't scowling all the time. A little on the thin side for his preferences, but give her a few years of honest, Northern food and it'd sort her out.

"The two peoples of Serecea believe that words are not enough to truly know another. Instead, we learn by motion." Alisan began to walk around Stann with measured steps, sometimes turning to one side or the other. It was as if she was showing different sides of herself.

"U-huh. I'm not sure I understand how that works."

"Who would you say you know the most? The people you have fought beside, or the ones you fought for? The woman with whom you danced, or her friend you left at the table? The beast you hunted, or the one you never met?"

"You're talking about experiencing things with someone, right? That it brings you closer together?"

"Correct. It is a Serecean tradition to learn about another through action as well as words." Alisan finally came to a rest again, back where she had started. "That is why our soldiers duel one another; not only to hone their skill, but also to understand their companions. That is why we dance, stroll or ride with our visitors."

"Actions speak louder than words?"

"Sometimes more clearly, as well. You understand. That brings summer to my heart, Northerner." Alisan touched her chest as she smiled, tilting her head a little back to look Stann directly in the eyes.

"Wait. Hang on. Will we be expected to dance with your people when we get to Ral Sona?" Stann held up his hands, in surrender or protest. By his expression, it could have been either.

"One cannot count the stars until the night falls. That will depend on who we would see once we walk the petal paths of my city. I would prepare myself for the possibility." The elf folded her hands as she spoke.

"I don't know any elf-dances, Ali. I doubt polka or jenka would go over well in an elf city.” Stann had a vivid image of himself being asked to leave a ballroom at spearpoint, surrounded by shocked and outraged elven maidens.

"One might be surprised, Northerner. Long seasons allow for many experiences. However, I would offer to share some steps with you as time permits?" Alisan spoke casually, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"You want to teach me to dance?" The winter warrior looked incredulous. Most of the time, it looked like the pale elf wanted to grab him to strangle, not to dance.

"It appears to be so."

"Well, alright. I won't turn that down. However! Ali, would it kill you to call me 'Stann'?"

"Each dance begins with a single step," Alisan said as she walked away, holding up an index finger over her shoulder.

Jaden couldn't help but overhear the pale elf and the winter warrior talking about dancing. Despite her awkwardness with the Midland Trade language, Alisan really seemed like a good teacher. Jaden felt like she understood how doing things together would bring people closer, in more ways than the obvious. In a way, it wasn't all that different from the Lacunai idea of synthesis; how a spirit and a mystic were more powerful when they were as one being. A whole that was far greater than the sum of the individual parts.

Did she even want that? The closer she got with her spirit, with Ashomi, the harder it would be to break the two of them apart later. Being more powerful would let Jaden help her friends, but at what cost to herself? She could still remember her real face, but how long before even the memory of her true self began to fade?

Let me help you

"I need help," Jaden muttered, and pulled her legs up to her chest, feeling miserable. Everything was sore and she felt swollen. For now the most endurable thing was to just sit behind these lashed barrels and try not to think of how much the boat was rocking as Kellen's water magic pushed against the flow of the river.

Enough of the sun found its way through the gaps in the clouds that Jaden felt when the shadow passed over her. Soon, a head full of short, red hair popped down in her field of vision, eclipsing the sun.

"So that's where you've been hiding." Oleander leaned on one of the barrels, easily shifting her balance to match the motion of the boat. Despite having grown up pretty much in the centre of the continent, more than a hundred miles from the nearest ocean, she had taken to the decks like an old hand.

"I wasn't hiding, Ollie. I was, uh, just thinking." Thinking about anything else than the constant rocking. Jaden felt her stomach protest again.

"Well, you should probably stop doing that. You look terrible." The Olman girl remarked. Leaning over the barrels to look at Jaden made a necklace of leather and stones slip from her tunic top and dangle a bit in the breeze.

“Is that a new necklace? It looks a little… rough for you” Jaden noted. Oleander was usually into shinier things, the magpie that she was. However, she seldom wore the same pieces for very long.

“Since when did you start paying attention to jewellery?” She teased. “Anyway, it’s something Kel made to protect me from things.”

“What kinds of things?” The mystic wondered. While the Lacunai rarely worked with enchantments of their own, much preferring to trust in the abilities of their spirits or pacts, sometimes they made use of protective charms for the defence of the citadel and the mountain. The protectors’ swords were one of those exceptions.

“Heatstroke, harsh language… spiritual attacks…” Oleander said offhandedly, fingering the rune stones on the leather string.

“What?” Jaden blinked.

“You know, the usual.”

“Uh…” Jaden had a feeling she was missing something important.

Oleander turned to look away, and together they just watched the Alband and Olmar countryside flow past on either side of the boat. It was funny, really. From here, the countries didn't look all that much different.

"Hey, Jay?" She finally said, by now leaning with both arms folded over the barrel top.

"Yeah?" Jaden craned her head a little to look up at the redhead.

"Remember how we talked about your spirit thing?"

"Seems like one of those things we keep getting back to," the mystic mumbled, resting her chin back on her knees pulled up against her body. Sitting like that felt nice.

"It's just, well, you've never really been very talkative about it before. This is me catching up!" Oleander waved with a hand a little.

"Fine. What did you want to know?" Jaden didn’t feel like fighting at the moment, so she relented.

"Well, there was talk about how it might have some sort of plan, or, at least knew what it was doing?" Oleander blew at her hair. While still short, it was starting to get into her eyes if she didn’t keep it combed back.

"Yep. Remind me to thank Mirena for those nightmares, by the way." Jaden hadn't been sleeping very well, lately. She kept dreaming of the fire.

"How does it all happen, anyway? I mean, you're not born with this, right?" The Olman girl walked around the barrel so they could talk face to face without someone straining their necks.

"No. As a mystic reaches a certain point in her- his training, he's taken below the citadel where the master of ceremonies has prepared a special room. There, you put yourself in a trace-state - entering the dreaming, it's called - where you find yourself in the realm of the spirits. What happens then, well, you're not supposed to talk about that with others." Jaden remembered trying to pry some of the details out of Lilya. It had been like squeezing secrets out of a stone. "It's a very personal experience. Actually, I should probably not talk with you about this, come to think of it. I'm likely breaking all sorts of rules just mentioning this."

"Too late now!"

"I guess... It's not as if I'm on the best of terms with the council as it is..." But Lilya had at least said that Jaden didn't rate high enough of an embarrassment to warrant sending in the mageslayers. At least her nightmares hadn’t been full of those mirror masks.

"So, you just dream up a spirit? You think about your fondest desires and it just shows up? If that's the case, isn't it strange that not more boys end up as..." Oleander waved her hands at Jaden's upper chest area. "Buxom tarts?"

"... thanks, Ollie." The mystic looked a bit shocked at the redhead’s frank language.

"Don't blame me for the fantasies of excited teenage boys." Oleander let her eyes linger on her friend’s exposed cleavage. With the humid heat of late summer, she didn’t blame Jaden for not covering up more. Also, if she had what Jaden had, she wouldn’t hide it either.

"That aside," Jaden turned the attention away from her chest, "it's not a real dream. I mean, it's more real than one. It's like another place entirely. We just... allow ourselves to be sent there, somehow." Jaden shot the redhead a quick glare, feeling her temper rise up a little again. "And we don't get to choose our spirit! At least, I never did."

"That sounds creepy. Is it dangerous?" Oleander took a bite out of an apple she had found somewhere, and then offering some of it to Jaden, who didn't feel like trusting her stomach at the moment and shied back. Oleander merely shrugged. "It sounds dangerous at least."

"Not so much that the practice is discontinued. But, every so often we have someone who doesn’t wake up again." Jaden recalled the stories her aunt had told them when Jaden had been a young boy.

"Now THAT is creepy!"

Jaden just nodded, wondering what happened with those who didn't make it back. The spirit-quests were not to be undertaken lightly. While most mystics completed them and brought back a powerful ally, there were documented cases of mystics who never woke up from their meditations. It was often explained as lack of discipline or magical power on the mystic's behalf, but even young men and women from strong families had been afflicted by the endless seeking. Some rumours said that the mystics were lost because no spirit wanted them, and they were doomed to roam the dreaming forever. It was rare, though. Some generations went past without a single occurrence.

Despite having been studied as much as the incidences allowed, it was still poorly understood and therefor shrouded in mystery. It was not as much of a source of shame as other shortcomings could be, but it had still been a reason why Jaden's grandfather had been opposed to Garen marrying Irissa. Irissa's sister had been one of the unfortunate ones, and because of that, her name had never been spoken around the children. Lilya and Jaden had only heard about this aunt when their mother had hugged Jaden's sister especially close before Lilya was about to undertake her spirit-quest. Even after all that time, their mother still feared that she would lose another loved one to the hidden dream.

As the Sweet continued its enchanted dance against the stream, putting miles behind Jaden and the towers of Tier, her eyes began to wander the countryside once more. Rolling hills covered with fresh, green grass still dewy from the rainy weather that had blown in from the coast the last couple of days. Only one thing broke the waves of the lush meadows, a broken old stone monument further up the river. Jaden felt how some of her friends joined her by the side of the boat in watching the ancient thing draw closer.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice that thing when we travelled coastwards after Carrick Field last time,” Stann mentioned, pointing towards the ruined monument.

“You were looking in the other direction that time,” his larger cousin explained with that patient, rumbling voice of his.

“I suppose so. But, what is it?” Stann scratched his beard with his other hand. It had grown out some since he last shaved a week ago, but a boat in motion was no place to shave unless you wanted to invite pain into your life.

“That’s a remnant from the times when the Sorun wildlands reached halfway across the continent. We think it is vast today, but it is merely half of what it once was, if that.” Kellen thumbed his moustache in thought. He always did that when he started reading from the books that only existed inside his mind. “Scholars wiser than I have argued that the cause of this was due to how the world was growing colder. Or perhaps it was because of our own presence here? When the kingdoms of man arrived here, there were many changes to accommodate the people settling down. Lots of timber was used for housing, construction, tools, or just to cook and keep warm during the winters. Some say that the wildlands covered most of both Alband and Olmar, reaching almost down to the Etrian border. Not that there was an Etria back then.”

“That’s… a big forest.” The Winterheart warrior concluded. The image of endless wilderness was a little intimidating, even for a son of the North. Their home village, Strom, sat between two of the larger forests far enough into the frozen lands that the snow seldom left the spruce trees.

“Indeed. I had a chance to study a similar monument at the northern edge of the borderlands. It was adorned with primitive elven symbols that spoke of the land, life, gathering and safety. All signs of an early shamanistic totem of some sort, made to protect the land and promote fertility.”

“I don’t think I’d ever heard the word ‘primitive’ and ‘elven’ in the same sentence before,” Mirena added, having joined the others to see what they were discussing. She had the greatest respect for other cultures, unlike many proud Tierin who felt that the golden city was the pinnacle of civilisation.

“Oh, the elves we know today are much different from those who lived here when the kingdoms of man arrived. The Seren elves who came here with the exiles of the first empire shared their culture with their more, ah, primal cousins.” The rune seeker explained, looking around to see if the actual elf in their party overheard what he was saying.

“The Cealon?” Mirena asked. Her knowledge of the elves ended at what to serve at a business meeting to get the best price for their woodcraft, but she tried to better herself and look beyond the needs her family remained focused on.

“That’s the name they took, yes. Before that, they simply called themselves the People, the Cea, or the people of the hills.”

“The Shee, huh? They’re all just elves to me. You know, there’s a big stone thing looking a lot like that old pile, not that far east of Tarad. It got broken hundreds of years ago, though, when the Empire needed more stone for the siege of Radent.” Oleander got that special look in her face whenever she spoke of myths or old folktales. Dreaming, but awake. Maybe she was imagining what it must have been like for the people who lived the story? “The way legends have it, lightning struck down when the imperial army tried to split the monument into smaller parts.”

“Don’t mess with old relics, huh?” Stann said with a wry grin, looking pointedly at the redhead, who slapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t remind me, Bear!” Oleander made a disgusted noise, and then blew hair out of her face again. “But, yeah. Ever since then people believe that spirits of the forest protects Tarad. Seeing as how we lived right at the doorstep of the elven lands, not that many spoke out against it. Lots of people give gifts to the shrine of the guardian spirits, some even more so than to the temple.”

“The Five Temples are aware of the west-Olman unfortunate penchant for… nature-worship,” Mirena frowned a little, but her calling was not that of converting the faithless. The light of the Five Temples reached far across the lands, even though there were areas were paganism still held strong.

While most of them watched the old monument pass them by, Rhyce sat not far from the mast keeping their horses company. At first, he had thought that he would need to exert more influence over the animals, but that was quickly proven unnecessary. The Northmen’s horses easily lay down on the deck, having travelled by ship before. The other horses took to imitating this, resting side by side along the middle of the boat. Alisan’s elven horse looked especially out of place away from solid ground, forcing the archer to spend most of his time nearby to calm the mare with gentle words and soft touches.

Eventually, Alisan drifted over to see how they were doing. From a white leather pouch she produced a couple of pungent lumps that looked like Oleander’s last attempt at making cookies. Rhyce recognised the elven ser monelleum, having seen them before during a time of his life when vengeance had been both his sun and moon. The archer’s left hand ached at the memory of thorns.

Kellen’s enchantments kept The Sweet on a straight and quick course, sparing the crew from most of the heavy work. Instead, the men sat around on the deck playing dice inside a wooden frame to keep the pieces from rolling off the boat. By midday the air had grown noticeably stiller, a sign that they had passed far enough inlands that the winds from the sea could no longer reach them.

Not long after this, a group of farmers came into view, leading their sheep to graze the green meadows along the southern edges of Alband. The captain surprised his guests by grabbing a rope and leaning off the side of the boat, exchanging greetings with the older shepherd wearing a wide brimmed hat and a tan vest.

“Ho there, Lorne!” The captain yelled with a smile.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, Ebel?” The shepherd called back. “Do you need me to send one of the boys to bring the oxen over?”

“Not today, my friend. I have myself a magician to lead our lady on a merry dance along the river.” Ebel nodded toward where Kellen was throwing a fishing line along the port side. “I will see you next week!”

By that time, The Sweet had pulled too far away for them to speak, and the old friends just waved goodbye. The boat continued onward against the current, carried on enchanted waves.

Maybe it was boredom, or any other reason, but as afternoon came around one of the crew started to become a little too friendly with Jaden. Kalor was a handsome enough man, with enough curls in his dark blonde hair to hint at some borderlander blood, and a toned body from working under the sun days on end. He had a scar along his left ear which he told the black-haired mystic was from an arrow narrowly missing his head, and how the river trade could be very dangerous at times. Jaden didn’t mind the conversation that much until Kalor began to suggest that she looked too warm, and maybe she’d feel better if she loosened the laces on her blouse a little more. Oleander chasing him away likely saved him from a more heated reply. Jaden was growing better at aiming her salamander’s fire.

Men!

“I know, right?” Jaden agreed, shaking her head. She had never been like that, had she? Maybe she had stolen glances at pretty women, but to come right out and say something like that?

“What?” Oleander blinked.

“Wait, didn’t you say that?”

“Say what?” The redhead looked around, to see if anyone else had been close enough.

“… nevermind. I must be tired or something.” Jaden rubbed her face. Between the rocking of the boat and the sore feeling inside her, she was starting to feel worn out even after doing nothing but sitting. She didn’t mind the heat. It felt safe, somehow. But she could use something else right now. Maybe a hug?

“You could also be going crazy? I hear that happens with you wizards all the time. Snap,” the Olman girl snapped her fingers demonstratively. “And suddenly, shrill cackling and fireballs for everyone.”

“Thanks, Ollie. Just the sort of reassurance I needed right now.” Jaden pulled her legs up against herself again, hugging them close to her body.

“I’m nothing if not considerate.” Oleander drummed a quick beat on the top of the barrel, and then pushed away to find a better breeze.

It was growing warmer with the afternoon sun bearing down on the mostly open boat. While the heat itself didn’t bother Jaden that much, the stuffiness in her little retreat began to become uncomfortable. Eventually she eased herself to her feet, carefully not to upset her stomach, and rested herself against the railing instead. It was somewhat better, with a bit of wind in her face. If she closed her eyes, tuned out the chatter of the men around her, she could almost imagine herself being back at the walls of Talraman. Of course, it was much too warm, and the boat rocked. It really was nothing like home. Such an odd time for homesickness.

The brief solitude, such as it was, would not last. Jaden had barely enjoyed the wind for few minutes before someone else sought her out.

"Jai- no, Jaden, I would offer my words to you for a moment," Alisan approached the mystic leaning against the railing. She held a hand to her nearly white hair, to keep it from her face when a sudden gust played across the deck. It sent her skirts fluttering up enough to show some of her calves.

"Oh? What can I do for you, Ali?" Jaden might not feel any kinship with the elf, despite what people thought, but there was some welcome earnestness in the way Alisan spoke. Despite only having known her for a week, Jaden felt no reason to doubt her words. The mystic could almost feel the confusion wafting from the pale elf.

"I offer apologies for shaping assumptions of your bloodline earlier." Alisan put a single hand on the railing to keep her balance.

"You and everyone else." The mystic pushed some of her own hair back over an ear. The ringlets were ever escaping the string she used to tie it back, as if it had a life of its own and wanted to fly free.

"It seems strange to me how you can appear so much as one of the kin cealon, yet you are clearly not?"

"It's from my mother's side of the family. There's been a number of, uh, cultural exchanges with Sorun over the years, and her ancestors can trace their lineage back to Ral Sona on more than one occasion. You should talk to my sister about this instead. She spent a boring winter actually calculating how much of each thing was in our veins." Jaden vividly recalled the state her sister’s room had been in, with books and scrolls spread out all over the floor and a large parchment with a crudely drawn family tree fixed to one of the walls. When Lilya did something, she dived into it with a wholehearted focus bordering on the obsessive.

"Then, you are not even half-elven, yet present so strongly?" Alisan tilted her head to the side.

"Just about. According to Lilya, we're two fifths or something like that."

"At most twice removed, then? Yes, that should be enough.” The pale elf smiled with sincere geniality, perhaps trying to find a connection with the mystic. “Do you know who your elven ancestors are? It is likely they are still alive. We could visit them if we have time."

"I... hadn't thought about that, honestly. Wouldn't it be weird to look someone up who’s basically a stranger and go 'hi grandpa'?" Jaden made a face. She had never heard about who any of the elven influences in her mother’s side of the family might have been. Come to think of it, her mother hadn’t spoken all that much about her family at all. Then again, it was hard to be anything else than a Tarasov. Strength above all things came unbidden to her mind.

"Family is family. I value the time I am able to spend with my living ancestors. It allows me to better understand my role, when I see the path that has been walked before." Alisan explained, taking a few steps as if to show that journey.

"Maybe, if we have the time." Jaden looked at the water rushing past the boat. "The days are only going to be stranger from here on, aren't they?"

"I do not know what that means, Ja-den, but I will give my hopes that you will find your own answer to that question."

"Thanks." Jaden sank back down to the deck, waiting for the rocking to stop.

Alisan crossed the boat and joined the Northmen on the other side. Kellen was doing something to his fishing lures to make them even more irresistible to the copper trout making the Odar River their home.

"Well?" Stann asked impatiently.

"The answer is 'yes'. According to the heritage standards as determined by Lawshaper Ethilmir during the union of the tribes, your friend qualifies as a member of the elven people. By Serecean law, she's an elf."

"I knew it!" Stann punched the air a bit, feeling vindicated.

"Just don't let our little brother hear that, or this will be a very loud journey indeed. Let's not frighten the fish," Kellen advised his cousin.

"Yeah, right." The winter warrior walked away, laughing merrily to himself.

"I have a growing impression that I may have done a disservice," Alisan put a hand to her hip as she watched the swaggering Northman join the dice-playing deckhands.

"Storms will blow over eventually. Now that we're alone, do tell me more about the time where the two tribes decided to join together. It's a part of history that my books mostly gloss over.” The rune seeker reeled his fishing line back in, briefly tapping the hook with a runestone before letting it back down into the river. “The traditions and laws of the North, the aldlere, is something I studied closely for several reasons. I find the ways of other cultures just as fascinating."

"Gladly. It is a proud moment of my people's history," the pale elf said as she began to share her words.

A cottage somewhere outside Carrick Field

Three people had gathered inside the small house, and the worn curtains had been drawn shut. While one of the mismatching chairs had been offered to the guest, he would not use it. The man and the woman who lived here were unable to sit, their hearts beating quicker than they had in a long time. The anticipation was unbearable.

"I did as you asked, Grand Harvester. I present you with the idol, as requested." The man with the short brown hair, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the burlap covering a large clay sphere carved with runes.

"You have done well, Tassard." The dry voice of the thin, tall man with the grey hair sounded like dust falling down a chimney. His bony hands accepted the sphere from the other man, causing the sleeves of the dark robes to slip back a little and exposing similarly gaunt arms. The nethermancer ran his fingers across the uneven surface of the sphere, seeking that which was locked within. The magic that protected it was strong, very strong in fact, but improvised. The enchantment was inspired, yes, but without proper form there were weaknesses that could be exploited.

"And now, your part of our deal. Restore our magic!" Baron Tassard and his wife drew closer with desire painted shamelessly on their faces. They lusted for the power. They'd do anything to feel that again. Juliss held her husband’s arm as if she was faint with the craving.

"I believe I made myself clear, before.” Jeddhar looked up from his prize to give the two a cold stare. “You delivered the phylactery, yes, but there is also the need of a sacrifice."

"Oh, we can just grab someone from the town. That will be easy." Ariken looked toward the small window, and the direction of Carrick Field. While some of the common people were useful, even insightful at times, most were simply not good for anything except mindless labour, or surrendering their flesh for a greater purpose. No purpose or need was greater than theirs, right now.

"No." The nethermancer remained still, like a statue forged from shattered dreams.

"What do you mean, 'no'? We had a-" The former baron fought back the anger that rose out of confusion. He had worked too hard, gone too many sleepless nights and endured too much pain to be denied now. But this was the grand harvester, and he had to be humble and not provoke the tall nethermancer. To do otherwise would bring on unthinkable suffering.

"A simple sacrifice is enough for a simple ritual, yes, but for true power, you need to do what you did before. You need to give up a loved one." The dry voice reminded them of the sound when they had dragged their daughter from her room. She hadn’t understood how important this was, but she had been made to see.

"There's... there's our son. He's still in Redwall. I could ride tonight, bring him here?" Ariken felt nauseous at the thought of making that journey again so soon, but the idea of losing the last chance at the power that was rightfully theirs was even worse.

"I didn't agree to stay for you to run your own errands. I agreed to help you on certain conditions. Either I perform the Rite of Binding here and now, or consider our business concluded." The nethermancer’s unblinking stare bore into their souls, or what was left of them.

"But... there's only the two of us here. We don't have anyone else to sacrifice." Ariken didn’t understand. Why was the grand harvester toying with them like this?

"Exactly." The nethermancer echoed a previous, final statement. Jeddhar twisted his face into a small unsmile after speaking that single word with that dry voice of his.

A sudden pain bloomed from Ariken’s back. Something warm and wet trickled down toward his leg. He turned in surprise and shock to see his wife hold the blood-smeared knife with both hands. His heart, painted in red.

"I'm sorry, my love, but I need this," Juliss whispered, as her husband fell to the ground with his life pouring out of him.

"That will do, baroness. That will do." Jeddhar leaned over the man who was weakly crawling in the spreading pool of his own blood. It was important to begin the reaping right away, before too much slipped away.

The nethermancer pressed his fingers into the ceramic container, and as pieces of the clay fell away, the grin of the obsidian death idol was the last thing Baron Ariken Tassard saw.

Later, once promises were fulfilled and the deed was concluded, the door opened and shut, leaving the woman alone in the ramshackle house that had never been a home. The knife, used and forgotten, was on the floor next to the slowly drying pool. Red marks showed a trail that led to where they had moved the body for the ritual, but by now the black candles had almost burned down. The dark wax dripped.

Baroness Juliss Tassard ran her hand across her husband's hair. He was lying still on the ground, arranged as if sleeping. Juliss’ hands were stained with dried blood, and crying had left her streaked and blotchy. Despite this, a broken smile remained fixed on her face.

"It'll be alright, love. Don't you see? We'll return home, and it will be just like before. I can do it now. I can bring our Callandra back. We'll have little Kalen back from those horrible peasants, too. We'll be a family again. Everything will be perfect." Juliss felt the power burn inside of her. It filled that cold hole that had been ever since the night they had been forced to flee from the fire and the sword.

The eyelids of the body that had been Ariken opened up to reveal inky depths.

"Everything will be just perfect," Juliss kept repeating, as she rested her head on her husband's chest.

((Note: Working on this chapter, it just kept growing and growing like a particularly well-kneaded pile of dough. I finally accepted that it might be a good idea to divide it into two chapters so that I could publish something, at least, and then follow up with the rest as soon as it is done. Sorry for the long wait! :) ))