Here is one prologue I've written for my novel, which is a work in progress. I plan to change it a bit other than it's posting here but wanted to share it for a little bit of exposure on the forums and see what people think. It's 16 paperback pages about, 6,232 words in total, but truncated for the proper number of characters here.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1: A Colorful Situation
Hasser was a small man barely standing five foot six, but he wore a flamboyant attire, here loose and there clinging which overcame his physique. Around his torso was a baggy, teal, silk shirt cut away from the right shoulder to reveal a velvet, crimson and gold, tunic underneath. It was tucked beneath an exquisitely tooled belt, inlaid with square cut, yellow, gems with tiny bronze cymbals hanging at regular intervals. Also tied to the belt with a leather, brown bead-strewn, chord was a clear ampoule of green tinted liquid, poison, for who it was never polite to ask. Behind the belt was a coral hilted dagger, the coral rough and of a deep burgundy color. He wore leather pants the color of bittersweet orange that clung tightly to the shape of his legs, and his ankle boots were maroon, suede, leather. To Lord of the House Rants eyes the dress was something out of a scribe’s comedy, but among Hasser’s people it was a crier to the public, “I am a dangerous, learned, man.”
He sat in a high backed, royal blue, cushioned chair with a redwood frame, golden spear heads imprinted on the fabric of the cushions and the legs of the chair whittled into the shape of spear points. The same as the one sitting opposite him presently occupied by Lord of the House Rant. Master Craftsman Erold made them as a gift when Rant succeeded his father.
Hasser had been given much wine in the past two days since his arrival, and had drank none of it. At first he swirled his index finger in the chilled beverage to feel for the gritty residue of poison or sedative but now he did it just to occupy his restlessness of which there was no other outward sign. Unknown to Lord of the House Rant was that priests of the Desi were not permitted to drink if they belonged to the Brotherhood, those of the Fray of course were another matter entirely. The Fray was a “rival” priesthood in Diya’hum, the name borrowed from the ranks of fighting priests but that fact held no sway over the armed members’ allegiance to the church as a whole.
Priests of the Fray occupied the Imbibers’ Horn, a large island mostly occupied by a single mountain with a vast system of caves and were the source of a lavish tale or two, what truth could be found in those tales Lord of the House Rant didn’t know but perhaps the name of their home said it all.
In his boredom and annoyance Lord Rant almost wanted to let his mind wander into the exotic tales of Diya’Hum or the Ouvari and their priesthood. He couldn’t though, he had grown impatient these last two days since Hasser’s wagons creaked and rolled to the front of the estate. A colorful canvas covered each wooden wagon, the planks seeming to have natural waves in them, and not the least with a fully grown, iron-caged, lion in tow, colorful streamers and ribbons tied to the bars of his mobile home.
The best wine had been poured, the goose down pillows primped, and satin sheets laid out, yet nothing in the way of progress. On the first day, some hours after their arrival, both Hasser and his escort, one very large, very quiet Ouvari called Benjaffe, had disappeared. Well not exactly, but he had remained confined to his quarters with Benjaffe at the door not permitting anyone to enter, and when asked why the Second Errant, which was Hasser’s title, had isolated himself to his amenities, the rough, no doubt soldier only said, “It is the livelihood of every student and priest of the Desi to be as close to the Aram’mor as they can, whenever they can. Our trip has been long, and at present Second Errant Hasser has suited himself to the psalms and proverbs of the Venn-dire.” Other than these words, the only thing that Lord of the House Rant was able to observe was the illumination coming from beneath the door, and an open window toward which Hasser never did venture but the smell of strong incense clung to the hall outside the room.
The entire behavior was so odd that Bairn, the Master at Arms on the estate put the guards on high alert, only taking them off when the House Mistress complained of all the boots ruffling up her good carpets. It still took Rant’s order to return the soldiers to their business and duties though. Bairn did not believe that the Lord of the House should be trying to commission, as he put it, help from other nations but instead petitioning for it from home. The problem with doing so was that “home”, the Weltithe Empire, was a very long way off. Getting here from home meant crossing first all the way south through the countryside of two provinces, then into the Biscerna Waste, a vast wasteland that proved filled not only with violent beasts of all manner, but little drinkable water and little that was edible. Getting beyond the waste still meant traveling over the Northern Chord and south down the Eastern Barrier Mountains was the treacherous home of countless dwarven clans that according to his father’s history had not proved to be very friendly. To this day fighting between Weltithe soldiers and miners and the dwarves were constant in the mountains.
The lands beyond the Eastern Barrier Mountains were worth the travel though if you asked the residents of the estate. Roaming plains greeted them far south and east with some good spots to tend farmland before a confessed swampland that actually proved a haven of exotic plants of various uses put a rancor on the plains eastern edge. The great downfall was that home was so far away that most of the inhabitants of the Esson, that exotic swamp, had never seen home.
Home had not been very close over the years in fact, sending only a handful of caravans south to the Esson and they often took more than they left, taxes and specimens. The population of the settlement was low though. In response to the demands of the home empire, there was much work to be done in the swamp foraging and cataloging species. The rarity of the caravans from the north had made Rants father consider all but abandoning the swamp and settling the plain instead, but such might be treason and caravans did bring Justicars with them to protect the tax collectors.
The truth of the matter was that the Weltithe had loose connections here, and they grew looser, soon the Esson people might well be another nationless clan.
Although Lord of the House Rant’s people had now learned to be a hearty people independent in good health, at this time they needed help and this slothful audience was more of an intrusion than anything thus far.
The Lord of the House had never been one to have a temper, he was as gentle as his father, but he felt it bubbling up inside of him and instead of barking curses and chasing the man from his chambers at this late hour, he decided to appease both his anger and squelch the silence with a question, “That, ..that thing there.” Lord of the House Rant pointed to the leather chord fastened to Hasser’s belt. “What is that?”
The student priest acting on behalf of his betters looked down and glanced at his belt, then he met the Lord’s eyes. He stopped twirling his finger in his silver chased brass goblet and put the three times distilled wine down on a redwood end table next to his chair, the legs of which were worked into spear heads pointing down at the chamber floor and propping up the bulk of the table like the chairs. He smirked a bit and laughed under his breath if a laugh can be such, then he picked the bead strewn string up and untied it from his belt which reflected the flames from the hearth quite scintillatingly with its gems, silver, and bronze. Mockingly, he drank from the corked vial.
Hasser held the small vial up at eye level then he shook it. To Lord of the Houses’ surprise the liquid turned into a foamy white froth, and as it settled it was no longer of green hue, but returned to its liquid state in a shade of sky blue. Hasser smirked his smile again and replaced the vial on its tassel tying it with practiced fingers then reached into the inside of his teal shirt and brought out a small, plain, wooden box. Well the box was plain except for a fire branded symbol on its top taking up its length. Mostly a series of lines and concentric circles, at the heart of the artwork was a two headed bird one head pointing in either direction. The image intrigued Rant, but he didn’t ask on it, he would let Hasser finish his explanation of the potion at his waist.
Hasser pushed in on the side of the box and it clicked, a small drawer didn’t exactly pop out, but Hasser was able to slide it out with the grating sound of wood on wood once the gizmo was unlocked. The drawer was thin, how even an accomplished woodworker could have created a hidden drawer in such a small block of wood was beyond Rant but he had no hobbies and no trades but long distance politics and reading inventory lists of supplies, he took a mild hand in preparing the undermanned and under armed militia, nothing so simple or enjoyable as craftsmanship.
The drawer was carved into separate compartments. Small rectangular compartments that ran lengthwise, bulkier square spaces that took up the length of the box or were carved in twos to take up the length of a row, and what appeared to be a series of shelves with the thinnest pouches of, something, tucked in between them. It was quite organized as was apparent when Hasser tilted it forward so that Lord of the House Rant could view its interior. He noticed that the materials came in different forms. In the widest of the compartments was another smaller vial, another exemplary piece of tiny workmanship, like the one at Hasser’s belt. The liquid inside though was clear, or was it yellow? Rant could not tell very well. Perhaps it was the fire dancing reflections on the vial, or perhaps it was even two colors like the vial at Hasser’s belt. Another compartment held a crushed herb it seemed, not fine enough to be a powder although there was both a black flecked white and a blue powder in the box. There was also another larger compartment, and inside of it there was what appeared to be the carcass of an insect, a locust. Then were the shelves and two other compartments besides which that were somewhat hidden as the drawer was not pulled out entirely.
Hasser pointed to a crushed herb of which there was a plentiful amount compared to the other ingredients, “Ratweed.” His voice was matter of fact. “ Mix the ratweed into the Desi’tin like you would a tea in water, drink, and within mere minutes the blood grows warm again, it can stop hypothermia. “He moved his finger to the left and pointed to the tourmaline blue powder inside a compartment, “Here is a concoction perfected by the priests of the Desi like the Desi’tin itself. The recipe is hundreds of years old and only upon acceptance into the Brotherhood are we taught to make it, as such I do not know precisely what it is, but it is most effective against blood poisons in combination with the tin.
“Whether the patient merely drank too much or has been poisoned with Essence of the Night, the solution this powder and the Desi’tin together make will cure the ailment faster depending on what ails you. Each of the materials in the box performs a different outcome. Every priest of the Desi carries it, as do the soldiers of the Fray although there boxes contain elements that ours do not, and ours elements that theirs do not.” With that, he smiled and pushed the drawer back into the unsuspecting box replacing it inside his shirt. He was not finished though, he handled the small vial as with an afterthought again raising it to his lips in mocking drink, “Of course, the Desi’tin is not without its uses alone. Alone it is a powerful nerve toxin, a volatile one. Drink the Spirit of Green and you will be inflicted with numbness throughout the body, drink of the Sky Wrath,” he shook the vial to turn it blue once again, “And it is a lethal nerve toxin. Once the fluid turns you have mere minutes before it once again settles from the Sky Wrath to the Spirit of Green. The blood itself is what gives the Desi’tin stability. It is the key to the Desi’tin.”
Rant was most impressed, a near weightless cure for hypothermia. That would be of the utmost use to scores of Weltithe soldiers stationed in the icy Eastern Barrier Mountains year round. More than one soldier had met their fate at the hands of the Heaven’s Crown, a portion of the mountains that reached higher than any other in the known world. Soldiers had often become fatigued from the cold and fallen in battle to the mountain dwarves dwelling the depths of mountainside caves as well, before this was over he should barter some of the magnificent Desi’tin and some of those boxes to distribute to the troops there. Perhaps it would give him some weight with the Lords of the outpost of Shal’ikur and he could make supply caravans a more frequent sight in the Esson.
Hasser was sitting forward now, his attention gotten and his interest in the moment piqued, Lord Rant was about to say something when Hasser spoke. He spoke with a sunken heart, and Rant could tell by the look in his eyes how sincere he was.
“Your man, I am terribly sorry about that. If not for the luck that is uncertain with commerce, we would never have known he was dispatched. Perhaps eventually you would have come to realize the worst, but it is tragic that a life was lost to bring this meeting into being. I have tried to give you time to mourn and prepare his funeral, as I would have liked. I have been at a bit of a loss as to how to approach a situation of such gravity which has already had such negative consequence. I am not a politician.”
At this time, Benjaffe, who had remained so silent near the chamber entrance up until now spoke, his voice full of certainty. “And don’t worry about his Soul, the lion, she protected it well. He is safe from the Lie and all the Chaos that has been spewed forth by the Fray. None of Bpoudra’s devil birds will have him.” Lord of the House Rant had no idea what he was talking about, he understood about the lion watching over his man’s soul. The birds having him seemed a bit familiar to his own beliefs as well. So that was the purpose for the beast, he had thought it a gift which had upset him quite honestly. Who would gift a lion to the residents of a country estate, it was not a zoo after all, and it only added the cost of food. No doubt the would be protector was still growling at the poor soul left to tend after it, trying to swipe away something the man needed with those large, razor clawed, paws.
The gesture was sincere though, and for a minute Lord of the House Rant was taken aback. The man, no, the boy Elyion had been raised on the estate. Groomed to be the next Man at Arms in fact, and so he had spent much time inside the estate itself. Practicing the sword with house guards, reading through tomes on the protocols of security legislated by the Weltithe and probably more so about the numerous adventures and heroes in the empires history. Rant had liked the boy and delivering the message was his first real undertaking for Lord Rant and the people of the land. He was to be named Master at Arms upon his twenty-fifth nameday, he still had six years to go for that honor.
Rant nodded his head, and he did it silently, acknowledging the man’s condolences and observing silence for the fallen at the same time. His mind pictured it again no matter how he tried not to let it have bearing on the here and now when time could be so precious given the nature of this meeting. How could the boy stray so far north along the mountain chain? He was an excellent survivalist. Bairn had seen him trained throughout the summers as short as they were in the Esson, but surely he amassed a wealth of knowledge while practicing. The Eastern Barrier Mountains all looked the same once you were in the heart of them though, the sun could hide it’s real location behind a curtain of mountains that twisted the land below in winding, narrow, false passes that sometimes ended abruptly at the top of a cliff, the shores of a vast lake, or the entrance to one of many cave systems. Those passes were notorious for rock falls and avalanches as well. Rant reconsidered that he should never have allowed the boy to be dispatched on the vital task, he should have sent Bairn himself instead but regret was not going to take back the dire results of that mistake and shaming himself with guilt would only take his mind from the task at hand. Hasser’s Desi’tin might’ve saved the boy’s life if it had been available to him. His body found nearly frozen far in the Northern Chord along a traders road that had only cleared of snow a few weeks prior to the discovery according to a letter by the merchants who found him, delivered into his hands by Second Errant Hasser explaining the circumstances. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and realized that Hasser was talking again…
“….no rituals were performed only because we do not know your custom. We do not know your God’s, we would not want to damn the boy’s Soul. How should we know if his Penances were up? How should we know if he…” Hasser trailed off, “Well, perhaps that is a bit more of our worship than yours. But do know that we understand the loss and made the utmost haste to get here. By now I’m sure that Dulah,” that was the second man that Hasser had accompanying him when he reached the gates, a sinuous, older man, in a flowing purple robe, who had not spoken a word as of yet. He had spent his time in the stables with the lion at first, but Hasser had instructed him to remove a preservative oil that Elyion’s body had been swathed in before their travels began, “has finished removing the Petulah. You can perform the proper rites as soon as you like.”
That Hasser had remained in solitude for these reasons made sense and helped wipe away the remnants of Lord Rant’s irritation, Benjaffe should have said that instead of the bit about the customs of priests. Rant mourned Elyion very much, but it was Master at Arms Bairn who had schooled the boy since he was a child. He had felt the effects of grieving far more than did Rant. Lucky for both of them the child was an orphan, his mother killed by disease shortly after his birth. They would not have to console another. That was another of the few large troubles the people of the Esson had faced since their coming here, disease.
Rant cleared his throat. “Well, we of course thank you for returning Elyion to us. After two months we had begun imagining the worst, but leave it to nature to do you wrong and keep you guessing. The child is to be buried at the toll of the End of Hours as I understand it. These matters are usually left for the family in our society, the child was actually an orphan, one of a handful at the settlement. While I do regret the boys loss,” he choked on those words,” as Lord of the House and not the one who raised him in fact, I will not be attending the funeral ceremony. The Man at Arms will, you’ve met Bairn, I believe his botany teacher will as well. You would be welcome to, as the one who delivered him to us especially. You will attend, won’t you?” Hasser nodded, he made no delay about it and he kept nodding for a moment as though honored or gracious. When he stopped it was business at last. “By that, I say we are here regarding other business.”
The Lord of the House’s composure changed, he pushed his emotions aside relieved of his annoyance and happy to hear about the wonders of the Ouvari thus far, bound not to let his feelings for the boy get in the way of progress here. What could the Ouvari do for him? For his people?
“I understand that you have read the message, and all of us here, and the people of the Esson as a whole are curious to know what the Ouvari think of its contents, how can you help us?” To this, Hasser sat back. He was all attention before, and he even seemed delighted and not offended by Rant’s questions about the Desi’rin but now he was a representative, and he thought well on his words before he spoke. He wasn’t looking Rant in his eye as he began to speak,” The letter caught us mostly by surprise. Some of the message was destroyed by exposure to the elements, but we were able to read parts of it. Truthfully, had it not been for your seal and your title, we would not have pieced together where it was from. Except that one of your kind had been taken by the snows. As luck would have it, the merchants were familiar with your titles having done trade at Shal’ikur, and once he had explained to us that such were the titles of the Weltithe, and not those of the Lords of Shal’ikur, we realized that the boy had died crossing the mountains from the other side and not the north. It is a tragedy that he was not aware of the Reliquary Pass, we assume. It is temperate year round and would have saved his life, but with that information in hand, we only made a good guess that he came from your settlement here, we were unsure to be wholly honest.
“What we did gather from your message though is that you have an issue with someone you called, “the Grays”? We are not familiar with these people, although we are quite familiar with this land. We spent quite some time here before it was settled by the Weltithe. The city-state has no desire to expand its borders though, being self-contained and thriving as it is, mostly occupied as you know with our religion and the Venn-dire. Some trade with your empire at the outpost of Shal’ikur has become lucrative though. So, what we felt was that we needed more information, not being versed in the troubles you are having with these Grays.”
Unversed, hmmm. This could mean delays in assistance. Already it had been four months since Elyion was dispatched. Things in the Esson had not yet taken a turn for the worst, but fears had more than surmounted that they might, in fact all signs pointed to it. The people had grown into a different people, no longer did Rant or those who actually lived in the Esson know who their neighbors were. Rant began to elaborate, his face full of reminiscences of some time dealing with the ordeal...
--TRUNCATED
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1: A Colorful Situation
Hasser was a small man barely standing five foot six, but he wore a flamboyant attire, here loose and there clinging which overcame his physique. Around his torso was a baggy, teal, silk shirt cut away from the right shoulder to reveal a velvet, crimson and gold, tunic underneath. It was tucked beneath an exquisitely tooled belt, inlaid with square cut, yellow, gems with tiny bronze cymbals hanging at regular intervals. Also tied to the belt with a leather, brown bead-strewn, chord was a clear ampoule of green tinted liquid, poison, for who it was never polite to ask. Behind the belt was a coral hilted dagger, the coral rough and of a deep burgundy color. He wore leather pants the color of bittersweet orange that clung tightly to the shape of his legs, and his ankle boots were maroon, suede, leather. To Lord of the House Rants eyes the dress was something out of a scribe’s comedy, but among Hasser’s people it was a crier to the public, “I am a dangerous, learned, man.”
He sat in a high backed, royal blue, cushioned chair with a redwood frame, golden spear heads imprinted on the fabric of the cushions and the legs of the chair whittled into the shape of spear points. The same as the one sitting opposite him presently occupied by Lord of the House Rant. Master Craftsman Erold made them as a gift when Rant succeeded his father.
Hasser had been given much wine in the past two days since his arrival, and had drank none of it. At first he swirled his index finger in the chilled beverage to feel for the gritty residue of poison or sedative but now he did it just to occupy his restlessness of which there was no other outward sign. Unknown to Lord of the House Rant was that priests of the Desi were not permitted to drink if they belonged to the Brotherhood, those of the Fray of course were another matter entirely. The Fray was a “rival” priesthood in Diya’hum, the name borrowed from the ranks of fighting priests but that fact held no sway over the armed members’ allegiance to the church as a whole.
Priests of the Fray occupied the Imbibers’ Horn, a large island mostly occupied by a single mountain with a vast system of caves and were the source of a lavish tale or two, what truth could be found in those tales Lord of the House Rant didn’t know but perhaps the name of their home said it all.
In his boredom and annoyance Lord Rant almost wanted to let his mind wander into the exotic tales of Diya’Hum or the Ouvari and their priesthood. He couldn’t though, he had grown impatient these last two days since Hasser’s wagons creaked and rolled to the front of the estate. A colorful canvas covered each wooden wagon, the planks seeming to have natural waves in them, and not the least with a fully grown, iron-caged, lion in tow, colorful streamers and ribbons tied to the bars of his mobile home.
The best wine had been poured, the goose down pillows primped, and satin sheets laid out, yet nothing in the way of progress. On the first day, some hours after their arrival, both Hasser and his escort, one very large, very quiet Ouvari called Benjaffe, had disappeared. Well not exactly, but he had remained confined to his quarters with Benjaffe at the door not permitting anyone to enter, and when asked why the Second Errant, which was Hasser’s title, had isolated himself to his amenities, the rough, no doubt soldier only said, “It is the livelihood of every student and priest of the Desi to be as close to the Aram’mor as they can, whenever they can. Our trip has been long, and at present Second Errant Hasser has suited himself to the psalms and proverbs of the Venn-dire.” Other than these words, the only thing that Lord of the House Rant was able to observe was the illumination coming from beneath the door, and an open window toward which Hasser never did venture but the smell of strong incense clung to the hall outside the room.
The entire behavior was so odd that Bairn, the Master at Arms on the estate put the guards on high alert, only taking them off when the House Mistress complained of all the boots ruffling up her good carpets. It still took Rant’s order to return the soldiers to their business and duties though. Bairn did not believe that the Lord of the House should be trying to commission, as he put it, help from other nations but instead petitioning for it from home. The problem with doing so was that “home”, the Weltithe Empire, was a very long way off. Getting here from home meant crossing first all the way south through the countryside of two provinces, then into the Biscerna Waste, a vast wasteland that proved filled not only with violent beasts of all manner, but little drinkable water and little that was edible. Getting beyond the waste still meant traveling over the Northern Chord and south down the Eastern Barrier Mountains was the treacherous home of countless dwarven clans that according to his father’s history had not proved to be very friendly. To this day fighting between Weltithe soldiers and miners and the dwarves were constant in the mountains.
The lands beyond the Eastern Barrier Mountains were worth the travel though if you asked the residents of the estate. Roaming plains greeted them far south and east with some good spots to tend farmland before a confessed swampland that actually proved a haven of exotic plants of various uses put a rancor on the plains eastern edge. The great downfall was that home was so far away that most of the inhabitants of the Esson, that exotic swamp, had never seen home.
Home had not been very close over the years in fact, sending only a handful of caravans south to the Esson and they often took more than they left, taxes and specimens. The population of the settlement was low though. In response to the demands of the home empire, there was much work to be done in the swamp foraging and cataloging species. The rarity of the caravans from the north had made Rants father consider all but abandoning the swamp and settling the plain instead, but such might be treason and caravans did bring Justicars with them to protect the tax collectors.
The truth of the matter was that the Weltithe had loose connections here, and they grew looser, soon the Esson people might well be another nationless clan.
Although Lord of the House Rant’s people had now learned to be a hearty people independent in good health, at this time they needed help and this slothful audience was more of an intrusion than anything thus far.
The Lord of the House had never been one to have a temper, he was as gentle as his father, but he felt it bubbling up inside of him and instead of barking curses and chasing the man from his chambers at this late hour, he decided to appease both his anger and squelch the silence with a question, “That, ..that thing there.” Lord of the House Rant pointed to the leather chord fastened to Hasser’s belt. “What is that?”
The student priest acting on behalf of his betters looked down and glanced at his belt, then he met the Lord’s eyes. He stopped twirling his finger in his silver chased brass goblet and put the three times distilled wine down on a redwood end table next to his chair, the legs of which were worked into spear heads pointing down at the chamber floor and propping up the bulk of the table like the chairs. He smirked a bit and laughed under his breath if a laugh can be such, then he picked the bead strewn string up and untied it from his belt which reflected the flames from the hearth quite scintillatingly with its gems, silver, and bronze. Mockingly, he drank from the corked vial.
Hasser held the small vial up at eye level then he shook it. To Lord of the Houses’ surprise the liquid turned into a foamy white froth, and as it settled it was no longer of green hue, but returned to its liquid state in a shade of sky blue. Hasser smirked his smile again and replaced the vial on its tassel tying it with practiced fingers then reached into the inside of his teal shirt and brought out a small, plain, wooden box. Well the box was plain except for a fire branded symbol on its top taking up its length. Mostly a series of lines and concentric circles, at the heart of the artwork was a two headed bird one head pointing in either direction. The image intrigued Rant, but he didn’t ask on it, he would let Hasser finish his explanation of the potion at his waist.
Hasser pushed in on the side of the box and it clicked, a small drawer didn’t exactly pop out, but Hasser was able to slide it out with the grating sound of wood on wood once the gizmo was unlocked. The drawer was thin, how even an accomplished woodworker could have created a hidden drawer in such a small block of wood was beyond Rant but he had no hobbies and no trades but long distance politics and reading inventory lists of supplies, he took a mild hand in preparing the undermanned and under armed militia, nothing so simple or enjoyable as craftsmanship.
The drawer was carved into separate compartments. Small rectangular compartments that ran lengthwise, bulkier square spaces that took up the length of the box or were carved in twos to take up the length of a row, and what appeared to be a series of shelves with the thinnest pouches of, something, tucked in between them. It was quite organized as was apparent when Hasser tilted it forward so that Lord of the House Rant could view its interior. He noticed that the materials came in different forms. In the widest of the compartments was another smaller vial, another exemplary piece of tiny workmanship, like the one at Hasser’s belt. The liquid inside though was clear, or was it yellow? Rant could not tell very well. Perhaps it was the fire dancing reflections on the vial, or perhaps it was even two colors like the vial at Hasser’s belt. Another compartment held a crushed herb it seemed, not fine enough to be a powder although there was both a black flecked white and a blue powder in the box. There was also another larger compartment, and inside of it there was what appeared to be the carcass of an insect, a locust. Then were the shelves and two other compartments besides which that were somewhat hidden as the drawer was not pulled out entirely.
Hasser pointed to a crushed herb of which there was a plentiful amount compared to the other ingredients, “Ratweed.” His voice was matter of fact. “ Mix the ratweed into the Desi’tin like you would a tea in water, drink, and within mere minutes the blood grows warm again, it can stop hypothermia. “He moved his finger to the left and pointed to the tourmaline blue powder inside a compartment, “Here is a concoction perfected by the priests of the Desi like the Desi’tin itself. The recipe is hundreds of years old and only upon acceptance into the Brotherhood are we taught to make it, as such I do not know precisely what it is, but it is most effective against blood poisons in combination with the tin.
“Whether the patient merely drank too much or has been poisoned with Essence of the Night, the solution this powder and the Desi’tin together make will cure the ailment faster depending on what ails you. Each of the materials in the box performs a different outcome. Every priest of the Desi carries it, as do the soldiers of the Fray although there boxes contain elements that ours do not, and ours elements that theirs do not.” With that, he smiled and pushed the drawer back into the unsuspecting box replacing it inside his shirt. He was not finished though, he handled the small vial as with an afterthought again raising it to his lips in mocking drink, “Of course, the Desi’tin is not without its uses alone. Alone it is a powerful nerve toxin, a volatile one. Drink the Spirit of Green and you will be inflicted with numbness throughout the body, drink of the Sky Wrath,” he shook the vial to turn it blue once again, “And it is a lethal nerve toxin. Once the fluid turns you have mere minutes before it once again settles from the Sky Wrath to the Spirit of Green. The blood itself is what gives the Desi’tin stability. It is the key to the Desi’tin.”
Rant was most impressed, a near weightless cure for hypothermia. That would be of the utmost use to scores of Weltithe soldiers stationed in the icy Eastern Barrier Mountains year round. More than one soldier had met their fate at the hands of the Heaven’s Crown, a portion of the mountains that reached higher than any other in the known world. Soldiers had often become fatigued from the cold and fallen in battle to the mountain dwarves dwelling the depths of mountainside caves as well, before this was over he should barter some of the magnificent Desi’tin and some of those boxes to distribute to the troops there. Perhaps it would give him some weight with the Lords of the outpost of Shal’ikur and he could make supply caravans a more frequent sight in the Esson.
Hasser was sitting forward now, his attention gotten and his interest in the moment piqued, Lord Rant was about to say something when Hasser spoke. He spoke with a sunken heart, and Rant could tell by the look in his eyes how sincere he was.
“Your man, I am terribly sorry about that. If not for the luck that is uncertain with commerce, we would never have known he was dispatched. Perhaps eventually you would have come to realize the worst, but it is tragic that a life was lost to bring this meeting into being. I have tried to give you time to mourn and prepare his funeral, as I would have liked. I have been at a bit of a loss as to how to approach a situation of such gravity which has already had such negative consequence. I am not a politician.”
At this time, Benjaffe, who had remained so silent near the chamber entrance up until now spoke, his voice full of certainty. “And don’t worry about his Soul, the lion, she protected it well. He is safe from the Lie and all the Chaos that has been spewed forth by the Fray. None of Bpoudra’s devil birds will have him.” Lord of the House Rant had no idea what he was talking about, he understood about the lion watching over his man’s soul. The birds having him seemed a bit familiar to his own beliefs as well. So that was the purpose for the beast, he had thought it a gift which had upset him quite honestly. Who would gift a lion to the residents of a country estate, it was not a zoo after all, and it only added the cost of food. No doubt the would be protector was still growling at the poor soul left to tend after it, trying to swipe away something the man needed with those large, razor clawed, paws.
The gesture was sincere though, and for a minute Lord of the House Rant was taken aback. The man, no, the boy Elyion had been raised on the estate. Groomed to be the next Man at Arms in fact, and so he had spent much time inside the estate itself. Practicing the sword with house guards, reading through tomes on the protocols of security legislated by the Weltithe and probably more so about the numerous adventures and heroes in the empires history. Rant had liked the boy and delivering the message was his first real undertaking for Lord Rant and the people of the land. He was to be named Master at Arms upon his twenty-fifth nameday, he still had six years to go for that honor.
Rant nodded his head, and he did it silently, acknowledging the man’s condolences and observing silence for the fallen at the same time. His mind pictured it again no matter how he tried not to let it have bearing on the here and now when time could be so precious given the nature of this meeting. How could the boy stray so far north along the mountain chain? He was an excellent survivalist. Bairn had seen him trained throughout the summers as short as they were in the Esson, but surely he amassed a wealth of knowledge while practicing. The Eastern Barrier Mountains all looked the same once you were in the heart of them though, the sun could hide it’s real location behind a curtain of mountains that twisted the land below in winding, narrow, false passes that sometimes ended abruptly at the top of a cliff, the shores of a vast lake, or the entrance to one of many cave systems. Those passes were notorious for rock falls and avalanches as well. Rant reconsidered that he should never have allowed the boy to be dispatched on the vital task, he should have sent Bairn himself instead but regret was not going to take back the dire results of that mistake and shaming himself with guilt would only take his mind from the task at hand. Hasser’s Desi’tin might’ve saved the boy’s life if it had been available to him. His body found nearly frozen far in the Northern Chord along a traders road that had only cleared of snow a few weeks prior to the discovery according to a letter by the merchants who found him, delivered into his hands by Second Errant Hasser explaining the circumstances. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and realized that Hasser was talking again…
“….no rituals were performed only because we do not know your custom. We do not know your God’s, we would not want to damn the boy’s Soul. How should we know if his Penances were up? How should we know if he…” Hasser trailed off, “Well, perhaps that is a bit more of our worship than yours. But do know that we understand the loss and made the utmost haste to get here. By now I’m sure that Dulah,” that was the second man that Hasser had accompanying him when he reached the gates, a sinuous, older man, in a flowing purple robe, who had not spoken a word as of yet. He had spent his time in the stables with the lion at first, but Hasser had instructed him to remove a preservative oil that Elyion’s body had been swathed in before their travels began, “has finished removing the Petulah. You can perform the proper rites as soon as you like.”
That Hasser had remained in solitude for these reasons made sense and helped wipe away the remnants of Lord Rant’s irritation, Benjaffe should have said that instead of the bit about the customs of priests. Rant mourned Elyion very much, but it was Master at Arms Bairn who had schooled the boy since he was a child. He had felt the effects of grieving far more than did Rant. Lucky for both of them the child was an orphan, his mother killed by disease shortly after his birth. They would not have to console another. That was another of the few large troubles the people of the Esson had faced since their coming here, disease.
Rant cleared his throat. “Well, we of course thank you for returning Elyion to us. After two months we had begun imagining the worst, but leave it to nature to do you wrong and keep you guessing. The child is to be buried at the toll of the End of Hours as I understand it. These matters are usually left for the family in our society, the child was actually an orphan, one of a handful at the settlement. While I do regret the boys loss,” he choked on those words,” as Lord of the House and not the one who raised him in fact, I will not be attending the funeral ceremony. The Man at Arms will, you’ve met Bairn, I believe his botany teacher will as well. You would be welcome to, as the one who delivered him to us especially. You will attend, won’t you?” Hasser nodded, he made no delay about it and he kept nodding for a moment as though honored or gracious. When he stopped it was business at last. “By that, I say we are here regarding other business.”
The Lord of the House’s composure changed, he pushed his emotions aside relieved of his annoyance and happy to hear about the wonders of the Ouvari thus far, bound not to let his feelings for the boy get in the way of progress here. What could the Ouvari do for him? For his people?
“I understand that you have read the message, and all of us here, and the people of the Esson as a whole are curious to know what the Ouvari think of its contents, how can you help us?” To this, Hasser sat back. He was all attention before, and he even seemed delighted and not offended by Rant’s questions about the Desi’rin but now he was a representative, and he thought well on his words before he spoke. He wasn’t looking Rant in his eye as he began to speak,” The letter caught us mostly by surprise. Some of the message was destroyed by exposure to the elements, but we were able to read parts of it. Truthfully, had it not been for your seal and your title, we would not have pieced together where it was from. Except that one of your kind had been taken by the snows. As luck would have it, the merchants were familiar with your titles having done trade at Shal’ikur, and once he had explained to us that such were the titles of the Weltithe, and not those of the Lords of Shal’ikur, we realized that the boy had died crossing the mountains from the other side and not the north. It is a tragedy that he was not aware of the Reliquary Pass, we assume. It is temperate year round and would have saved his life, but with that information in hand, we only made a good guess that he came from your settlement here, we were unsure to be wholly honest.
“What we did gather from your message though is that you have an issue with someone you called, “the Grays”? We are not familiar with these people, although we are quite familiar with this land. We spent quite some time here before it was settled by the Weltithe. The city-state has no desire to expand its borders though, being self-contained and thriving as it is, mostly occupied as you know with our religion and the Venn-dire. Some trade with your empire at the outpost of Shal’ikur has become lucrative though. So, what we felt was that we needed more information, not being versed in the troubles you are having with these Grays.”
Unversed, hmmm. This could mean delays in assistance. Already it had been four months since Elyion was dispatched. Things in the Esson had not yet taken a turn for the worst, but fears had more than surmounted that they might, in fact all signs pointed to it. The people had grown into a different people, no longer did Rant or those who actually lived in the Esson know who their neighbors were. Rant began to elaborate, his face full of reminiscences of some time dealing with the ordeal...
--TRUNCATED
