Castle Terribel

A Cage of Light--Part 9

2012-02-11T12:16:00.000-08:00

“That was a farce,” muttered Alexandria Tau, as she walked away from the Palace of Repentence. “If that little Erl is a threat, then I’m the Flamens Dialis.”

“The Church could do worse,” said Maximilian Rho, with a chuckle. “And in truth, it damn well has.” He frowned to himself. “Still, she did confess to being the Badb’s daughter,” he noted.

“Pfft,” snorted Alexandria. “And what does that mean? That the child is frightened or mad. If that little chit of a girl is the actual child of the Witch Queen, then…”

“You’re the bloody Flamens Dialis.” The Preceptor sighed. “I do love you, Alexandria, but you get a mite predictable at times.”

“As do you, Maximilian,” said the Mother Superior. “I always know that you’ll find some way to infuriate me.” She glanced around the street, and seeing it fairly deserted, kissed the Preceptor on the cheek. “You silly old dear.”

Maximilian sighed. “Well… to return to this matter… Amfortas is still our Prince. And whatever you may say, the fact remains that your young sisters gave shelter to Nightfolk…”

“As have half the Sisters of Mercy in Joyeuse and throughout the Free Cities,” snapped Alexandria. “Heavens’ sake, Maximilian--for all you men stare at the Murkenmere, it’s just a large dark river. Things come over it quite frequently.”

“But these times,” said Maximilian. “The Easter King amassing armies and seizing cities. The Dark Lords of Night, meeting, it is said, to discuss the overthrow of all that is good and holy. King Pelleas, ill and afflicted…”

“And are these things so completely novel that all must be overturned for them?” said Alexandria. She shook her head. “No, Maximilian. Boundaries must be set. The Prince has asked for more and more over the years, until inch by inch we found ourselves in our present situation--with the Eremites sitting in this great city, in defiance of the Edicts, and every agreement between the Concordat and Leonais…”

“His Highness only seeks to do what is right…” objected the Preceptor.

“I don’t deny that,” said Alexandria grimly. “But the Prince’s version of what is right is like a sculpture made of ice. It sparkles prettily enough in the sunlight, but on closer examination it is a hard, cold, grim thing for all its apparent beauty.” She sighed. “I do not think Joyeuse has much love for it right now.”

“And so what will you do?” asked Maximilian.

“Write to my cousins,” said the Mother Superior. “Have them assemble the Old Lords. And allow matters to proceed as they may from there.” She shrugged. “What else can I do?”

Maximilian was silent for a while. “You know--my Order also has a member in the Palace of Repentance. And yet we remain loyal, mindful of our vows…”

Alexandria stared at the Preceptor sadly. “Are you trying to convince me, Maximilian, or yourself?” She turned and walked away. As Maximilian watched her leave, he realized that he didn’t know the answer to her question.

When she had at last vanished down a street, the Preceptor turned and started back to the Chapterhouse. It occurred to him that Alexandria Tau had been exceptionally unjust in her accusations. Alexandria Tau, after all, had been born Amante Gwynedd, a daughter of one of the wealthiest houses of Joyeuse, with friends and allies in the highest circles of Leonais society. He, on the other hand, had been born Mathonwy Bramble, a poor peasant in Hauteclaire, and all his allies had been earned through years of service to the Faith and the Royal House. He was not made to bite the hand that feed him, while she came from those who made it their business to bite it, and quite frequently, to bite it hard. Nor did he want to bite it in this case, even if the Prince’s methods did strike him as rather harsh, even if that young girl in that cell struck him as no danger, even if the Eremites made his skin crawl. He was a Sacristan, and a servant of the realm, and these things defined him.

And so the Preceptor tried to kill and bury his misgivings.

A Cage of Light--Part 8

2012-02-09T08:39:00.001-08:00

Elaine turned to the door as she heard the familiar, hated sound of Amfortas’ voice. “And here is my honored guest,” he stated cheerily, as the door opened. The Prince-Regent entered, followed by the hawk-like Eremite that Elaine had first seen when she arrived in Joyeuse, and then two individuals she didn’t know--a tall older woman with a high-browed, aristocratic face who wore a cowled uniform that looked like a more elaborate version of Justinian’s sisters clothes, and short bulldog of a man wearing a white surcoat which bore the image of a red goblet. All in all, not the most promising of gatherings. Amfortas gestured at her. “May I present to you Her Estimable Grace, the Princess Elaine of the Plains of Dread.”

Elaine bit her lip. “Actually, I’m the Princess of the Western Marches,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

The woman was peering at her. “My goodness,” she said. “You are a bedraggled little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re a rude old lady,” said Elaine, her hand going almost instinctively to her hair, which as usual was sticking up in over a dozen different directions at once. She was suddenly acutely aware of how much she wanted a comb right now.

“Typical” said the Eremite, with a harsh, flat laugh, and a flare of his rather large nostrils. “These Nightfolk bite at any hand offered to them by the Light, whether it be a fist to strike or no.” He glanced briefly at Elaine then turned away. “She is the daughter of the Badb, you know. And as great a witch, too.”

To her surprise, the woman sneered at the Eremite’s comment. “Oh, really, Archon Seraphim. Then how are we holding her here, with no Stylites in the city?”

The Archon smiled broadly. “By the power of our faith, and our prayers to the Holy Light.” The woman laughed at that, while the older man merely rolled his eyes, The Archon stared at her in shock. “You dare mock the Holy Seven, Mother Alexandria?”

“The Holy Seven?” replied the woman. “Never.” Alexandria leaned forward. “But you Septimus--without hesitation.” She frowned at him. “If our prayers were as efficacious as you have them being, the Empire would never have been overthrown.”

“And yet, there this Erl maiden sits,” said Amfortas with a smile. “You may question whether she is held here by the power of our faith, or simply the rather excellent steel and sturdy stone of the Palace of Repentance, but held here she is.” And with that the Prince turned, and looked at her fixedly.

Elaine shuddered despite herself. It was strange, she thought, staring at the man. The Prince of Leonais was not an intimidating-looking man, nor was his voice especially harsh--in fact, he was handsome, and his voice was sweet and light. And yet Elaine found him to be the most unsettling person she’d ever known. And this wasn’t just because he was holding her hostage and threatening her life--after all, he had some pretty stiff competition in that area. No, it was the absolute coldness at the heart of the man. Amfortas just--did not give a damn about the things that made people human. He studied them, he imitated them--but he didn’t really care about them. It was the difference between him and the Archon. The Eremite really believed all he said about the Light and the Dark. For Amfortas it was just… something else to say

“Yes,” said Mother Alexandria, after a while. “There she most certainly is.” She turned to Amfortas. “And this is why you hold two of my Sisters?”

“We cannot allow those who aid the enemies of Light to go unpunished,” said the Prince calmly.

Mother Alexandria regarded the Prince for a moment, then turned away. “No, I suppose not.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I have seen enough. Let us go.”

Amfortas nodded and bowed. “Of course.” He rapped lightly on the door, which swiftly opened again, and then stepped out. His guests soon followed, though Mother Alexandria and the man in white both paused to look at her as they left the cell.

It occurred to Elaine, watching them leave that many people of Leonais who really knew Amfortas knew something was wrong. But they didn’t want to admit that to themselves.

A Cage of Light--Part 7

2012-02-07T08:09:00.000-08:00

Maximilian Rho, Preceptor of the Knightly Order of the Sacristy of Saint Julian’s Joyeuse Chapterhouse, frowned to himself as he headed to his meeting. There were many things in his life of late that bothered him. This meeting however, was especially bothersome, as the woman he was meeting was rather special to him, and he suspected she would be very unhappy with him, and what he had to say, a thought that upset him. But duty was duty, no matter how damned unpleasant it was. And so the Preceptor entered the Rectory.

Alexandria Tau, Mother Superior of the Sisters of the Benevolent Mercy of Anael, stood there in her robes of office, her silver hair done in a tight bun. This made her look stately, refined, and ever so slightly intimidating. And this was quite unpleasant for the Preceptor, as Alexandria Tau always looked stately, refined, and ever so slightly intimidating, so that anything that increased these qualities made her even more difficult to deal with. Maximilian coughed, forced on a smile and approached her. “Mother Superior,” he declared cheerily. “May the Holy Light shine upon you and all you…”

“Maximilian,” she snapped, “do I appear at all in the mood for pleasantries?”

The Preceptor turned and sighed. “No, but you can’t bloody well blame me for trying,” he said sourly.

“I can blame you for anything, Maximilian,” said Alexandria, crossing her arms. “You know that.” She took a deep breath. “You are holding two of my sisters in the Palace of Repentance. Young women, of good repute, and high standing in my order. I bid you release them.”

“It… is not so simple,” said Maximilian slowly, cursing inwardly. “The women you refer to are held by orders of the Prince.” He shook his head. “I cannot free them.”

“What?” Alexandria peered down her aristocratic nose at Maximilian. “That… there are laws regarding these things! Canon and secular! Does Amfortas imagine he can…?”

“Imagine I can do what?” said the Prince, as he stepped into the room.

The Mother Superior turned, nervous, and regarded Amfortas for a moment. Finally, she managed a bow. “Your Majesty…” She looked away. “I… Two of sisters of my order…”

“I believe you speak of Theodora Upsilon and Julia Theta,” said Amfortas, his voice level. “And they are being held for such defiance of the laws of this realm as would make even you quail.”

Alexandria glanced away. “But, sire… the Edicts of Leonais…”

Amfortas regarded her for a moment. “I am well aware of the Edicts, Mother Superior. But we live in grave times, I’m afraid.” He smiled at her gently. “I know this may seem hard to believe, but if you will allow me to show you something, I think you will come to agree with me as to the gravity of our plight.”

“What is it you wish me to see?” asked Alexandria, eying the Prince warily.

“It is less a ‘what’, and more of a ‘who’,” replied Amfortas with a chuckle. “But come. She is at the Palace of Repentance.”

Maximilian’s eyes went wide. “Your Highness… is… damn it, is this wise?”

Amfortas turned to the Preceptor and nodded. “I am certain the Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mercy can be trusted. Just as I am sure the Preceptor of the Joyeuse Chapterhouse can be trusted. Or the Archon of the Eremites of the Humble Hermitage can be trusted, to give another example.” Amfortas suddenly turned, as the Archon Septimus Seraphim stepped into view. “Ahh, there you are, Septimus. Strangely enough, I was just speaking of you.”

“The words of the righteous prince are the voice of the Seven,” said the Archon with a bow. “I hope that I stand high in your sight.”

Amfortas placed a hand on Septimus’ shoulder. “Archon, I know you to be a good and loyal servant to the Seven, who does what is needed of him.” He smiled faintly. “Come. It is time for you all to see our guest.”

As they fell behind the Prince and his Eremite companion, Alexandria leaned over to the Preceptor. “How did His Highness find out about our meeting?” she whispered.

Maximilian sighed. “Let’s just say that the Prince has knack for such matters, shall we?”

A Cage of Light--Part 6

2012-02-04T11:40:00.001-08:00

“…And then Mommy Viv kicked Mommy Mom’s butt! She’s so cool!” said Malina cheerfully. She blinked and glanced at Pelleas apologetically. “Though she wouldn’t like me using bad words,” the little Dev explained in a whisper. “Like ‘butt’.” she added, to clarify.

“It’ll be our little secret,” said Pelleas smiling slightly. He glanced towards the window. The sun was finally peeking out from the rain, and it was fairly high. He turned to the door. Any minute now…

Almost as if on cue, a knock came to the door. “Ahh. Your Highness,” came a low voice. “Are you awake?”

Pelleas looked at Malina who took the hint and… somehow… vanished from sight. “Yes,” said Pelleas in a weak groan. “I am enjoying the sunlight. It is ever so delightful. Uriel be praised!”

The speaker remained silent for a moment. “Ahh. Very… very good then.” The door opened, and a very thin man with long black hair entered. He was dressed in a jacket of red velvet and dark black breeches. “Why Your Highness,” stated the man, with a patently insincere grin, “you look so improved! I told you the baths would do wonders.”

“Oh, they did, Doctor Praetorius,” said Pelleas, mustering a simpering smile. “I wish I could have stayed longer.”

“Ahh, well,” said Praetorius, with a wistful sigh, as he produced a small black bottle. “One can’t overindulge in these things, Sire. Weakens their efficacy.”

“What a pity,” said Pelleas quietly. Of course, both he and Praetorius knew that the real reason Pelleas had been returned to Joyeuse was because he’d nearly succeeded in contacting his cousin Rivalen. But the pretence that he was simply serving as the King’s Doctor kept Praetorius happy, and Pelleas found that a happy Praetorius was a Praetorius who didn’t start suggesting things like straps, so he went along with it.

The doctor had measured out a rather smelly spoonful of medicine, and was now bringing towards Pelleas’ mouth. “Now then, Sire,” said Praetorius pleasantly, “I believe you know what time it is?” Pelleas frowned, despite himself. “Now, now, Your Highness. You need your medicine to get better. No matter how it bitter it tastes.” Pelleas grimaced as the stuff went down his throat. There’d been a time when he’d fought and struggled--but that time was past. Praetorius was a man who knew how to win such battles, and win them in ways that were not merely uncomfortable, but humiliating. “There now,” said the doctor, once the ordeal was over. “Now, sleep soundly, Your Highness, and remember--rest heals.” And with that Doctor Praetorius left the room.

Pelleas leaned back and waited for his mind to slip from him as the vile concoction took effect. Instead, he felt a small hand touch his chest, and then a soothing warmth run through his body. He turned to regard the little Dev standing next to him, her little red eyes full of concern. “Umm… I hope I’m not buthering you, King Pelican,” she whispered. “But that mean-smiley guy wasn’t actually helping you. The medysin he gave you making you sick.” Malina stared at him for moment. “Why are they giving you it? There’s nothing wrong with you!”

Pelleas leaned back in his pillow and sighed. “Oh, many reasons, child. The largest one is, I’m an inconvenience.”

Malina raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s a long sad story,” said the King of Leonais. “Let me just say that my son and I have… differences, and leave it at that.”

A Cage of Light--Part 5

2012-02-02T09:48:00.000-08:00

“…I hear she’s a witch,” said the Eremite, as he tossed the rubbish into the alleyway. “She gestured at the men they sent to catch her, and they all turned to crows.”

“So how’d they catch her?” asked the Sacristan.

“The Archon’s such a holy man, her spells had no power over him,” answered the Eremite in a fervent tone. “He then said a prayer and the crows were turned back to men.” The Sacristan coughed at that. The Eremite scowled. “Go on. Scoff, Squire Edward Delta. But remember whose order has a man sitting in a cell right now.” The Eremite raised an eyebrow. “I hear that he’s her lover. That she bewitched him with her dark chams, and now he is her slave.”

“That, Squire Edmund Erelim, is the biggest bunch of folly I’ve ever heard,” snapped the Sacristan. He turned and shook his head. “I’ve seen your ‘witch’. That child is simply a poor, Darkness-befuddled Erl from across the river, who’s wandered into the wrong city.”

“Say what you will,” replied Edmund. “I will merely count it as more proof that the Sacristans cannot recognize ancient evil when it comes in their midst. Your poor Erl-child is the spawn of witchery, mark my words.”

“Mark your own,” said Edward, scowling.

From the shadows, Jean Crow smiled to herself. She was starting to like Squire Edward Delta, which made the fact that Squire Edmund Erelim was ultimately correct rather irritating. Still, best to look on the good side. She now knew that Elaine and Justinian were in the Palace of Repentance, Joyeuse’s very own prison that everyone refused to admit was a prison. As her father once noted, the Leonais were a very tender-hearted people, and thus insisted that everything unpleasant they did have a name that didn’t upset them.

Jean’s musings were interrupted by the Sacristan glancing towards her. She kept to the shadows and concentrated very hard on not being seen. It seemed to her as she did so that Zamial’s mark was itching, but she was fairly certain that was all in her head.

Fairly certain, mind you. Not ‘absolutely’. That was a pretty good rule when dealing with the Zamials of this world, Jean found. She glanced back at the doorway. Edward Delta and Edmund Erelim had ducked back inside the Palace. Jean smiled to herself and headed back to the street.

Where she found several Eremites had just exited the Palace and were walking down the street. Jean gulped, then pulled the ragged shawl she’d picked up recently around her head. Her best bet was to brazen this out. “Alms,” she declared, walking past the Eremites. “Alms for the poor.”

When the Eremites started going towards their money pouches to pay her she knew she was in the clear.

A Cage of Light--Part 4

2012-01-31T11:00:00.000-08:00

Elaine looked out the window, and sighed. It was still raining. Looking out the window was proving to be the only form of entertainment she had in here. True, the only thing she could see in it was the courtyard she’d spatter in if she tried to escape through it--but it was still something that wasn’t her cell. Hell, it could even be cheerful when it was sunny.

But when it wasn’t, it was pretty damn bleak. She watched the rain land on those hard cobblestones, and listened to it fall. That steady pit-pat was interrupted by a creaking noise. She glanced back to see Amfortas entering through the door. “Your Highness,” she said, curling her lip.

“I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” said the Prince cheerfully. He gestured to a tray of food in his right hand. “I suppose I could have left that to a guardsman--but really, I feel you deserve better.” He lay the food on the small table before her, his blue eyes watching her intently.

“Yeah, thanks for the courtesy,” said Elaine bitterly. She stared at the food--it appeared to be gruel--and pointedly made no move to eat it.

Amfortas smiled at her, and picked up a spoonful of the gruel, and swallowed it. He raised an eyebrow and dropped the spoon back into the bowl. “You must eat,” said Amfortas. “I don’t want you to starve.”

“Cuts down on the torture,” muttered Elaine as she picked up the spoon.

“Exactly,” replied Amfortas good-naturedly. “Oh, starving is a form of torture, but it tends to simply… use people up. And that defeats my purpose. I want you to understand and… accept what is happening to you.” He smiled at her fondly. “I want you to beg for it, really.”

Elaine dropped her spoon. “Anyone ever tell you how sick you are?”

Amfortas continued to smile at her, completely unfazed. “Child, do you think I care about your opinion on such matters?” He leaned forward, though his voice remained horribly calm. “I am a Prince of the Line Pescheour, a servant of the Holy Light. I know that all I do and feel and think is right. I have always known this, for as long as I have been aware.” His blue eyes regarded her pointedly. “Do you understand me?”

Elaine nodded, and shifted her hand towards the tray. She’d just realized that someone had left a fork on the tray, and was slowly, slowly bringing her hands toward it.

Amfortas nodded. “I must confess I am surprised by your swift recognition of this fact. Most of your sort show surprise and disbelief when I reveal this to them.” He sighed wistfully. “A few even swear.”

Elaine wrapped her fingers around the fork and started to raise it only for Amfortas’ hand to come slamming down on hers. “Why, Elaine,” said the Prince cheerfully. “Were you planning something untoward?” He chuckled. “Drop the fork, Elaine. And ask yourself, the next time the opportunity comes if I am so great a fool as to not note what pieces of silverware are given to my guests.”

Elaine kept her hand wrapped around the fork. “Even if you had managed to stab me with it,” noted Amfortas, “there are guards outside who would come at my cry, and would, I fear, make a swift end of you.” The cold blue eyes narrowed. “Those same guards would not come at your cry I fear. Not even if I broke every bone in your hand. Or every bone in your body. Or did other things to you.” That cheerful smile widened. “Things I will leave to your young imagination. Now drop the fork, my dear.”

Elaine dropped the fork. “Very good, Elaine. You are starting to understand how things lie.” The Prince leaned forward, and to her surprise kissed her on the forehead. “This is an important first step in our little journey together,” he whispered in her ear. And then he moved away, the fork in his hand.

He rose from his seat, and started towards the door. “I’ll return shortly for the food,” said the Prince. “So do try and finish it before then.”

Elaine shuddered quietly as he left. And then she started to eat her food.

A Cage of Light--Part 3

2012-01-28T12:01:00.000-08:00

Justinian awoke to pain, and hands on his forehead.

“He’s waking up!” came a familiar voice. Justinian opened his aching eyes to see his sister, Theodora Theta, standing over him.

“Hello, Tatanya,” he said, using her old name. He turned his head somewhat, and saw his younger sister, Julia Upsilon, standing in the corner. “Ivana,” he added with a slight nod, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“I was going to bludgeon you unconscious when I saw you,” Theodora said. “For betraying us, and those sweet girls. But then I saw you, and saw that someone had already done it. So that plan’s done.”

Justinian gulped. “How… bad…?”

“Do you remember when Ivan Ivanovitch quarreled with Ivan Petrovitch over Oink’s litter?” said Julia.

“That bad?” said Justinian.

“Worse, actually,” noted Theodora. She took a deep breath. “Ivanushka, who did this to you…?”

“The Prince’s Men did some of it,” he said. “But the Prince did most of it.”

His sisters gasped. “Prince Amfortas,” muttered Theodora. “But… that’s impossible.”

Julia nodded. “The Prince is so good, and so holy, and so righteous, and so handsome.”

Justinian slumped down. “Well, he may be all these things, but I’ve discovered that Amfortas’ goodness, holiness, and righteousness have a quality that make them hard to tell from unmitigated evil to a simple soul such as myself.”

Theodora frowned, and crossed her arms. “That sounds a bit…”

Justinian raised his left hand, and felt his fingers throb. “His Men did this to me. He watched while they did so.”

Theodora gasped, and took his hand. “Oh, Ivanushka! You poor poor…”

“I need no pity,” said Justininian quietly. “This has been the price of my own foolishness. ‘For the righteous, the price of folly is shame, a coin no man takes pride in.’ I’ve earned my humiliation.”

Julia stepped towards him and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “That may be so, but we’re going to pity you anyway. You’re our family, Ivanushka. And blood counts.”

Justinian shut his eyes and murmured a vague assent.

“So,” said Theodora quietly, “what do you plan to do now?”

“Lie here,” answered Justinian lowly. “Lie here and await the justice of the truest man I know.”

“And who is that?” asked Theodora.

“Mansemat Cthonique,” answered Justinian.

Julia and Theodora glanced at each other again. “Check his forehead again,” suggested Julia. “Maybe he’s feverish.”

A Cage of Light--Part 2

2012-01-26T08:40:00.001-08:00

Archon Septimus Seraphim stood in his chamber, reading the report. Brothers Ambrose and Jerome Erelim watched him with shared misgiving. The Archon’s lips were moving, and his eyebrows were raising, and his nostrils were flaring, a trio of signs that always meant terror for the poor unfortunates who witnessed them. The young Eremites wished to leave--but doing so would have been a direct violation of their vows, something which would have gotten the Archon even madder. And so they stood there, watching his lips move, his eyebrows raise, and his nostrils flare.

After a moment, Septimus looked up at the young men, frowning. “So. This is the grand result of your efforts. A riot on the docks, and the one River Trader left in Joyeuse vanishing without a trace.” He leaned forward. “Are you happy with yourselves?”

Ambrose and Jerome glanced at each other nervously.

The Archon leaned forward snarling. “Answer me you FOOLS!”

“No, Archon, of course not,” they shot out simultaneously. Ambrose stiffened. “For the righteous, the price of folly is shame, a coin no man takes pride in,” he recited.

To the young Eremite’s discomfort the Archon’s frown did not lessen. “So you see that this was folly. Good.” He leaned forward. “Why?”

Ambrose began to sputter, trying desperately to come up with an answer. Jerome decided to assist his friend. “It was folly, Archon, for in so doing we did not follow your orders.” He took a deep breath. “In Ambrose’s defense, he was merely attempting to discipline a whore, who he‘d warned about plying her trade earlier.”

Archon Septimus leaned back, crossing his arms. “In other times, that could be admirable,” noted the Archon bluntly. “But these are not those times. This River Trader woman--Jean Crow--is who we seek, and she is a far greater threat to our souls than a mere whore. May I remind you that she is a servant of the Cthoniques? An unnatural sorceress whose unholy magicks have been witnessed by your Brothers?”

Jerome and Ambrose both squirmed uncomfortably. The Archon took a deep breath, and his flaring nostrils flared even more. “And may I also remind you that our hold on this city is… far from absolute.” He leaned towards Ambrose. “We are here by the Prince’s sufferance, and while Amfortas is a man of holy temperament--a dedicated servant of the Light--he is still a man of this world, and must live by its laws. Joyeuse is a trade city. Throngs of foreigners crowd its streets, coming and going as they please. We have not cowed them, as we have the regular inhabitants these last few months--they respond poorly to our promptings, especially if they feel they can flout them with impunity. The Old Lords of the City keep to their manses and villas at the moment, but they are not men to be trifled with. They are cowed--but less than we would like.” The Archon’s eyes narrowed, and his terrible expressive eyebrows lowered. “If they see the foreigners rising against us, they will take heart and demand our dismissal from this city. If that were to happen, the Prince would be forced to demand we leave.” As he said this, Septimus drew his face up directly in front of Ambrose’s. “And if he found himself forced to do this--after counting on our assistance so very much--the Prince would become upset. As would I. And he would wish to demonstrate that displeasure. As would I.”

Ambrose gulped to himself. The Archon turned away. “Go now, and remember what we have spoken about. Keep your mind on the River Trader, and if you must discipline whores, do so in a manner that does not draw too much attention.” The Eremites bowed, and left the chamber swiftly, thankful to have gotten off with a warning. The Archon’s temper was justifiably famous in their Order, and Eremites knew that he more often called Brothers to his chambers to chasten them then to reward them.

Still, he was a great man, Archon Septimus Seraphim. He had earned the name ‘Seraphim’ at the age of twenty-five, the youngest to do so in generation. There were six other Archons in the Eremites--and a Grandmaster besides, old Floris Metatron back in Caracosse. But all knew that Septimus was the important one, and all respected him and feared him.

But none liked him. Not that the Archon particularly cared.

A Cage of Light--Part 1

2012-01-24T07:41:00.000-08:00

The old man lay in his bed, wishing he could go to sleep, or, failing that, fully wake up. But instead, he remained in the groggy in-between state he’d been in for the last two hours or so. He briefly considered calling for some assistance, but even in his present state he realized that this would just bring his keepers, with more of that terrible medicine.

He gave a mild groan and glanced up at the ceiling.

To his immense surprise, it appeared to stare back at him.

For a moment, he wondered if he had taken a dose of medicine and simply forgotten it. Or perhaps if he hadn’t taken one for longer than he remembered, and was starting to… suffer a few side-effects. But on closer examination, it appeared that there were eyes located on the ceiling. Thankfully, they belonged to a person--a young girl who was perched on the ceiling nervously, staring at him.

It occurred to the old man that was rather unusual. As was the fact that the eyes were red. Still, he was fairly certain he could solve this with a certain amount of effort. “Little girl,” he asked, “why are you on the ceiling?”

“Eep,” muttered the little girl.

“Little girl,” said the old man in as kindly a voice as he could manage, “you are not in trouble. I simply wish to know why it is you are on my ceiling.”

The little girl bit her lip nervously. “I… my sister told me to go somewhere safe, but I wounded up here, and I wasn’t sure it was safe, and I didn’t want you to see me, and I thoughted you were dead for a moment, until you started breathing all wheezy, and…” She gave him a shy smile. “Can I come down, please? This is really umcomfortable.”

“Of course, child,” said the old man. He watched with dull surprise as the child unfolded a pair of batlike wings and glided down beside him. A Dev. That was odd, but then, this was on the whole a fairly unusual situation, so the old man decided to simply go with things. “Is that more comfortable?”

The child nodded cheerfully. “Oh, yes.” She bit her lip again. “So… is this place safe? Or are there more Ery mites?”

The old man blinked. “Eremites? Here?” He frowned, and glanced around the room. His old bedroom, back in Joyeuse. He was afraid for a moment that they might have moved him to someplace else, and he had simply forgotten, but no--he was still here, thank goodness. He regarded the little Dev seriously. “Did you come here from the Concordat, or…?”

The child shook her head. “No. Joy Juice,” she replied.

The old man blinked once again. “There are… Eremites here in Joyeuse? But that… that is… ridiculous. It goes against all the Edicts of Leonais.”

“They’re still here, though,” said the child.

“I don’t doubt you,” said the old man with a sigh. “It simply… shocks me every now and then when I learn how bad things are getting.”

“Oh,” said the child. “Sorry.”

The old man shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m more angry not to know these things than I am to learn them, Miss…”

“Malina,” said the child cheerfully.

“I’m…” began the old man, only to be interrupted by a knocking on the door.

“Sire,” said a loud voice. “Are you all right?” There was a pause. “You… we hear you talking…”

“All is well,” said the old man, turning towards the door. “I am simply singing to myself.” He coughed. “I awoke, and a song was on my lips.”

There was silence on the other side for a moment. “Do you… need your medicine, Your Highness?”

“Oh, no,” said the old man. “I am fine. I should be getting back to sleep in a little while.”

“Very well then, sire,” came the voice.

The old man and Malina both waited a moment before beginning to speak again. “Are you a king?” said the Dev in a hushed voice.

“So they tell me,” said the old man, bitterly. “I have begun to have my doubts.” He cleared his throat. “Pelleas, the fourth of my name, son of Seisyll, by right of blood and grace of the Seven King of Leonais.” He smiled at Malina. “But you may simply call me Pelleas.”

“Okay,” said Malina with a nod.

“Now,” continued Pelleas, “as to your safety here, child--you are as safe as I can make you.” He sighed. “Sadly, I do not know if that is much.”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 18

2012-01-21T12:18:00.000-08:00

The Eremites were patrolling down by the docks.

Jean Crow watched them go past in pairs and threes, and tried very hard not to think of what she’d last eaten.

Largely because bad as it was to remember eating something rotten, it was even worse remembering eating something rotten and liking it.

Jean glanced at her hands. They were normal, human hands, perfectly normal, six fingers all intact, the same hands that she’d had for all her life. They were NOT claws. And she did not have wings. Or feathers. Or a beak.

Jean touched her largish nose and sighed. Okay, not a real beak, anyway.

She turned her attention to the Eremites. They were trying to look intimidating and watchful. But Jean was familiar with that look, and knew that it really meant that these men were bored, and had no real idea what they were looking for. She made her way onto the docks, making sure to stick with the crowd to avoid notice. She made her way through the sailors, slowly, surely…

“Hey--YOU!” bellowed an Eremite. Jean almost made the mistake of turning around, when the Eremite qualified his yell. “Blondie!” A tall blonde woman standing nearby turned to look at the man. “What did I tell you of practicing your whoring here?” shouted the Eremite.

“I… I’m not…” began the blonde woman.

The Eremite pulled a club from his belt. “Oh, this will be a pleasure…”

“Oy--leave her alone,” said a rather burly sailor with a Tintagelian accent.

“Who dares defy my authority?” shouted the Eremite, even as his partner started motioning for him to shut his mouth. As the Tintagelian stepped forward, flexing one muscular arm, his fellows stepped behind him.

Jean rushed away, thanking the stupidity of that Eremite, and the occasional flashes of chivalry that possess sailors. At least--she liked to think of it as chivalry.

Jean slipped her way through the docks to the little section at the very end, set aside for River Traders, and tried to ignore the cries of the gulls. Soon, she’d be there, find some help, and then…

It was virtually deserted, with only a single boat there. Jean nodded to herself. Figured. That was what could be said about most of her fellows--they were sensible. With Joyeuse gone mad, the best thing to do would be to get out of town until it went sane again. Jean rubbed her eyes--she thought the odor of the place was getting to her--and tried to come up with another plan now that the only one she’d had was collapsing into nothing. “Ho, ho, little Crow,” came a quiet voice behind her.

Jean turned in surprise. “River Ox!” she said, smiling.

The large man smiled back at her. “The King of the Docks,” he said cheerfully. “Surprised to see you here.” The River Ox shook his head. “The City of Joy is not very joyful at the moment.” He shrugged, an act that his massive shoulders made an epic undertaking. “Not that it ever has been too kind to our folk, but… well--I assume you’ve sampled its newly won charms.”

Jean nodded. “Oh, yeah.” She shuddered.

“So,” said the River Ox, “what’s kept the Crow out of sight for almost a year?”

Jean sighed. “A story much too detailed to tell you. Listen, River Ox--I need you to get a message to some people on the other side of the river.” She smiled at him. “You’re up for that, right?”

River Ox’s eyes spread in surprise. “I’m up for anything, Crow--you know that. Especially for the child of the Uncrowned King, may the water bless his soul.” He looked at her seriously. “But--are you sure you don’t want me to get you out of Joyeuse?”

Jean shook her head. “Not yet. I have business here.” She took a deep breath. “You ready for that message?”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 17

2012-01-19T10:26:00.000-08:00

Elaine walked down the hallway, lead by a small group of Eremites. Jernis and Razalic had vanished after handing her over to the grim, brown-clad Holy Knights. Elaine had no idea where they’d gone, or what they were doing--what’s more, she rather had the idea that she didn’t want to know. Her guards didn’t speak to her, and in fact, avoided looking at her as much as they could.

Elaine found that both vaguely insulting, and quietly terrifying. Coming to this building--she wasn’t quite sure what it was--she’d been accompanied by Theodora and Julia, but they’d been tugged away in a different direction upon entering it. Now the only company she had were these silent, grim, threatening men, men who seemed to feel that laughter, and cheerfulness, and humanity were things for weaker, lesser folk.

At last, the Eremites escorted to a small cell, and brought her inside.

A tall man dressed in a purple and gold cloak stood there, glancing out the barred window. As the Eremites walked out of the room, he turned to regard her. He was a handsome man, with brown hair that reached to his shoulders, and a refined, handsome face. The expression on the face was kindly, and pleasant--unless you looked at his eyes. His eyes were pale blue chips of ice, and their gaze was cold and clear, with not a bit of warmth. “Your… Worshipful Grace, I believe is the correct form of address?” said the man, his voice calm and cheerful.

“Estimable Grace,” said Elaine brusquely.

“I see,” replied the man. He smiled at her. “As for myself, I am generally called ‘Your Highness’.”

Elaine arched an eyebrow as she tried to recall a name. “Pelleas…?”

“That is my father,” said the man. “King Pelleas, fourth of his name, of the Line Pescheour. I am Prince Amfortas, Regent of Leonais.” Amfortas’ smile grew ever so slightly. “Among other things.”

Elaine frowned and glanced away. “So--is there a reason for this… meet and greet? Aside from allowing us to both get our titles right?”

Amfortas laughed pleasantly. “Well, you are a noteworthy individual. I don’t believe I’ve met many Nightland princesses.” He gave a mild shrug. “It will be interesting to see how you handle your execution.”

Elaine blinked. “What?”

Amfortas smiled benevolently at her. “Your execution, my dear. You cannot be allowed to live, of course.” He began to tap at his chin. “You will receive the Scoundrel’s Death, of course. We will break your limbs, and then disembowel you. Possibly blind you first.” Amfortas’ voice as he said all this was calm, conversational, and indeed, downright pleasant. The Prince idly played with one of his locks. “Some say that’s a kindness, as it prevents a person from seeing what’s being done to them. Others say that it heightens the agony, as the person suffers while being unable to rely on their most important sense to understand it all.” He sighed. “I have tried to sort the matter out, but I’m afraid I have a dearth of intelligible reports to help me do it. Ah, well.”

Elaine was trying to keep her breathing steady, while Amfortas discussed torture and mutilation as if it was the weather. “But.. but… why?” she whimpered.

Amfortas regarded her with an expression of warmth and compassion--though his eyes remained cold. “Because you are of the Darkness and I am of the Light, child. It is my duty as a servant of the Holy Seven to destroy you, for you are corruption and anathema.” Amfortas stepped towards her, smiling gently. “Do not worry--it will not come soon. First, I will show you pain, humiliation and suffering. And then I will kill you.” And now the Prince was leaning over her. “It is for your own good,” he noted pleasantly.

“I… you… this is…” Elaine looked away. “Please don’t.”

Amfortas gave a fond laugh and shook his head. “Oh, I know you do not see that now--but you will. I have done this before after all, and all have thanked me for it, in the end. Many even begged me to kill them, when I was finished.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. Elaine flinched and pulled away. To her surprise, the Prince made no move to grab her. He simply regarded her kindly. “I do hope you are one of them.” With that, the Prince moved towards the doorway.

Elaine stared at him. “What if I’m not?” she blurted out.

Amfortas looked back at her, with his kind face, and his cold, cruel eyes. “Well, we will see, won’t we?” he replied cheerfully, then left the cell.

As soon as he was gone, Elaine fell to the ground, and did her best not to be sick. She tried to remember that this wasn't the first time she'd had her life threatened by a murderous lunatic. Or even the second. This failed to be much comfort. In fact, Elaine even made a mental note that she would have to do something to make sure this situation didn't reoccur.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 16

2012-01-17T10:10:00.000-08:00

Justinian lay on the floor of his cell, and tried to avoid thinking about any of the countless wounds that had been inflicted on him, both physically, and spiritually. This was far more difficult then he’d ever imagined it would be. In his mind, he’d always imagined that if something horrible like this happened to him, he would stand strong and true. That hadn’t happened, and now he was lying here, doing his best to avoid thinking of his left hand.

Damn it. He’d thought of it.

As Justinian was whimpering in pain, he thought he heard footsteps approaching. They stopped right before his cell door. “I didn’t think he’d take things… so far,” came the Preceptor’s voice.

Justinian glanced up. The Preceptor was there at the door, looking at him almost apologetically. The young Sacristan suppressed an urge to swear at his superior. “That’s not much comfort,” he muttered lowly.

The Preceptor ignored his comment. “They’ve caught your sisters. And the Nightfolk Princess.” He glanced away. “But Ms. Crow made it away. Apparently. I guess you might consider that a… small comfort.”

Justinian lay back. “Not really.” He gulped. “I… how…”

“None of them have been harmed,” said Preceptor Rho. “Though your sisters managed to crack quite a few Eremite skulls.” Despite himself, the man chuckled. “Damn it, I wish I could have seen that.”

“So do I,” said Justinian weakly. His bruises were acting up again, much to his displeasure. “Now--please go. If the idea is to make me feel better, you’re failing miserably.”

Rho looked abashed at that. “Lad--you have to understand--the Prince is a great man, but--the source of his greatness--his dedication to… to the Light and the Seven--it makes him terrible at times…”

“That is one way to put it,” muttered Justinian. He took a deep painful breath. “I wasn’t supposed to come back, was I? That little fool’s errand you sent me on--I was supposed to die in the Lands of Night.”

The Preceptor looked away, almost ashamed. “Amfortas’ plan was… you’d go over the River, the Cthoniques would capture you, and use it as an excuse to start a war.” Justinian started laughing. Rho looked at him. “What…?”

“You’ve actually… managed to cheer me up,” said Justinian, smiling slightly. “Give me some hope. You and Amfortas just don’t… understand the Cthoniques. You think you do--but you don’t. They’re… good people. And you… aren’t.” Justinian gave one last laugh. “And that… that is the key to everything… That gives… me hope, and that… gives me something to hope for. For their victory and your fall…”

The Preceptor frowned. “I think the Prince was right, Sigma. You are bloody well damned.”

Justinian shut his eyes. “That… is… definitely… true…”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 15

2012-01-14T10:23:00.000-08:00

Elaine watched in horror as the hatchet smashed through the door.

“So--are you ready to admit this was a horrible idea?” muttered Jean Crow.

“Shut up, Jean,” said Elaine quietly.

Jean sighed as another hatchet blow sent splinters scattering into the room. “Yeah, you’re right. Not the time to gloat.”

Malina awoke, with a yawn. “Hey,” she protested. “What’s going…” Her question ceased as another hatchet blow shattered the door. “Eep!”

Elaine took a deep breath. “Malina… I want you to listen to me. You need to go as far away as you can.”

Malina winced. “I… I don’t… I’m sure…” She gulped. “It helps if I can think of a place to go.”

“A place that’s safe. And as far away as possible,” said Jean forcibly.

“We really can’t argue about this, Malina,” said Elaine. “You have to do this.”

Malina looked at her stepsister for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” She smiled nervously. “Be safe, sis.”

Elaine smiled at the little Dev, and then hugged her. “I’m sorry about this, Malina. This was a really stupid idea.” She sniffled. “I love you, okay?”

Malina nodded. “I love you too, Sis.” Then she shut her eyes, and vanished with a little pop.

Jean turned to the door, where Theodora and Julia were already readying their staves. “Well, that got done just in time,” she said, as Hoppedance flew to her wrist.

“Shut up, Jean,” muttered Elaine.

“Sarcasm is how I cope,” replied Jean. “You’ve learnt that by now.” The door stove in at last, and several Eremites burst in. Theodora and Julia struck at them, managing to hold them back. Jean grabbed Elaine’s hand. “All right--there’s a back way here for those who have to make… a hasty exit…” She tugged her friend along, taking Elaine down a twisting little hallway. The pair ran as fast as they could down its winding paths.

“How much… longer?” panted Elaine.

Jean smiled. “We’re almost…” And then they were outside, in small, dirty alleyway.

Unfortunately, the alleyway had a small group of Eremites and a pair of men in purple and white uniforms. One of them, a slender, balding man with grey hair smirked at the pair, showing rotten teeth. “Well, Razalic, what do ye say to this? A couple of pretty little birds came flying out the back way of the Shepherdesses’ Grove.” He chuckled, a dull, rattling sound. “Thought we were fools , I reckon.”

Razalic, a stout, formidable looking man with black hair crossed his arms. “Surrender yourselves into the custody of the Prince’s Men and the Eremites or face the consequences.”

Jean raised her hand. “Well, that sounds…” And then Hoppedance was flying at the large man’s face, pecking viciously and cawing ‘Bugger you bastard! Bugger you bastard!”

“Run!” shouted Jean at Elaine. Elaine started to do so, turning to look back her friend. “I’ll be right with you,” said Jean comfortingly.

Razalic, with one swift motion grabbed the crow in one hairy, oversized hand. And then he squeezed.

“HOPPEDANCE!” shrieked Jean--and then she let loose an awful yell. Elaine looked back just in time to see a blinding flash of light which forced her to cover her eyes. The air was filled with the cawing of many crows. That was when she felt the cold steel press against her neck.

“Now, my little sweet thing, old Jernis, he has instructions to avoid hurting ye,” said the ugly little man. “So why don’t you be… nice?”

Elaine shuddered and felt something fall on her head. It slipped off and she saw it was a crow’s feather. She glanced and saw that they were falling from the sky like a black rain.

“Been a very odd job, ain’t it Razalic?” asked Jernis. Razalic grunted, and shrugged.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 14

2012-01-12T08:49:00.001-08:00

Jean glanced across the little table at Julia Upsilon. “So--what was Justinian like growing up?”

“Ivanushka was…” Julia sighed. “He was a very serious little boy. Really, always in the shadow of Big Ivan. Our older brother. When the famine came…” Her face grew serious. “People always used to say my father was lucky. ‘So many children, growing like weeds’ they said. And Papa--he had pet names for all of us, and rustle our hair. But then… then the famine came, and suddenly, our meals got smaller and then… one day, Papa called the three of us together, and told us that… he couldn’t keep us anymore.” Julia smiled a small, sad smile. “Ivanushka held my hand all the way to the Monastery.”

Jean stared at her. “Wow. And I thought my childhood was bad.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” laughed Julia. “The Brothers gave us food, and sent us here, where we all wound learning things like how to read, and doing jobs that didn’t involve gutting fish.”

“There’s a guy in Castle Terribel you should meet,” said Jean.

“I’m sworn to perpetual…” began Julia.

“Chastity, yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” noted Jean. “Trust me--it wouldn’t be like that. This guy’s seeing someone.”

Julia made a little pout. “Well, then what’s the point?”

“Ivana!” said Theodora chidingly. She glanced at Jean apologetically. “I am sorry for my sister’s… forwardness.”

“I’m not,” said Jean.

Theodora was about to answer when she turned. “Men are coming,” she declared.

Jean blinked, and listened. Sure enough the sounds of boots tramping down the street made it to her ears. Theodora darted over to the corner, and picked up a pair of rather formidable looking staves. She handed one to Julia. “We sometimes must deal with… overwrought visitors,” stated Julia simply.

There came a pounding on the door. “Open the door!” came a harsh, hideously familiar voice.

“Give us a moment,” said Julia, stepping out into the main part of the hostel. She made her way to the door. “We are but humble Sisters of Mercy, doing our duty on this…”

“I know who you are!” snarled the voice. “You have two girls in there, who came there. Bring them to us!”

Julia slapped down the bar on the door. “This is a place of Holy Sanctuary,” she proclaimed. “All are safe here, and none may be forced from it! We cannot do as you ask, even if such folk as you say were here!”

“Listen you fool, I am Archon Septimus Seraphim of the Holy Order of the Hermitage!” shouted the voice. “Give them to us!”

“The Laws of the Seven are the Laws of the Seven,” said Julia, readying her staff. “We cannot bend them for an Archdeacon. We could not bend them for the Flamens Dialis.”

There was silence for a moment. “Listen to me--these folk are… of the Night. You owe them no such duty.”

Theodora glanced at Jean. “Wake the sisters,” she whispered.

“The Laws of the Seven are the Laws of the Seven,” intoned Julia.

Archon Septimus was quiet again for a moment. “Very well. Let what occurs here be on your heads. Men--ready the hatchets.”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 13

2012-01-10T08:28:00.000-08:00

For the second time in his life, Justinian Sigma found himself in the Chapterhouse’s Rectory, looking at the Preceptor and Prince Amfortas. He genuflected to the Prince, who sat at his ease, regarding a map, though his blue eyes peaked at the young Sacristan before him. The Preceptor leaned over Amfortas’ shoulder, regarding Justinian with surprise--and, perhaps to Justinian’s imagination, regret.

“Your Highness--,” began Justinian.

“Squire Sigma,” said Amfortas, with a casual raising of his hand, “this is not the time for such formalities.” He smiled. “I am overjoyed to see you return. Please take a seat.”

Justinian glanced at Preceptor Rho, who nodded for the young man to obey. Justinian sat down in a small chair towards the side of the table. The Preceptor eyed him for a moment, nervously. “So… how did it go?”

Justinian took a deep breath. “I have gotten… very close the Cthoniques, sir.” He shut his eyes. “In fact, they have taken me into their service. I have been in Castle Terribel for these last seven months.”

The Preceptor’s eyes bulged outward in profound shock, while Amfortas rose subtly from his seat. “Indeed,” said the Prince gently. “Well done, Squire Sigma.”

Justinian raised his hand. “I… be sparing in your praise of me, sirs. In truth, I’ve made a rather poor show as your agent. Much of what I’ve accomplished has been through the… charity of the Cthoniques.”

The Preceptor snorted at that. “I wouldn’t think the bloody Cthoniques as having much charity…”

“And in so thinking, you’d do them wrong,” said Justinian. He sighed. “But… there are strings attached. There… I will attempt to tell you what I can, but… they have put limits on what I can safely reveal…”

“In that case, you’d have better not come,” rumbled the Preceptor. “Be about as damn good.”

Amfortas shot the Preceptor the mildest of forbidding looks. “He’s attempting to do his duty, Maximilian. We must respect that.” He turned to the young Squire. “How goes the Cthoniques’ preparations for war?”

“They go…” Justinian shook his head. “Your Highness, they are not preparing any assault on the Lands of Light. Not truly. They may pay lip service to the Great War, but in truth, all the Cthoniques want is to rule their lands in peace. They are well-prepared for any attack we might make--but they have no plans to attack us.”

The Prince was out of his chair now, and walking to Justinian’s side. “So you suspect?” he asked.

“So I know,” said Justinian. “I… Your Highness, you sent me there in preparation for a war you saw coming, and now one you did not is at your door. All of which makes what I am about to tell you more important.” He nodded to himself. “I recommend, my liege, that you make peace with the Cthoniques.”

Amfortas nodded to himself, his long, light brown hair shifting slightly as he did so. “And you seriously believe this is a wise course of action? Peace with the Folk of Night?” The Prince began to walk towards the seated Squire.

Justinian glanced away. “Sire, I know that this sounds strange to you--indeed, it was strange to me at first--but… these people are not your enemies by anything more than custom. They bear you no ill will, and quite a few feel an ending to this… unending hostility would be wise.” The figure of Nisrioch Cthonique, with his shifting, rainbow eyes, his shock of white hair, his bad puns, and his endless cups of tea appeared to Justinian. “And… these are good people, sire. They care for their land, and their subjects, and they are kind when they can be.” Justinian thought of Mansemat Cthonique, preparing to serve in Court. “Oh, they are in error, and have wandered from the Light of the Seven--but I feel they sense its reflection, and that they can be won back to it.” Somehow, Eurydice was appearing in his mind, but he took a deep breath and returned to the subject at hand. “It would be a triumph for you, my Prince, in every way. ‘Great is the King who triumphs in the name of the Seven, greater still is he who spreads Their Holy Word, and greatest of all is he who does so in the ways of peace’,” Justinian recited.

Amfortas had reached Justinian by this time, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I see. You truly believe this,” he said, his voice soothing and gentle. Suddenly the hand on his shoulder tightened its grip. Before Justinian even realized what was happening, Amfortas had slammed the young Sacristan’s head into the desk. The next thing Justinian knew he was falling to the ground. As he hit the floor, he realized the Prince must have kicked out his chair.

“I thank you for your honesty, and your forthrightness,” said Amfortas, smiling a gentle, compassionate smile. And then his foot lashed out, kicking Justinian very precisely in the stomach. “They have confirmed what I believed the moment I heard of your return.” The Prince’s tone was calm and kind as he spoke, as if he was merely having a pleasant conversation. He leaned down, and placed a hand on the side of Justinian’s head. “You have been tainted by the Night,” declared Amfortas, still smiling, still serene. He moved his hand back and slapped Justinian, then stood up again. “It has entered into you, corrupting you, leading you away from the Light.” Amfortas kicked the young Squire two more times after he said this, then smiled once again. “But relax, my poor, poor young friend. You will be free of this awful pollution, though I fear it will have to be loosed from you through blood and suffering.” Another kick, this one to Justinian’s knee. Justinian gave a wordless shriek.

“Damn it, Amfortas, you’ll kill the boy!” shouted the Preceptor. Justinian made an effort to see the man, and realized that Rho was doing his best to avoid looking at him.

Amfortas gave a cheerful, pleasant laugh. “Oh, Maximilian. Trust me when I tell you that I know precisely how far a person may be bent before they are utterly broken.” He looked down at Justinian, still smiling, his face warm and compassionate. “Now then, Sigma--when you… somehow… arrived in this city, there were two girls seen with you. One is--I believe that River Trader ‘Jean Crow’ you left with. Who is the other?”

Justinian took a long gasp, as he tried to recover, and then slowly, defiantly shook his head. Amfortas nodded. “Ahhh. I see. Very well.” He turned to the door. “Jernis! Razalic!” The two Prince’s Men who’d been standing guard outside the room entered. Amfortas gestured to Justinian’s prostrate form. “I am in need of your services.”

“We live to serve, Your Highness,” said the stocky one in a deep voice. He moved towards Justinian and quickly held him in place with two massive, black-haired arms.

Amfortis had set up Justinian’s fallen chair, and was now sitting down in it quite comfortably. “Jernis and Razalic were bandits before I took them into my service,” he stated placidly. “They specialized in capturing and torturing merchants into revealing the location of their valuables. When I found them, they were destined for the gallows, but it seemed to me a sin to waste such expertise. And now, in my service, they use their talents for the glory of the Seven.”

“And a great honor it is, sir,” said the thin one, who now held a rather distressingly thin blade in his hands. He smiled at Justinian, as if attempting a bad imitation of the disconcerting pleasantness that came so naturally to Amfortas. The rather unpleasant leer he sported did not help this--nor did his rotten teeth. “Now, sir, just to clear things up, I be Jernis, and he who be holding you be Razalic.” He motioned to his partner, who quickly raised one of Justinian’s hands. Jernis placed his blade just under Justinian’s fingernail.

“Be warned, sir,” said Jernis, fixing Justinian with a concerned look. “This might sting a little.” He smiled again. “A little humor, sir. Helps in… getting to know one another, I find.” And then he began.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 12

2012-01-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

Justinian knocked upon the door to the Joyeuse Chapterhouse of the Knightly Order of the Sacristy of Saint Julian, then waited for it to open. It occurred to him--not for the first time--that what he was attempting might be folly. And yet, as he reconsidered it, he again was forced to admit that this was the only way he could think of that allowed him to fulfill both his vows to the Cthoniques, and his vows to his people and his gods. And even more than that, he realized he believed in what he was attempting. And sometimes, by the Seven, that was enough.

The door opened. To Justinian’s surprise, he found himself staring at the face of Arcadius Pi, a fellow Squire more noted for his love of sleep than his dedication to the Order. As Justinian watched, Arcadius’ bleary eyes spread in amazement. “Sigma?” he declared, then suppressed a yawn. “But you’re dead!”

Justinian frowned. “Dead?”

Arcadius finally allowed himself that yawn, and followed it with a scratch on his rather bulbous nose. “Well, good as dead, anyway,” he declared. “No one’s quite sure where you were. Constans Mu said you tried to pull a runner, but then drowned in the Murkenmere.”

Justinian gave a bleak smile. “Constans Mu is an imbecile and a bully who hates me.” He stepped inside the Chapterhouse. “So naturally, I’m touched you… give his word such credence.”

Arcadius frowned. “Well I didn’t say I believed him, I just said he said that.” Arcadius scratched his carrot-red hair and yawned again. “I don’t think pulling a runner would ever occur to you.”

“Well, thank you,” said Justinian with a nod.

“Yep,” said Arcadius, as he shut the door. “I even said so to him. ‘Justinian Sigma is incapable of even imagining such an idea’. That’s how I put it.”

As Arcadius gave him that smile that dared the viewer to guess as to whether it was dull or crafty, Justinian wondered if he was perhaps being mocked instead of complimented. He decided to simply let the matter pass. “The Preceptor,” he declared grandly, “will want to see me.”

“He’s in conference with the Prince,” whispered Arcadius, with a nod towards the Rectory

Justinian nodded, not believing his good luck. “Prince Amfortas will also want to see me.” Arcadius’ eyes widened. “Do you imagine I’d joke about this?”

“Not for long,” said Arcadius with a sigh. “Well, come with me. It’s your skin. Mostly.” He turned towards the Rectory and started to walk gingerly down the hall.

Justinian fell in step behind him. “Has the Prince been here long?”

Arcadius glanced at his fellow Squire. “Heard about the whole matter of the Easter King?” he asked. Justinian nodded. Arcadius stuck his hands in the pockets of his cloak, and shook his head. “Well, that’s what brought him here. Came as soon as he got the Eremites from the Concordat. They’ve been running the town, since they came.”

“I’ve seen,” said Justinian, frowning.

Arcadius frowned himself. “Can’t say I’m happy. Or most of the Order,” he whispered. “But the garrison’s been sent to the Keeps to glare at Skarvsky’s Janissaries, and… one takes what help you can get, eh?”

“I don’t know if I term the Eremites’… help,” said Justinian.

“You would if you’d been here for two months with them, and they outnumbered you three to one,” said Arcadius.

Justinian couldn’t think of a reply to that. As they turned down the hallway to the Rectory, he saw two men in purple and white uniforms standing at the door. “Prince’s men,” said Arcadius quietly. He walked towards them, and bowed. “Squire Justinian Sigma, here to speak with Preceptor Maximilian Rho, and His Highness Amfortas Pescheour, Prince of Durendel, Regent of Leonais, Grandmaster of the Knightly Order of the Sacristy of Saint Julian, Supreme Legate of the Holy Synod, and Lord Protector of the Free Cities.”

Both of the men looked rather surprised at that, with one--a thin man, with thin lips, and rather sparse grey hair--looking at Justinian rather oddly. But his companion--a black-haired man who just a tad stout--headed quickly into the Rectory. After a moment, he stepped out again, and silently gestured for Justinian to head into the room.

Justinian did so.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 11

2012-01-05T09:04:00.000-08:00

Justinian watched as Elaine du Lac and Malina Cthonique fell asleep on the cot. “That was… quite nice of you,” said Justinian. “Giving up your bed for them.”

Theodora shrugged. “It is not the first time,” said the Sister of Mercy. “We have seen many troubled souls enter these halls.”

Jean Crow struck the mattress she was on several times. “Honestly, I don’t think you could find a difference between these things and the floor…”

“You’re welcome to give it a try,” said Julia.

Jean frowned, while Hoppedance managed to glare at the young nun. “I’ll pass.”

Justinian coughed and stood up. “Well, if you’ll allow me…” He began to head out of the chamber.

Jean turned to him. “Where are you going?”

“Well, it would hardly be seeming for me to share a chamber with you ladies,” he stated.

Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Sure.” She looked away. “If whatever the hell you are planning hurts these girls, Justinian Sigma, I will kill you.”

The Sacristan blinked. “Jean… why… what…”

“Shit-for-brains” cawed Hoppedance.

“You’re a lousy liar, Sigma,” said Jean, flopping back in the bed. “Makes me glad I’m not hung up on you anymore. Even if you are cute.” She sighed. “I’m not even going to try and get you to give up whatever dumbass plan you’ve got going, because you’ll just give me some speech about ‘duty’, and ‘honor’, and other bullshit. Just… make sure that they’re safe.”

Justinian stopped a moment, and then leaned towards the young sorceress. He held up his hand, showing the swirling mark. “Remember, I’m bound by the same geas you are.” He placed his hand on his heart. “And the same feelings towards our charges.” He turned and started towards the door. “Anyway, you were NEVER hung up on me.”

“Sure I was,” shouted Jean as he left the chamber. “You just were too dense to notice it.”

Justinian sighed to himself, deciding to let the matter drop. “May I ask where you’re planning on going?” came a low murmur. He glanced over and saw his elder sister standing by the door. Theodora regarded him seriously.

“To do my duty,” he said quietly.

Theodora nodded. “That girl knows you well, Ivanushka,” she stated levelly.

Justinian bit his lip. “Tatanya,” he began, using her old, familiar name.

She raised her hand. “No, let me finish,” she said. “I also know you well, and have known you for many years. I know you are honest, and loyal, a man of the highest qualities, whose mind is fixed on the Light of the Seven, and all that is good and noble. And you are my beloved brother.” She smiled at him gently. “And having said all this--if whatever you are doing encompasses harm to those two young girls in there--who I have known but briefly--who I know also to be of the folk of Night…” She leaned forward. “Then like your Miss Crow, I will kill you.”

Justinian bowed. “Sister, am I not the son of my father? The blood of my mother?”

Theodora leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You are,” she whispered in his ear. “Never forget that.”

Justinian moved away. “I never have,” he stated, as he headed towards the door. As he reached the streets of Joyeuse, he felt a chill come over him. Glancing up, he saw the thin crescent moon, surrounded by clouds. He pulled his cloak around himself, and headed on his way. He’d walked this route many times before, and so he knew the trip would take him just over an hour. He hoped that the Preceptor was up at the Chapterhouse.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 10

2012-01-03T12:12:00.000-08:00

“Really, everything started with the Cosmopolite Affair,” explained Theodora.

Julia snorted. “No, really it all started with Ilarion Skarvsky!”

Elaine glanced around nervously. “Who’s Ilarion Skarvsky?” While Justinian’s sisters had handled the whole situation, including the group’s increasingly tortured explanations, with incredible aplomb--more aplomb than the Sacristan usually managed to muster, actually--she was still increasingly aware of how… out of place she was here.

“Ilarion Skarvsky,” began Julia with almost unseemly joy, “is the vilest wretch in the Lands of both Light and Night.”

“He’s the Easter King,” explained Theodora, looking away rather embarrassedly.

“Yes,” agreed Julia. “And the vilest wretch in the…”

Justinian raised his hand. “That’s a matter of opinion,” he noted.

“Right,” said Jean Crow. “You’ve never met Asterot Maganza.”

“No, I have not,” said Julia. “Nor have I met Ilarion Skarvsky. And yet while I have met neither, Ilarion Skarvsky has managed to cause me a great deal of misery and trouble.”

Justinian nodded. “But how did the Cosmopolite Affair lead to Eremites in Joyeuse? When I left it was the same as it had been for the last three years, with the Synod saying it could appoint a Cosmopolite to Bolga, and the Easter King insisting they could not.”

“Ilarion has managed to add a little spice to it,” drawled Julia. “He had everyone convinced he was planning something in the Pillars. Then he got together a small army in Norizia, floated it down the Skadh, and occupied Precieuse.”

Justinian blinked. “But that’s… that’s practically an act of war!”

“That’s what Prince Amfortas said to the Council,” noted Julia. “The Council isn’t so sure. They are muttering about ‘ancient claims’ and ‘traditional dominions’, and so forth.” She shrugged. “He got nothing from them, except a declaration of the Council’s wishes for King Pelleas’ recovery.”

Justinian felt vaguely guilty. It had been months since he lit a candle for Good King Pelleas’ health. “How… how is His Royal Majesty?”

“I hear very well,” declared Theodora. “The baths at Froberge worked miracles, they say.”

Julia coughed. “Leaving aside Good King Pelleas--whose health we all pray for, in light of his epic struggle these last ten years…”

Theodora shook her head. “Julia!”

“…The Council left the Prince hanging,” Julia went on. “He went to the Free Cities, and they hemmed, and hawed, and then said that they really didn’t mind Ilarion Skarvsky having Precieuse. And so finally, he went to the Synod.” She sighed. “They agreed to help--and did so by sending in the Eremites, so the Prince could free men up to attack the Easter King.” She regarded her brother with a raised eyebrow. “The Eremites… have not been making themselves well-loved.”

Justinian nodded. “I can… see that.”

“I always put down the rumors spoken against them to the slurs of the ungodly,” said Theodora, with a shake of her head. “But this… they are as miserable and hard-hearted as everything I have ever heard spoken of them.”

Julia gave her sister an ironic smile. “Let us sing a song of praise to the Seven, my sister,” she noted. “It could have been the Stylites.”

Even Justinian could barely suppress a shudder at the mention of the Knights of the Tower, for all that he told himself that they did what they did to protect all the Lands of Light.

“You know,” said Elaine, “I… I always thought you people were more united. The memory of the Holy Empire and all that.”

“Why, we all remember the Holy Empire,” said Julia. “The Kings of Leonais have always seen themselves as the Emperor’s heirs. The Easter Kings disagree, and think they are. The Kings of Tintagel likewise beg to differ, and the Holy Synod feels that it embodies all the Empire’s spiritual authority.”

Elaine nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I get it. You people are as messed up as we are.”

“And this is a surprise?” said Jean. “I could have told you that.”

“Bugger the bastards!” cawed Hoppedance.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 9

2011-12-31T08:38:00.000-08:00

Justinian Sigma was distinctly unhappy as he walked down the streets of a city that he had wished to return to for months, and indeed, had a definite idea that there was little hope of his seeing again. But now he was here, and somehow, instead of the sweet triumph he’d imagined it was bitter as gall. Part of it was the awful return, seeing the Eremites rampaging through the city. Preceptor Rho had never seen any reason to give printers anything greater than a fine, and perhaps an exile if they kept at it after that. That… horror was the sort of thing Rho always called ‘Holy Folly’. Righteous fear is one thing, he recalled the Preceptor saying. Ungodly terror is another--and when it ends, you find yourself dealing with a very angry group of people.

But the Eremites were only part of his problem. The other was the way that he’d gotten back. He hadn’t expected it to sting, but the manner in which he’d… manipulated Elaine rankled. She was confused and angry, and he’d encouraged her in her ill-considered course of action. Because he had a duty. Many duties, really. But one in particular that he had to fulfill. And that he'd finally seen a way to do so.

He looked ahead and saw it--the symbol of a shepherd’s crook. “We’re here,” stated quietly, turning towards the small building.

“Where’s ‘here’?” asked Jean sharply.

“A sanctuary of the Sisters of Mercy,” replied Justinian, as they reached the door. “A holy order dedicated to charity and peace, pledged to give refuge to the poor and unfortunate.”

Elaine frowned. “And we should trust these people because…?”

The door opened. A young woman with long black hair, dressed in a white gown and white kerchief on her head stood there. “Greetings, those who seek shelter,” she repeated. “You have found… Ivanushka?” She dove into Justinian and wrapped her arms around him. “Ivanushka! Tatanya! It’s Ivanushka!”

A slightly older woman appeared. She was clad just like her fellow, and indeed, looked very much the same. “Ivanushka!” she declared, joining in the hug.

Jean placed her hands on her hips. “Well, this is cozy.” She coughed. “I thought your name was a big deal.”

Justinian broke free. “Elaine--Jean--may I introduce my sisters, Theodora Theta, and Julia Upsilon.”

Elaine stared at the pair. “Religious order sisters, or… real sisters?”

“Both,” answered Julia. “Do come in.”

The little group entered the small house. Justinian glanced apologetically at Jean and Elaine. “It was a… large family.”

Julia nodded, as she led the group through a room filled with small cots, in some of which could be seen rather dirty, battered individuals. “And girls had lower price than boys…”

Elaine’s eyes spread in horror--a fact that was probably increased by the fact that she had just seen a mother and her little, very skinny child. “Your parents sold you…?”

“It’s more a charitable donation to those whose needs are so dire they must give their children to the Church…” began Justinian. The group reached a small chamber in the back of the hostel.

“Exactly,” said Julia with a smile. “But boys get you a larger charitable donation.”

“Ivana!” said Theodora. She glanced at Jean and Elaine. “She is exaggerating. It is simply that a boy works more than a girl, so they realize that they are depriving a family of a very valuable resource.”

Justinian began to rub his temples. “Let’s--move on. I’ve… been out of the city for some time, and it seems… rather changed…”

Theodora clicked her tongue. “We were wondering why you hadn’t visited in the last… six months?”

“Seven,” corrected Julia.

“Seven,” agreed Theodora, looking at her brother sternly.

“I was put on a very important mission by… my order,” stated Justinian.

“Well, you could have written,” said Julia.

“No, I couldn’t,” said Justinian.

Jean, after glancing around the chamber, found a rather hard-looking bed to sit down on, and did so. “You know, Sigma, I don’t know if I’m getting the… safety thing…” She winced. The bed was as hard as it looked.

“Damn buggers!” cawed Hoppedance.

“This place offers sanctuary…” began Justinian.

Julia turned to glare the young sorceress. “And my sister and I trust our brother implicitly.” She crossed her arms. “His friends are our friends.”

Justinian nodded. “That’s good to hear. In fact…” He coughed. “Malina, you can… come out now.” And suddenly the young Dev appeared to their view, looking a little tired. She glanced at the sisters with hopeful red eyes, and waved, while her other hand went to fiddle with her horns.

“Hi,” she said nervously.

Julia looked at her for a moment, then dove in for a hug. “Ooooh!” she cooed. “She’s so cute!”

Theodora hung back, though she did manage a nervous smile at the little Cthonique. She glanced at her brother. “I feel you have much to tell us,” she noted.

“Likewise,” said Justinian. “Especially about… well, the Eremites.”

“Hee-hee-hee!” giggled Malina. “Stop tickling me!”

“But I can’t help it!” moaned Julia.

A Joyous Occasion--Part Eight

2011-12-29T08:54:00.000-08:00

Elaine looked at Justinian Sigma, standing uneasily at the alley’s mouth, his face gone pale as he stared ahead. “What are you looking…?” she muttered, forcing herself to his side. She froze, her mind trying to process what she was seeing.

It was a city square of moderate size. A bonfire had been built at its center, around which crowded a small cluster of men in ragged brown cloaks. The men were throwing pages onto the fire, heaps and heaps of them. A small crowd was watching from the sides of the square, their faces blank. More of the men in brown cloaks moved among them, hands going to swords kept on their sides. Elaine blinked, trying to figure out what all this meant, when a loud thud caught her attention.

The source of the noise was a tall man banging a staff on the ground. He was a thin man, with a pale, austere face, whose most notable features were a long, draggled beard, and a large, beaklike nose that made those who saw him think of a hawk. He was dressed very much like the men around the fire, though in addition to the ragged brown robe, a length of chain was wrapped around his waist. “Hear me people of Joyeuse! For too long have you allowed the ways of Darkness to grow like foul weeds, choking out the Light!” The man spread his arms expressively. “And so we have found you, we humble hermits in the Seven’s service, besieged by Error, and Sin! Indeed, some among you--” and here he gestured broadly at the crowd. “--are willing servants of Darkness, who allow our enemies in through the back gate. BEHOLD!”

As the man said this, several of his subordinates exited a building holding a large item over their heads. Elaine gasped. While she suspected much of the crowd had no idea what it was, she knew it immediately. It was a printing press. “Yes, behold!” spat out the man, his face furious. “Behold it, this font of evil wickedness, this creation of the vile spawn of Night! Some may scoff, but I consider it the greatest weapon they have yet devised in their war against the Light!” He turned away, his expression almost nauseous. “Its very presence here pollutes and taints us!” he shrieked. He stepped forward, towards a small knot of his followers. Elaine realized, as she looked at them closer that they were holding what looked like a small family--a middle-aged man, a woman, two young men, and a young girl. To her amazement, the family was not resisting, even faintly--indeed, their faces held the same dull, blank looks the rest of the crowd had.

The hawk-like man jabbed at the eldest captive with a bony, long-nailed finger. “You! YOU!” he shrieked. “You have brought this… FILTH here! You have spread it, and profited by it! SCUM!” He slapped the man. “WRETCH!” He slapped him again, and then after a moment, slapped once more.

The man whimpered. “Please… please, Archon… I’m… I’m… it was only a press, sir! That’s all…” He gave a hopeful, apologetic look at the man. “I never printed anything improper. Never!”

The Archon snarled at the man. “You… never… printed… anything… IMPROPER?” He spat on the man’s face. “That you PRINTED AT ALL is IMPROPER!” He raised his hand to the sky. “Did the Seven not give us hands to write? And the letters, and, yea, the words to put down! But you--VILLAIN--ROGUE--you have looked to the creatures of Night, and do as they, flooding the world with your script! You--you make mock of the Seven simply by PRINTING!” His captive looked away. The Archon glanced at the men holding the printing press. “Give it to the fire.” The men tossed it onto the bonfire, sending up a spray of sparks. The Archon gave a bleak smile, and turned to the small crowd. “And so you see now how Darkness shall be made into LIGHT! HOLY, HOLY, HOLY LIGHT!”

Elaine shuddered as she watched the printing press burned--a fairly distressing sight made worse by the clear misery the printer and his family were showing. And then, to her horror, things began to get worse. The Archon turned to one man among the throng he seemed to command--a man not in ragged brown, but nice, neat, immaculate white, who wore a mask of leather. “Master Strict,” stated the Archon quietly, “would you ready your brand?” The man nodded, and produced from the folds of his cloak a lengthy metal implement, which he then held into the fire. The Archon gave a grim nod, and then turned back to the printer. “For your crimes DEATH would not be too severe a penalty--but the ways of the Seven are the ways of mercy, love, and redemption, and the ways of the Seven are the ways of the Eremites and the Flagellants. You have forfeited the right to live as a free man, and so we will take it from you. Henceforth, you wear the slave’s brand, as shall your wife, and your children. Through labor, under the loving hand of the Order of Penitence Through Suffering, you shall, perhaps, cleanse the filth you let loose upon the world.” He glanced at Master Strict, who was removing his brand from the fire, the end glowing a dull red. “Mark the girl first.”

Elaine felt Justinian’s hand grab her arm. “Come with me,” he said. “You shouldn’t see any more of… this.”

Elaine glanced at him. “What…?”

The young Sacristan looked at her calmly. “You were about to step out to the street,” he noted, pulling her away. “Jean,” he noted. “Is Malina…?”

“She’s right next to me, between me and the wall,” whispered Jean, Hoppedance resting on her shoulder. The crow kept glancing back to the bonfire, then looking away, and almost… shivering. Whatever he was seeing, for once the foul-mouthed bird seemed to have no inclination to comment on it.

The little cluster moved down the streets for a ways in silence. Finally, Jean Crow spoke. “So… what are the Eremites doing here?”

“I have no idea,” answered Justinian softly. “This is all rather a… shock to me…”

Elaine looked at her feet. “What… Seven worshipers acting… Holy?”

“The Eremites---are another one of Militant Orders. More… stringent than the Sacristans.” Justinian’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “The Eremites… do not traditionally operate in in Leonais. They usually stay in the Concordat of the Faith…”

Jean nodded. “Yeah. He’s telling the truth. You don’t usually see the Brown Bastards out of their little hidey holes near Carcosse.”

“And… the masked guy? In white?” asked Elaine quietly.

“A… Flagellant,” said Justinian. “They handle the criminals after we… pass judgment on them. Usually, they keep an eye on them, and have them do menial tasks.” He shook his head. “I… they mostly get… murderers. Thieves. That sort.”

Elaine frowned. “Oh, well that makes it okay.”

Justinian shut his eyes. “The ways of the Seven are the ways of Light, Love and Redemption. But Light must be fed, or all will fall to Darkness, Love must be proved, or it is only vanity, and Redemption must be purchased with blood and pain.”

“You know, I always thought OUR religion was ridiculous,” said Elaine with a snort. “But you Milesians really have us beat.”

“Please don’t use that word on this side of the river,” said Justinian quietly. “It gives you away. Here… we are humans.”

“And we aren’t,” noted Jean with a nod. She took a deep breath. “Where the hell are you taking us?”

“A safe place,” said Justinian.

“That’s not much of an answer,” said Elaine, stopping.

Justinian turned towards her, and placed a hand on his heart. “I swear to you, upon my honor as a squire and a Sacristan, it is as safe a place as can be found in this city.”

Elaine glanced at Jean, who nodded. “He means it,” she said. She shook her head, as they walked forward. “And anyway, do we have anyplace better to go?”

A Joyous Occasion--Part Seven

2011-12-27T08:32:00.001-08:00

Elaine looked at her little sister, the worry obvious on her face. “Malina! Why did you come with us? Why?”

The young Dev shifted nervously. “Umm, well, I heard you all talking and it soundeded all dangerous, and so I thought you’d need me.” She glanced up at her. “And the Lands of Light soundeded all neat.” She sniffed again. “Though I didn’t realize they’d smell all… nasty.”

Jean gave a rueful smile. “That’s Joyeuse for you. You get used to it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Kind of.”

Justinian wished he could launch into a defense of this aspect of his homeland, but to be honest, even he preferred that aspect of the Lands of Night. Joyeuse, like most such cities, was not scrupulously cleaned. The Flagellants were supposed to take care of that, but by most accounts they’d never been that good at it, and were in fact growing steadily worse. He coughed. “Your Precious Grace,” stated Justinian politely. “While I think we all appreciate your concern for your sister, the fact remains that as opposed to her you are… rather conspicuous here.”

Malina fiddled with her horns, while idly flapping her wings. “What’s ‘contspick you us’ mean?”

“Noticeable,” answered the Sacristan. “You stand out.”

“Oooh,” said Malina with a nod. “Well, I can take care of that.” She shut her eyes and vanished from sight.

Justinian blinked. “What?”

“Magic,” said Jean wearily. “Remember.” She squinted. “I can kind of make her out. If I try.”

Justinian nodded. “All right.” He started down the alleyway. “Now… if you will follow me, I’ll get you to a… safe place I know.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “A ‘safe place’? How… convenient.”

“Well, I have lived here for most of my life,” said Justinian as he reached the mouth of the alleyway. “I know this city pretty well, an…” The Sacristan froze and stared at what lay before him.

It was, to put it mildly, a surprise.

A Joyous Occasion--Part Six

2011-12-24T09:08:00.000-08:00

“So,” said Elaine, staring at the strange contraption of wires, and hoops, “you think this’ll do the job?”

“It was made by Nisrioch,” said Jean Crow, dragging the thing into the proper position. “It may--or it may fail hideously. In fact, let me emphasize that. Fail hideously.”

“Bugger the bastards! Bugger the bastards!” cawed Hoppedance, flapping around his mistress ominously.

Elaine nodded. “We’ll risk it.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know how to work it?”

“Yeah, Nisrioch showed it to me one night,” noted Jean, fiddling with the spectrosphereo-transporter. “He was pretty drunk, but he still managed to get himself into the Great Courtyard without incident.” She looked pointedly at Elaine. “Of course, he insists getting back is the only problem.”

“Another reason to have you along,” said Elaine calmly. “You’re a river trader. You know people. When we’re done, you talk to them. And we go home.”

Jean stared at her for a moment, then stared at Justinian. “You know, you picked a hell of a time to stop being responsible!”

Justinian shrugged. “Let me simply state that I sympathize with Miss du Lac’s predicament and wish to see her satisfied in her desires.”

Jean sneered at him. “Yeah, let’s, you conniving…” She grumbled and then got back to work. “I wish I could say why I was helping.”

“Because Miss du Lac is your friend, and you realize she needs you to help keep her out of trouble in all this,” said the Sacristan.

“You honestly think there’s any way trouble isn’t entering into this?” noted Jean.

Justinian mulled that over. “Well, let’s say a reasonable amount of trouble.”

“HA!” snorted Jean, brining two wires together. The device began to glow an eerie yellow. Tiny glowing bubbles started to emanate from it. Jean nodded. “Okay. It should start working soon.” She turned to Elaine, handing her a long wand. “You need to think of the place you want to go. An idea, at least.”

Elaine nodded. “A secluded alley in Joyeuse. Where nobody will see us arrive…”

Jean turned to the contraption, out of which bigger, and bigger bubbles were emanating. “Yep, any second now…”

Hoppedance flew down to her shoulder. “Shit-for-brains,” it cawed quietly.

“Love you too,” said Jean quietly. She looked at Elaine, hoping the young Erl was having second thoughts.

Elaine clearly wasn’t. Suddenly, something fell down from the ceiling with an audible ‘oof’.

“Malina!” shouted Elaine, looking at her little sister.

The little Dev gave a nervous wave. “Hi,” she said sheepishly. At which point the glowing bubble engulfed the group. For several minutes they were surrounded by that strange yellow glow. When it ended, they were in a dusty, decrepit alleyway with not a soul around.

Justinian glanced around. “Ahh. The Rue d’Auseil in Old Town.” He nodded in satisfaction. “We are now in Joyeuse, brightest city in the Lands of Light.”

Malina sniffed, and frowned. “It smells like wee-wee,” she said in displeasure. “Old wee-wee.”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 5

2011-12-22T08:18:00.001-08:00

“You can’t be serious,” said Jean, as they rushed through the hall. “I mean--I know you’re a little crazy, Elaine--but this is just completely insane!”

“Shit-for-brains! Shit-for-brains! Go bugger yourself!” cawed Hoppedance.

Justinian coughed politely. “While I wouldn’t put it with quite the same… fervor as my learned associates, I do think they make a valid point. Your father, you say, is alive and in the Lands of Light. Well, and good. But I fail to see why you’d imagine that you could just… well, drop in and then--find the man on the street.”

Elaine turned to look at her friends. “Look--I am a du Lac, the daughter of the Badb. The ways of fate are etched onto my soul. If I do this--then I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

Jean blinked. “But… I… you always go on about how you’re not the Nemain…”

“That’s something else!” snapped Elaine. She took a deep breath. “I… don’t have magic. But… I have the blood. And… that’s what counts for things like this. We go where we have to and… things happen…”

Jean stared at Elaine for a moment. “Shit, shit, shit,” cawed Hoppedance. The young sorceress turned to her truculent familiar.

“My bird’s got it right,” said Jean. “That sounds like… well, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care what your bird thinks it sounds like,” said Elaine. “It’s the truth.”

Jean snorted. “Come on, Elaine. You’re not selling anyone on this!” She turned to Justinian. “I mean, even Sigma…” Jean stopped mid-sentence, and blinked. The Sacristan was standing there thoughtfully. “Ummm… Justinian…”

“If it did work as you think it would… where would you need to go?” said Justinian quietly.

Elaine shrugged. “Somewhere… anywhere there was people,” she said. “I… I’d wind up where I needed to be…”

“Joyeuse seems a likely spot to begin,” noted Justinian. “It’s the capital of Leonais, it lies close to the Free Cities and the Murkenmere, AND it received a large portion of the Milesian refugees during Lord Shaddad’s wars.” He stared at Elaine pointedly. “Many of which remained there.”

Elaine gave a nod. “That sounds like a plan.”

Jean stared at her friend frantically. “Come on, Elaine--this is Sigma we’re talking about. He--look, he’s a nice guy here, but back in Joyeuse--he’s a freaking Sacristan! A Knight of the Seven! He was sent here to spy on you guys by his Order!”

Justinian raised his left hand and gestured to a mark. “May I remind you Jean that I am under the same geas you are, and cannot act against the wishes of the Cthoniques?”

Jean frowned and turned to Elaine. “Listen--you cannot trust Milesians on their home turf!”

“My father’s a Milesian,” said Elaine calmly. “So are you.”

Jean turned away. “I’m Riverfolk. We’re mongrels.”

Elaine nodded. “Something else we have in common.”

Justinian coughed. “I think I have a more a solid objection to all this. It is… countless miles to the Murkenmere from here. Even more to Joyeuse.” He shrugged. “Unless you can think of some way to travel the distance quickly, without attracting the attention of your mother and the Cthoniques, then this idea of yours will prove nothing but an idle fancy.”

“Well, there’s the spectrosphereo-transporter,” muttered Jean. “But that damned thing is…” She realized that Justinian and Elaine were watching her intently.

“Shit-for-brains, shit-for-brains!” cawed Hoppedance.

“Shut up,” muttered Jean.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 4

2011-12-20T08:58:00.000-08:00

Jean Crow stood in the Small Courtyard, practicing her stances underneath a crabapple tree.

“You look ridiculous,” commented Justinian Sigma, sweeping the path underneath.

“Says the man carrying a broom outside,” snapped Jean.

“Bloody bastard,” cawed Hoppedance from the crabapple tree.

“Paths need to be swept in the early spring,” noted the Milesian calmly. “I used to do the same thing back at the Chapterhouse.” He continued to sweep. “I find it… relaxing.”

Jean frowned. “I’m surprised your girlfriend isn’t here with a broom of her own.”

“Eurydice and I are merely friends,” noted Justinian. “Remember, I have a vow…”

“…Of perpetual chastity,” said Jean. “Yes. You mention it every now and then.”

“Bugger yourself!” cawed Hoppedance.

Justinian chose to ignore both the crow and the Crow. “That stated,” he began levelly, “she’s busy with the East Wing. Everything from the Hall of Undiminished Woe to The Chambers of Exquisite Agony has to be fully cleaned out after winter.” He shrugged briefly. “That’s why I’m out here, really. To give her a little help.”

Jean Crow perched herself on one foot, and stared at Justinian. “She’s got you well-trained, you know that?”

“The Sacristans trained me,” said Justinian. “Eurydice is merely giving me the chance to utilize my training. For which I am grateful.”

“Yeah, well… this is training too,” said Jean. “Supposedly, when I get done with this, I’ll be able to move mountains. Kind of.”

Justinian chuckled. “And I’m comforted to know that such awesome powers will be granted to such a responsible person. Within a decade. Possibly two.”

Jean snarled and began to wave her arms around erratically. “That’s it!” she yelled. “You are aching for a lesson, asshole!” She gave an imperious wave of her right hand.

“Ow!” yelped Justinian as a quick sharp pain struck his cheek. His hand went to it, and he regarded Jean in mild surprise. “Was that you?”

“Yeah,” said Jean, placing her hands on her hips. “You want more of that? Cause I got plenty.”

“Once is enough,” said Justinian going back to his sweeping. “I concede, a great improvement. Now, instead of an amusing embarrassment, you’re a mild nuisance.”

“And I intend to keep on in that manner,” said Jean. “Why, by the end of the year, I should be a positive menace.”

“Shit-for-brains, shit-for-brains,” cawed Hoppedance coming down to rest on his master’s shoulder.

“You should hope my mother doesn’t hear that,” said Elaine du Lac, stepping outside.

Hoppedance flew nervously back to the tree. Jean smiled at her friend. “Hey, it’s Hoppedance’s neck, not mine. So, any more news on the whole ‘birthday’ thing?”

Elaine gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nothing really. Actually, I’ve come to get you two to help me with something else.” She glanced around idly. “I need to get the Lands of Light.”

Justinian and Jean simply stared.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 3

2011-12-17T10:09:00.000-08:00

Elaine traipsed down the halls of Castle Terribel, swearing to herself under her breath. If that fat little Guardsman--Popop, she thought his name was--didn’t like her, well that was just fine. She didn’t like him either, and little Mr. Popop could go to hell, even though on reflection, she was pretty sure his name wasn’t Popop, and was in fact something like Palal. Or possibly Padally. Something along those lines, she was sure. Elaine tried to figure out why she was bothered by the opinions of a fat little Guard whose name she didn’t even really know and who was far from an impressive figure. She decided it had something to do with her birthday. And her mother. And Malina. Whose own birthday would have been quite enjoyable if Falerina hadn’t shown up to spread terror and death.

Elaine realized that she probably should keep that out of her mind. It’d been fairly… unpleasant, after all. No, best to focus on something else completely. A very good idea, she couldn’t help but think. Was it Kvasir the Elder or the Younger who’d suggested that as way of dealing with things the mind was to discomfited by? Hmmm… That was a riddle, wasn’t it? She would have to go to the Library tonight and see which…

“…really don’t think she needs to know right now,” came a quiet voice.

Elaine blinked. That sounded very much like her mother.

“I disagree” came another voice, a low one that sounded very much like Mansemat. “She’ll want to know the truth one…” And then the voice faded from her hearing.

“Wanting is not the same thing as needing,” said her mother, her voice raised. “I… When she’s older… maybe, but right now, Elaine…”

Elaine nodded to herself. She’d been fairly certain they were talking about her. Still it was nice to have a confirmation. Thought perhaps not, considering the apparent subject matter.

“She isn’t ready, or you aren’t?” asked Mansemat.

“Both,” muttered Viviane.

“I won’t press the issue,” said Mansemat. “I just feel… this needs to be resolved. For both of you.”

Viviane muttered something that Elaine couldn’t make out after that.

“You’re probably right,” agreed Mansemat.

“No, no,” said Viviane. “I was being mean. You’ve touched a nerve.” Mansemat said something else, something Elaine couldn’t hear, and then, Viviane spoke again. “Well, it’s just--it’s a big deal. This is Elaine’s father we’re talking about… I… I’m pretty sure she thinks he’s dead. And…”

Elaine felt something strike her knees. Looking down she briefly wondered exactly how the floor had gotten so close before realizing she’d fallen into a crouch. As she steadied herself and began to rise, she heard one last snatch of conversation between her mother and Mansemat--one where the phrase “Lightlands” was spoken. (She wasn’t sure by who.) As she grabbed the wall to finish the business of righting herself, she did a mental list of what she now knew. Her father was apparently alive, and living in the Lands of Light. Something her mother had never bothered to tell her. Well, Elaine knew what that meant she had to do.

With a nod, she went off to find Jean and Sigma. They were her official companions, and by a great snatch of luck, they were precisely who she needed to see for the business she had in mind. A plan was already forming in her head, and while it might be a bit crude at the moment, she had no doubt it would soon acquire the polish it needed to lead her to success.

For truly foolish undertakings, youth is always a benefit in quelling doubts about a plan’s wisdom, or indeed, sanity.

A Joyous Occasion--Part 2

2011-12-15T08:38:00.001-08:00

Palamedes idly tapped the table. “Maybe we can get an elephant from somewhere.”

Sacripant Fenswater blinked, while Quiet merely stared. “An… elephant?”

The chubby Erl shrugged. “Just throwing ideas out.” He sighed. “I mean, Her Estimable Grace is… a bit hard to get gifts for.” He scratched his head. “I mean--she’s a bit… icy.”

The Marsh Erl regarded his fellow Guardsman cynically. “What do you mean by that?”

Palamedes glanced around awkwardly, finally settling on his hands. “Well--she’s not very… nice. I mean--well… I mean--think of Her Precious Grace,” he muttered awkwardly. “Everybody loves her, right?”

Sacripant and Quiet hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Well, everybody reasonable,” said Sacripant.

“Exactly,” continued Palamedes. “She’s sweet. And she’s nice to everybody. A kind word for anybody who crosses her path, no matter who they are. She can be a little willful and troublesome on occasion--but she cares about people. While Her Estimable Grace…” He sighed. “She keeps to herself. Ignores you most of the time, and when she does bother to notice you it’s to tell you to get out of the way. She lives here in Castle Terribel, but she’s not a part of Castle Terribel. If you understand what I mean.”

“She hasn’t been here that long,” noted Sacripant.

“Neither has her mother,” noted Palamedes. “But damn it, the Badb has taken to this place like a fish to the sea. While Her Estimable Grace… she’s floundering.”

Sacripant stared at Palamedes pointedly. “You’ve never seen the sea.”

Palamedes coughed. “Well, no, but…”

“I have,” said Sacripant. “So has Her Estimable Grace. She may not be a Ladysworn Marsher, but she’s still from the Marsh, and life out there--you Plainsfolk can’t understand it. The Plains of Dread--they’re one of the finest spots in the Lands of Night. The Accursed Marsh, however--it’s tough living out there, even in the good years. That’s probably why we still have the Badb, while all the other Witch Queens have vanished--we need every bit of help we can get. And living like that--it makes a lot of us--reserved. Quiet. We keep to ourselves.” He leaned forward. “And that’s why I say--she hasn’t been here that long. Give her time.”

Palamedes looked at him weakly. “You don’t know if Her Precious Grace has seen the sea/”

“We used to be neighbors,” said Sacripant.

Palamedes blinked. “Really?”

“Yep,” answered Sacripant with a shrug. “Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. And I had no idea we’d wind up in this situation. Hell, considering her age, I doubt she even realizes we knew one another.”

Palamedes gave another sigh. “Well, fascinating as all this is, you’ll at least allow me my opinions, right? I find Her Estimable Grace to be cold, hard, and put-offish. And I’m not alone in that.” Palamedes waited for a reply. It didn’t come. Glancing up, he saw his friends staring at him blankly. Quiet gestured to the doorway behind him. Already suspecting what he would see, Palamedes turned.

Elaine du Lac stood there, holding a book. The chubby Guardsman coughed. “Your… Estimable Grace. I…” He stood up from his chair, and attempted a bow. “This is… an hon…”

Elaine shot him a look of withering contempt, and then walked away. Palamedes collapsed back in to his chair. “Well, I’ve just made an utter ass out of myself,” he noted quietly.

Quiet placed one blue hand on his. “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “That glare kills puppies.”

A Joyous Occasion--Part 1

2011-12-13T08:24:00.000-08:00

Elaine threw herself on her bed, with a sigh. “It’s good to be back.” She rolled around on the mattress. “Oh, comfy bed. How I’ve missed you!”

“You’ve been gone for a week,” said Jean Crow, leaning against the wall. She thought it over. “Okay, maybe ten days. Still not enough time to get sentimental about things.”

“Bugger the bitch! Bugger the bastards!” cawed Hoppedance, flying into the room.

“Awww! There’s mommy’s baby!” cooed Jean, as the raven came to rest on her shoulder. Hoppedance nuzzled her neck. “Are you hungry? Are you? Mommy will get you something good and rotten, okay?”

“Bugger them all!” cawed Hoppedance happily. Jean patted his head, and then glanced at Elaine. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” said Elaine.

Jean nodded. “Good.”

Viviane du Lac appeared in the doorway, and rapped lightly on the door. “Ummm… hope I’m not interrupting anything…”

Elaine smiled at her mother. “No, no you’re not. Hey, Mom.”

Viviane stepped into the room. “So how’s my little girl doing?”

“Pretty good,” said Elaine. “How was the… river thing?

A rather blissful smile came to Viviane’s face. “Oh, it was very… sacred. And relaxing. And nice. They gave us flowers. And cooked us fish, after the blessing.” The Badb blinked, then coughed. “Umm, anyway… guess whose special day is coming up soon?”

Elaine stiffened. “Oh, Lady’s Name…”

Viviane crossed her arms. “You’re young. You’re supposed to like birthdays.”

Her daughter glanced away awkwardly. “Yeah, but…you’re going to do something, aren’t you? Make a big production out of it.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Viviane with a snort.

“Mom! Please! Don’t make a big deal out of it!” Elaine got down on her hands and knees. “Just--some small, little thing. Maybe even just you and me.”

“And what about Mansemat? And Malina? Nisrioch, and Morgaine?” suggested Viviane.

“Okay, okay, I’m not saying they can’t be involved, but…” Elaine glanced down at the floor. “Nothing too fancy, all right?”

Viviane nodded. “Of course, dear. I only want you to enjoy yourself.” And with that, she departed.

Jean glanced at her friend. “Oh… Happy…”

“It’s a week from now,” said Elaine. She idly scratched her neck. “Well, a week and a few days.”

“Ah,” muttered Jean. “You’re really worried she’s going to try for something… big aren’t you?”

“Knowing my mother--it’d be elephants,” said Elaine grimly.

From The Prince Of Dead Leaves...

2011-12-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

"Know you what comes?" said Arthelane.

"In my Old Stone have I looked," said the Prince of Dead Leaves, " and in it I have seen wrack and ruin, and the blood of children soaking the stones."

"And can it be stopped?" asked the young man.

"Child, my life has been spent trying to direct the course of fate," said the Prince. "Behold me, I am worn, and ruined, and have lost all but a single keep. And all of this has come from my efforts to avert my doom. Ask me no such question--it is too bitter to my ears."

From Baldander's History...

2011-12-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

But while the Liberators had united to face Bernlad, once that was done, each saw themselves as the true Lord of the Plains of Dread. And so it came to pass that Attar, Mordaunt, and Lamek the Younger came to blows. And as each sent their troops out in the colors of House Cthonique, they each chose a different colored tulip to serve as their symbol so their troops could recognize each other--the red for Attar, the Orange for Mordaunt, and the Yellow for Lamek. And so it came to be called the War of the Tulips...

...The fighting was long, and bitter, and all three claiments would die before Attar's son Assur assumed the throne...

From 'The Book of the Living'

2011-12-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

In the beginning all was Darkness, and the Darkness was the Great Mother, who we call Night.

And Mother Night, the Darksome Lady, was lonely, and desiring companionship, and so She did make the Dragon to converse with. And in the making She sought to create one who could be a friend and companion to her, wise in all things, and She did succeed, and it was good.

And then Mother Night grew bored, and it seemed to Her that it would be a great delight to make a world of creatures, after her own image. And She did speak of this to the Dragon. And the Dragon did say 'Lo, my Mistress, such You could do. But if You did this thing, that which You created would be bound to You for all eternity, and always would You have to think of it and its welfare. And all this I ask You to think upon before You undertake this.'

And in this, the Dragon spoke as it had been made to speak, but the Lady was not pleased, for She had wanted it to praise and exalt Her plans. And so She banished the Dragon from Her presence, and did as She intended to do. But the world She made was unsightly, and filled with beings murderous and cruel, and they did hate Her, and try to destroy Her. And as the Darksome Lady tried to undo what She had done, She gave a mighty cry, and the Dragon came to Her, and captured the world in the fold of its mighty wings.

And Mother Night did ask the Dragon, 'Why did you come for Me?' And the Dragon did answer 'So did you make, and so I am.'

From Eschen's "Book of Loves"

2011-12-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

...And so Atlante came to the gates of Alabracca, and raised her sword. "Where is your false lord?" she shouted. "Where is Tarquin Nibelung? For he said he would come to my side when the snows of Frimaire melted, and it is now Messidor, and the snows have long been gone, and yet I do not see him."

And the herald said, "Lord Tarquin Nibelung is dead, Great Lady. Of a fever.:

"You lie!" shouted the mistress of the Black Wolf Horde, and she ordered her men to take the city....

...And when the city was taken, Atlante discovered the tomb of her love, and fell upon it, and wept. "All has been for nothing," she declared. "All has been for nothing..."

Old Fragment, Preserved in the Araxerxes Compendium

2011-12-01T08:49:00.000-08:00

One to hold the sky and the sea,
One to hold the mountain and the stone,
One to hold the the river and the tree,
One to hold the darkness and the bone.

Let them meet where all things merge
Let them greet where all things end
Let them stand where begins the verge
Let their duty be the wounds to mend.

--Author unknown

From Kvasir the Younger's "Looking Glass of History"

2011-11-29T08:27:00.000-08:00

...Why the Nine? To this day, after all, there are far more than nine Dark Lords. While many state that the Nine are the most prominent of Dark Lords, one must question this--is the are the Sekhmetides of the Blasted Heath truly more powerful and influential than the Mongranes of the Crossing? And while the Great Khans of the Howling Waste were a major force, the present Dark Lords of the Waste are nothing more than a title held by the Cthonique heir. Are they truly more worthy of membership in the Nine than the Belfiors?

And again, why Nine? Why not Ten, or Twelve, or Six? The Pallasians say that it is symbolic of the Nine Created Beings of Mother Night--the Dragon, the Light, the Sun, the Moon, the Earth, the Water, the Wind, the Air, and the Fire. But the Pallasians have ever been few in the Lands of Night--could they have influenced such an essential thing? We turn to the past, but the way is closed to us--all our earliest references are to the Nine, and they speak as if talking about a long-held custom.

In the end we are forced to conclude, the Nine are the Nine, because they are the Nine...

Guests at a Wedding--Part 36

2011-11-26T09:09:00.000-08:00

Jean Crow leaned back in her seat. “It’s good to be going home,” she muttered softly,

“Technically, you’re our guest,” noted Elaine.

Jean frowned at the young du Lac. “Castle Terribel is the first place I’ve lived in for more than a month. By my standards, it’s now home. Do you have a problem with that?”

Elaine glanced at her friend. “No.” She glanced out the window. “I really wish we’d gotten a chance to stay here longer. There were some places I was hoping to visit, but never got around to it.”

“Your family practically owns it,” said Jean with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of chances to visit.”

“I suppose,” said Elaine with a shrug. “I just feel a little cheated. All my time got eaten up by that wedding.”

Jean stared at her in surprise. “Wha… but that was the whole reason we were here!”

“Still doesn’t mean I have to like the damn thing,” muttered Elaine, crossing her arm. She glanced at her sister, who was playing with a little wooden doll. “Don’t tell Mom I said that.”

Malina paused and nodded. “ ‘Kay.” She held up her doll. “Isn’t this neat? Pinador gave it to me!” The little Dev grinned. “When we get married it will be just like that. Only with more sassins and jivalrous warriors.”

Elaine stared at her stepsister for a moment, then patted her little horned head affectionately. “You’re a real sweet kid, Malina.”

Jean glanced out her window. “Well, we’re heading out the gate. Goodbye to White Pine.” As she stared at the immense carving of Mother Night, it occurred to Jean that when you looked at it from a certain angle it DID seem to smile at you…

“What are you staring at?” asked Elaine.

Jean blinked. “Oh, I was just noticing…” She stopped. “Nothing, really. Just something I thought was there but wasn’t.” Jean shook her head. She’d been certain it had been smiling, but on closer inspection, it must have been an illusion.

At least, she hoped so.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 35

2011-11-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

“Sixty linen sheets,” Eurydice le Fidelé placed a check on her list. She nibbled her quill idly, then jotted something down. “Condition--good to fair.”

“Are you really going to review every item on that list?” said Justinian Sigma quietly. “After all--we were only here a few days…”

“Steward’s duty,” replied Eurydice. “If my father were here, he’d be doing it. He isn’t. So I am.” She shrugged. “That’s what it means to be a Fidelé. Especially the Fidelé.”

“So--what happens to your children,” asked Justinian. “I mean they won’t be Fidelés…”

“Of course they will be,” replied Eurydice. “The only way they wouldn’t count would be if I married someone from a more prestigious family than myself, and that won’t happen.”

Justinian nodded. The more he came to know the Lands of Night the more he came to appreciate the strange, subtle differences. The Fidelés spent their lives doing things that in much of the Lands of Light would have marked them as menials--here, they were some strange sort of nobility, right between the Dark Lords and their subjects. A strange sort of nobility, in a strange sort of land. Seven help me, I wish I could I hate these people again. It would make my life so much simpler. Even Malachel’s crime inspired more a sad pity than any real hatred--the pathetic scheme of a pathetic man.

“Well, this is it,” sniffled Morgaine Cthonique, as she ambled into view with Fiordespina Maganza on her arm. “Our last time together for… a while.” To Justinian’s surprise, the Dark Lord was clad in surprisingly simple clothing for once--a plain white gown.

Fiordespina buried her head in Morgaine’s hair. “I shall miss you, my dark enchantress of the netherworld.”

Morgaine wrapped her arms around Fiordespina’s waist. “And I’ll miss you, Despi! Write! Write as often as you can!”

Fiordespina pulled away for a moment. “You know that I will, my glorious cadaver.” Then she leaned forward for a kiss.

When it was over, and Fiordespina had left, Morgaine wiped a tear from her eye. “Are you going to blame that on allergies?” asked Justinian quietly.

Morgaine glanced at him. “I’m starting like you, Sigma. Don’t make me kill you.”

Justinian sighed. “It’s just that while you were preoccupied, quite a bit happened…”

Morgaine shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I don’t care. I mean--you cannot imagine what we were up to. Literally.” She chuckled. “I have a hard time figuring out how she comes up with some of this stuff!”

Justinian sighed. Oh, yes. He really, really wished the world was simple once again.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 34

2011-11-22T09:38:00.000-08:00

“That went well,” said Faileuba cheerily, as she and her partners rushed to the West Gate of White Pine.

Gwyd glared at the Erl. “In what way does that qualify as going well?”

“We got a job offer!” replied Faileuba as she darted out of the way of the carriage.

“From the husband of the woman you offended so badly that you’ve been hiding from her this entire time!” snapped Gwyd. “In fact, that’s why we’re fleeing!”

“Fleeing is a bit strong,” said Meliadus, jumping across a puddle. “This is more of a strategic retreat.”

“Right. Fleeing suggests pursuit!” noted Faileuba. “We are leaving, as quickly as possible, just to make sure pursuing never crosses anybody’s mind.”

Gwyd stopped for a moment, and then stared at her. “You know--sometimes, I just pity you Fai.”

Faileuba snorted. “Yeah. When you enter a state of utter denial of how awesome I am.”

Gwyd glanced at Meliadus. “Back me up on this. For once.”

Meliadus shook his head. “Sorry, Gwyd. I’m with Fai on this. Encountering your past has merely confirmed my longstanding belief that you are a badly discontented individual who has always fit in badly with those who surround you--further, you secretly enjoy being with a couple of people as dashing and chivalrous as Fai and myself.”

Gwyd frowned. “Why is it you can never be this insightful on anything important?”

Meliadus scratched his disheveled hair. “Just goes against my ethos.”

“You don’t even know what that means, do you?” said Gwyd placing his hands on his hips.

“I might,” replied Meliadus with a shrug.

Gwyd was about to reply to that when a tumult behind the trio caught their attention.

“Out of my way, you ignorant wretch!” shouted a loud voice.

“Out of your way? HA!” shouted another loud voice in reply. “You are clearly in my way!”

The three chivalrous warriors stepped to the side as the Vanir and the Aesir contingents headed down the road. “Miserable toad of an Aesir!” shouted Manodante at the Margrave who rode next to him.

“Crawling worm of a Vanir!” replied Dolistone. As the Count-Palatine and the Margrave, their embarrassed relatives quietly rode beside them.

Gwyd shook his head as they passed. “You know, those guys are lucky they are Dark Lords…” Meliadus nodded, and then glanced at Faileuba, who was staring at the Mountain Lords.

“Fai…?” he asked.

“Who’s that guy?” she said, pointing to a young Erl riding behind Manodante.

“That’s Brandomarte,” said Gwyd, “Manodante’s son and heir.”

Faileuba blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Unlike you two, I actually asked around when it looked like we were going to get a JOB out of this, instead of having to run out of town broke--ONCE AGAIN!” snapped the Goblin.

“Ahh. Okay.” She pointed to a young female Erl following Dolistone. “And who’s that?”

“Fiordelisa,” said Gwyd. “Dolistone’s daughter.”

Faileuba nodded to herself. “Right. They were behind a pillar making out before the wedding.” She smiled. “I sort of interrupted them.”

Meliadus smiled back at her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yep! A clear call to adventure FROM THE CODE!” announced Faileuba. “Clearly, the feud between the Aesir and Vanir is about to take a very dramatic turn--and we must be there when it does! As Chivalrous Warriors, it is DEMANDED of us!”

“Then let’s AWAY!” declared Meliadus, running after the Mountain Lords.

Gwyd blinked. “Guys--wait…” He sighed, and then took off after them. “I am getting too old for this crap…”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 33

2011-11-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

“My friends,” began Malagise, raising his glass, his face dignified. “This has been a… unique experience, I hope.”

“That is putting it mildly,” said Lanfusa with a snort.

“Mumsy!” hissed the Duke. He straightened himself. “You have seen the uniting of two lonely souls, a glorious old city, and…” He sighed. “Assorted other things. In truth, I would say little of this has gone as I planned, as we’ve had to deal with… interruptions.” Lanfusa snorted at that. Malagise shot her a glance. “But that is life, my friends. That is life.” A smile spread on the Duke’s fat, froglike face. “And in truth--are not our existences enriched by the unpredictable? Do they not add--savor to the stew?”

“Not really,” muttered Lanfusa.

Malagise coughed. “I had planned to tell everyone of a child who came here to a wedding many years ago, and had a lovely time in this magnificent old city. And who saw two people dancing with such style and grace that the memory has stayed with me to this very day.” He gestured to the orchestra, who began to play a strange lilting melody. “I wonder, if the Lord and Lady of Castle Cruel would… care to dance?”

Pinabel and Tessina glanced around nervously, then stood up, and walked to the center of the room. As the music played, they began to dance, their movements graceful and relaxed. “They are v-very good,” said Zenobia to her husband, quietly.

“They don’t call Pinabel Maganza ‘the Flower of Chivalry’ out of any great appreciation of his beauty,” whispered Malagise. “Largely because he has none. At least not of a physical nature.”

“They really love each other, don’t they?” murmured Zenobia. She gave a contented sigh. “Well, that g-gives me hope. We fr-freaks can do a-all r-r-rig-right for ourselves.”

Malagise raised his glass to his bride. “To you, my dear. And to life.” And with that, he gulped down the drink.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 32

2011-11-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

“This man,” began Roince Sans Pitie, gesturing at the Dev, “is Coppelius Spalanzani, a debtor of mine.”

Spalanzani glanced up, frantic. “I deny it! You’re lying! You must be thinking of someone else!” He looked around the room. “I have never seen this man before. Also, my name is… Spappelius… Colanzani…”

Roince coughed. “He is… slightly touched, I’m afraid.” He then turned towards Malachel. “Of course, this man is also in my debt. For a rather considerable sum, I must add. Which is how they met at my offices two months ago.”

Malachel glanced around nervously. “I’m certain you must be mistaken, sir…”

“One does not rise in my business with a faulty memory, Malachel,” replied Roince casually. “I recall the day perfectly. You had come for a scheduled meeting and Spalanzani burst in, demanding I give him a little more time.” He clapped his hands together. “Now--I must speculate on the rest, but I feel it is all--reasonable speculation. You must have inveigled Spalanzani into a rather… ill-considered kidnapping plot involving your fiancée. Assuming that was the anticipated source of funds you were going to pay me.”

Marfisa stared at the usurer. “Oh, that’s ridiculous!” She put her hands on her hips. “I mean--I know Malachel is… well… But he wouldn’t… or… well… I’m not that…” She began to fidget. “All right that’s probably not true. And… he could probably ask for extra-dowry afterwards for… Well… he couldn’t be sure…” She bit her lip. “But--anyway, it would be stupid. I mean--it’s not like he’d get paid immediately.” She spread her hands. “And look at everything that could go wrong…”

“Congratulations, Marshal,” said Roince. “You’ve put more thought into this in the last three minutes then Malachel put into it from--oh, however long he’s had this foolish little plan.”

Malachel glanced around nervously. “This is absurd. Absurd. I don’t have to listen to all this. I am leaving. Leaving these libelous and disgraceful accusations.” He started to head for the door.

Roince gave a distracted nod. “If you must. Oh--and Malachel?” The Maganza turned. “Consider our matters at an end.” Malachel’s eyes widened in fear. “Oh, don’t be a fool man. You’re the heir presumptive to the Ebony Throne. I’m not going to have some thugs go over you in an alley. I never much cared for that sort of method in any case. No, I shall merely have my men take what they can from your possessions, and write the rest off as a lost.” He yawned. “Of course, this finishes your credit everywhere, Malachel. There’s not a lender left in the whole of the Lands of Night who will touch you now.” Malachel gulped quietly, and then rushed out of the room.

Jean glanced around. “Shouldn’t somebody try to catch him, or something?”

“Justice may be level, but the law’s a slanted beast,” said Roince quietly. A crooked smile came on the moneylender’s face., as he pulled a silver length of chain from his coat pocket, and began to idly play with it “Still, I’ve wounded him in the only way a creature like him can be wounded. Well, my apologies to you all for this little scene. Good fortune follow you, and may my hosts have an excellent marriage.” He managed a stiff bow. “Adieu.” He started to head out, then turned to Marfisa. “I recommend you call off your engagement.”

As the red-clad man headed out the door, Nisrioch waved at him. “Are you sure you don’t wish to stay, sir? You seem like a fascinating fellow.”

Roince Sans Pitie shook his head. “Oh, no. Business else where, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m afraid I’d disappoint you terribly. I really am an awful brute. I just--know how to parcel my brutishness out.”

Nisrioch nodded. “Ahh. Well, perhaps some other time.”

The Duke Chiaramonte raised his glass. "Ladies--gentlemen--if I could get on with my toast..."

Guests at a Wedding--Part 31

2011-11-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

“I cannot believe they have forced us to sit next to each other!” shouted Manodante. He stuck his chin up in the air defiantly. “Now--pass the salt.”

“It is a grave injustice to see your hideous face while I eat,” replied Dagomir, as he handed Manodante the shaker. “The wine if you please?”

“My hideous face? My hideous face?” declared Manodante. “What of yours, you baboon? Red wine or white?”

“A baboon he says! A baboon! The indignity!” muttered Dagomir huffily. “Red. Goes better with a meat pudding, I find.”

“Friends, friends, a toast!” called Malagise from the front of the hall, as he ended his dance with his wife. “I bid you all--”

And that was when a man in dark clothing was hurled onto the floor, quickly being followed by Marfisa Mongrave, who jumped on top of him and began to rain blows down upon him. Several more dark-clad individuals crept out to the floor and rushed on the girl. This proved to be far less advisable then they apparently imagined, and soon they were falling forward in voiceless pain. Marfisa stood up, and dusted herself off. “Umm--sorry about this,” she muttered awkwardly. She coughed. “Really. Sorry.”

The entire hall was filled with excited murmurs. “Really, Duke Chiaramonte,” said Malachel, rising from his seat, “I must protest! Twice now the peace has been broken by this… unseemliness!” Roince Sans Pitie sitting next to the young nobleman, rolled his eyes. “If this sort of… rudeness is going to continue to trouble your wedding feast, then I shall leave. Immediately!” As he started to the door, the way was barred by Nisrioch.

The Dark Lord of the Screaming Waste spread his hands. “I must insist everyone stays seated. There is mischief afoot, which my… friends here have uncovered.” He stepped out of the way, allowing Faileuba, Meliadus and Gwyd to enter. The three Chivalrous Warriors escorted a disheveled Dev with off-center horns and rather scrawny wings between them.

Gwyd stepped forward and gestured to the Dev. “We were just taking advantage of His Excellency’s Clemency to get the--leave this fair city, when we found… this guy behaving suspiciously.”

“This is an outrage, an outrage,” muttered the Dev. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. Noth--” Suddenly he saw the dark-suited figures writhing on the ground. “Oh, my poor babies! My poor dears!”

Malagise knelt next to one of the figures and nodded. “Homunculi. Well, this explains a great deal. I was wondering how the damned things didn’t register on the defenses I set up at the chapel…”

Malachel blinked. “Well--then--the matter is solved. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Nisrioch stroked his chin. “Actually, I would say it is not solved at all. There is still the question of why our interloper sent his creations to attack us…”

“He’s mad,” snapped Malachel. “Doesn’t that answer everything?”

“Not really,” replied Nisrioch.

“Actually,” said Roince Sans Pitie, “I believe I can venture a guess.”

Manodante shook his head. “Well--this is a damned nuisance!” He glanced at Dagomir. “No way we’re getting seconds soon!”

“Like you need any, you fat sack of entrails!” snapped Dagomir.

“Everyone’s fat next to you, you scrawny sack of bones!” snapped Manodante.

The rest of the Houses of Aesir and Vanir all sighed. In truth, Dagomir and Manodante were both of perfectly average builds, but they regularly ignored this fact in their insult matches.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 30

2011-11-12T14:19:00.001-08:00

Marfisa smiled as she watched the Duke and his wife dance. “Awww.” She leaned forward on the table. “I’m so glad I got to go here. And without Roddy!” She coughed. “I mean--I love him--but… he tends to hover and… not that I’m ungrateful--he’s like a--”

Elaine looked at her levelly. “He isn’t here, you know.”

Marfisa collapsed on the table, and let out a squeak. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Elaine looked away. “I won’t.” She turned over to Jean, then kicked her lightly in the foot.

The apprentice sorceress’ eyes snapped open. “Hmm. What? Wha…?”

“You were dozing off again,” said Elaine.

“I was not!” declared Jean, with a yawn. “I was just--meditating.”

“Drooling onto the table is meditating?” asked Elaine.

“Yes! Ask Nisrioch, he’d tell you!” Jean looked around. “Where is he?”

“He went off after Pinabel and Tessina twenty minutes ago,” said Elaine. She raised her hand. “And before you ask--Morgaine and Flordespina reappeared, then vanished shortly thereafter--Pinador and Malina went back to the sweetmeat table right after that.”

Jean blinked. “So it’s just us?” Elaine nodded. “All right then,” said Jean, who then lay her head back on the table.

Elaine kicked her lightly in the shin. “Oh, come on!”

“What?” said Jean. “We got through all the important stuff. Now it’s all just… socializing. And I’m tired.”

“Remind me how you functioned as River Trader again?” asked Elaine.

“Badly,” murmured Jean. “I sucked, remember? Now… sleep!”

Marfisa giggled. Elaine turned towards her. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh--nothing really,” she said. “It’s just--well, I like having people my own age to talk to. Back in Tremisoma, it’s just me--and Ruggier. It get’s lonely at…”

Marfisa would have finished that thought, if a black-draped arm hadn’t slumped down from above, and a cold hand hadn’t grabbed her shoulder.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 29

2011-11-10T09:19:00.000-08:00

“A Conclave of Hierophants and Knights,” said Faileuba.

Meliadus sighed and pushed his little pile of buttons towards her. “Okay. You win.”

“AH HA!” declared Faileuba cheerily. “All mine!” She glanced at her partner. “Want to play another hand?”

Meliadus nodded. “Sure but you’ll have to spot me another loan.”

“Okay, but you’re already sixty buttons in debt to me,” said Faileuba. “I’m not a button bank, you know.” As she dolled out the buttons, she coughed. “You know, I think I’ve got the entire situation figured out.”

Meliadus looked at Gwyd. The Goblin had seated himself on the floor, like a Contemplative, and had resolutely shut his eyes. “I think we’re in for a fun one,” Meliadus noted.

“Quiet, you fool,” snapped Gwyd. “I’m trying to find inner peace.”

“Good luck, then,” said Meliadus. He turned to Faileuba. “All right--shoot.”

“So--we’ve got guys in dark suits, who vanish mysteriously, right?” she said. Meliadus nodded. “Well, it’s clear then--King Sutekh’s back! He’s gathering his undying hordes, and he’s preparing to conquer the Lands of Night once more! Just as he vowed at his defeat!”

Gwyd’s eyes opened wearily. “And he’s starting at the… wedding of the Duke of Chiaramonte.”

Faileuba glanced away. “Well--he has to start somewhere…”

Gwyd took a deep breath and glanced at Meliadus. “Okay, I admit it--you were right.”

Meliadus shrugged. “Do you think I’m surprised?”

Gwyd stood up, and walked to the end of the cell. “When I contemplate the direction my life has taken since I left the Guild of the Sword, I am filled with horror.”

“Gwyd--is that you?” came a voice. The Goblin looked up in horror. A thin, muscular Goblin stood there, dressed in a bright red jacket laced with gold thread and dark black pants.

“Coristan?” said Gwyd nervously. “Fancy meeting you… here. “

“I was about to say the same thing,” noted Coristan.

Gwyd gave an awkward nod. After a long, uneasy silence, he asked, “So I see you made Master.”

“Yep, yep,” said Coristan. He looked at his old friend for a while. “So--how has leaving the Guild to seek your fortune gone…?”

“Take a guess,” snapped Gwyd.

Coristan looked awkwardly away. “Right. Well. I just got orders from His Excellency--you three are to be released as an act of…” He pulled out a piece of paper and read it. “'Clemency on the day of the Blessed Anclesus'.”

Faileuba clapped her hands together. “Woo-hoo! Thank you, Blessed Anclesus!”

Meliadus scratched his head. “Isn’t he the patron spirit who wards away scrofula?” Faileuba looked. “What? I had a religious upbringing.” He coughed. “I mean, part of it involved knowing all the ways to cripple and kill--but it also covered the normal parts of religion.”

Gwyd turned to Coristan. “Any chance you could leave them in here?”

“Nope,” answered the tall Goblin

“How about just me?” asked Gwyd.

Coristan shook his head again.

“Figured,” said Gwyd with a deep look of disappointment.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 28

2011-11-08T11:22:00.001-08:00

The homunculi were weeping when Coppelius Spalanzani saw them--or attempting to do so as best they could as barely coherent clouds of vapor. “Oh, my poor darlings! My poor babies! Some nasty fellow has hurt you!” muttered the alchemist. Turning to his oversized Philosopher’s Egg, he lit a small fire. “Come inside, my dears, and we’ll get you all properly sorted out.” The homunculi slid into the equipment with contented sighs.

Spalanzani sat back, and ran a hand through his disordered black hair and over his slightly off-center horns as he watched them. The sacrifices he had to make for his art. A well-constructed homunculus was the highest expression of alchemical expertise--despite what those fools who chased after the Stone and the Elixir might think--life brought forth from its Essential Elements, by the application of the Art. True, they couldn’t speak, and required a great deal instruction to perform tasks, but then--wasn’t that true of all children?

As he watched his creations reform, Spalanzani wiped a tear from his eye. He hated taking jobs such as this, and risking his precious darlings. But if he didn’t, he couldn’t afford to create more homunculi.

Several of them had already reformed. Spalanzani started to lay out clothes for them. Simple black suits were good enough, he found. Some liked to put them in more elaborate outfits, but Spalanzani noted that the poor things rather frequently got confused by them. He was interrupted by thoughtspeak from his employer.

You bumbling fool! Imbecile! Is this what I am paying you for?

“Dreadful apologies, sir,” said Spalanzani, who decided not to mention the fact that his employer hadn’t paid anything yet. “I… they are… a bit unused to such detailed work.”

They were supposed to get the… target.

“They’ll try again, sir.” answered Spalanzani.

‘Try‘? I cannot afford having them ‘try‘. They will succeed, or you and your little… pets will pay. Even if you fail, I’ll have the power to make sure of that.

Spalanzani gulped. He knew his employer wasn’t simply boasting about that. “I… yes, sir. I’ll get them on it.”

Very good.

As his employer’s mind ceased to intrude on his thoughts, Spalanzani took a deep breath. At times like this, he almost wished he’d never taken up the High Art. Still--he had, and indeed, it had brought him what moments of joy existed in his life.

He turned back to his homunculi and noticed that several were trying to put on their clothes One had gotten its head in a shirtsleeve. Spalanzani gave a fond shake of his head, and went to assist the poor thing.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 27

2011-11-05T10:38:00.000-07:00

Elaine glanced around the table. “Well--it’s definitely been… interesting.” She bit her lip, and fidgeted slightly. “I mean not many weddings have riots…”

Tessina glanced at her husband and chuckled. “You should have seen ours…”

Pinabel nodded. “We had to flee the chapel just as the ceremony ended to escape Eudropin’s hounds.” He gathered a forkful of food, and then paused. “Does anyone know what happened back there? Aside from the obvious?”

“I believe the present theory is that the trio staged an attack to ingratiate themselves,” said Nisrioch. “Thus, allowing themselves to move closer to their targets.”

Pinabel stared at the Dark Lord pointedly, his one eye fixing on Nisrioch. “And you do not believe this, I gather?”

“When I met them on the road, all those three were thinking about was getting their next meal--by illicit methods if necessary,” stated Nisrioch. “That is not the behavior of professional assassins. It is barely the behavior of professional mercenaries.”

Pinabel nodded. “I must confess--I find Roince Sans Pitie’s presence here--unsettling.”

Jean glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

Pinabel hesitated in his response--only to have Tessina make it. “He’s a professional usurer. Malachel is deeply in debt to him.” Her husband glanced at her. “What? It’s open knowledge. The young King-in-waiting loves to spend money but doesn’t know how to earn it. That’s chased away most the reputable moneylenders, and left him prey to people like Roince.”

Pinabel stood up. “I believe I shall go get some drinks.” He walked away.

Nisrioch looked at Tessina. “I fear you’ve offended your husband.”

Tessina nestled her chin in her hand. “Oh, life these days offends Pinabel, the poor dear. He put such faith in the Great Lines to put things right, and now look at how things stand. Asterot is a drunken disgrace. The Belfior Maganzas are all horrible in their own unique way. Fiordespina’s the only one with any lick of sense and--well, a woman can’t sit on the Ebony Throne. Especially not a… you know.” She shook her head. “He did so much to save the family--and now it’s still dying.”

Nisrioch smiled. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“Would I have married him otherwise?” answered Tessina.

“I knew it had to be pretty deep, because of the…” began Jean--who then stopped, and looked away.

“Were you going to say ‘the face‘?” asked Tessina. She shrugged. “My husband is a great man--a hero. I consider that far more important than his appearance.” She looked at Jean pointedly. “He’s my second husband, you know. My first--Baltazar--was far better looking--even before Pinabel had his accident.” Tessina’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, a glory to behold Baltazar Druines. Handsome as could be without--foul as could be within.” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “I do not miss him. In the least.”

“What--happened to him?” asked Elaine.

“He had an accident,” responded Tessina blankly. “Fell down some stares in Castle Druines. Died immediately.”

Elaine nodded.

“Hey, guys!” said Marfisa, returning to the table with Pinador and Malina in tow. “We’ve got sugarplums!”

Malina chewed hers contentedly. “They’re very good!”

Tessina glanced at her son. “Now--Pinador--don’t spoil your appetite with sweets.”

“Okay, mother,” said the young boy, wolfing down his sugarplum.

Marfisa looked at Elaine. “What were you all talking about?”

“This and that,” answered Elaine nervously.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 26

2011-11-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

“That was brilliant,” snapped Gwyd, as the guards escorted them to the cells.

“Hey,” said Faileuba. “The Code!” She turned up her nose. “I was justified.”

Meliadus nodded. “She’s got you there.”

Gwyd stared at the pair for a moment. “Tell me--is the Code written down anywhere, or do you just make it up as you go along?”

The two Erls both appeared lost in thought for a while. “Really,” said Faileuba, “it’s more of an intuitive thing.”

“Right,” said Meliadus. “You know you’re following the Code when you are.”

Gwyd’s lip trembled for a moment. Then he blinked several times in succession. “Are you two out of your puny minds?”

Meliadus nodded. “Probably.”

Faileuba glanced at her partners. “Oh, I’d say definitely.”

Gwyd sighed as he entered the cell. “Honestly, I should view this as a relief. A way out of this damned association.” He smiled to himself. “Maybe--maybe they’ll send me to the salt mines. That’s good, productive labor.”

Meliadus glanced at Faileuba. “I think we broke him.”

“Ohhh,” groaned Faileuba. “That means the only person I have to make fun of is you. And that’s no fun, because you don’t care.”

“Hey, I’m in the same position!” noted Meliadus. “Well, sort of--only ‘me’ for ‘you’ and ‘you’ for ‘me’.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” said Faileuba. She stretched her arms. “Hey, wanna try a quick game of small foldol? I have some cards.”

“Are they marked?” asked Meliadus.

Faileuba looked around awkwardly. “No. Of course not,” she said weakly.

Meliadus thought it over, then shrugged. “Well, not like I have anything better to do.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 25

2011-11-01T08:46:00.001-07:00

Malagise walked with his family towards the Festhall. “Well, on the whole, a lovely ceremony,” said the Duke finally.

“S-s-save for it being interrupted by a r-riot t-towards the end, y-y-yes,” noted Zenobia with a smile.

“Note I said ‘on the whole’,” stated Malagise firmly.

“That is an interesting way of putting it,” stated Lanfusa. “And I guess if a man loses a leg, he should be considered ‘on the whole’ quite lucky.”

Malagise frowned. “Thank you for your opinion, Mumsy.”

Lanfusa snorted and glanced at Aldigier. “Well, I see marriage hasn’t changed him.”

“Mmm,” muttered Aldigier.

“I sh-sh-should hope it wouldn’t,” said Zenobia. “I married him as he w-was, after a-all.”

Lanfusa stared at her new daughter-in-law, a disapproving frown coming over her face. Lanfusa Chiaramonte was not a woman used to having people talk back to her--indeed, she was used to them staring at her blankly as their minds tried to process the fact that a little old woman had said that. She had a great distrust of people who didn’t react that way. They were usually trouble.

“Well,” she announced suddenly, “You didn’t have much choice in that, did you? Mind you, I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. I’m happy Mal found someone willing to put up with him.”

“Oh, I am,” stated Zenobia calmly. “And ev-ev-everything that comes w-w-with him.”

Lanfusa blinked. Not only was that reply prompt, and seemingly apt, but on further reflection it seemed to have--implications that Lanfusa wasn’t sure she appreciated.

Malagise laughed gently, and patted his wife’s hand. “Isn’t she wonderful? Come on. To the Festhall. I think you will find it is a MARVEL.” Malagise and Zenobia strode ahead.

Lanfusa watched them head to the door of the Festhall, then glanced at Aldigier. “Stop smirking,” she declared, her eyes tightening into a glare.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Aldigier good-naturedly.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 24

2011-10-29T07:22:00.001-07:00

Jean turned suddenly, as the shout reverberated throughout the church. “What the…?”

In the back of building, a large fight was going on. The participants were the three “Chivalrous Warriors” Nisrioch had picked up and a large group of individuals in dark clothing. Said individuals were losing rather badly--especially to Faileuba and Meliadus, both of whom were fighting bare-handed.

Elaine glanced at her uncle. “This is your fault.”

“Fault?” said Nisrioch innocently. “I prefer to see this as… entertainment.”

“You would,” muttered Jean, as she watched Faileuba take out one of the dark-clad people with a kick to the chest, then follow it up by doing a handspring off of the falling man’s shoulders. She blinked. “That was impossible.”

“Then how’d she do it?” asked Elaine, as Meliadus launched a rapid flurry of blows on the chest of the man in front of him, while kicking the man behind him in the shin with such force as to make his foe collapse.

“No idea,” muttered Jean, as Gwyd disarmed a sword-wielding opponent with his staff, then knocked the man unconscious. She looked over at Nisrioch who was watching all the havoc with interest obvious in his multi-hued eyes. “You saw this coming, didn’t you?”

Nisrioch shook his hand dismissively. “Only vague hints of it. Really, half the reason I came here was to see it all unfold.”

Meliadus launched into several of his foes, knocking them aside easily. One of them slashed at him desperately with a knife. The Erl side-stepped the attack with such eerie grace, and speed that all his opponent managed to strike was his shirt. Meliadus smirked at him, then struck him down with a powerful blow to the head. As the last few dark clad men fled, he clapped his hands together, and looked at the assembly confidently. “A job well done!” he declared, just a tad too loudly.

The Abbot stared at him in shock, then pointed. “The… the Br-broken Circle!” he said in a quavering voice. “A Cruel Disciple!”

Meliadus glanced down at his chest, where the image a circle cleft in two was tattooed. “Ah. Yeah. That.” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Whoops.”

Faileuba stepped in front of him. “Okay, everyone stay CALM!” she shouted. “I mean--he’s done nothing wrong, and if you try anything, I will hurt you.” With that, she flexed her hands together, causing them to crackle with a pale yellow light.

At this point, there was a nervous cry from the room. “Thanatos! Thanatos!”

“HEY!” shouted Faileuba. “Didn’t I tell you to calm down? I mean--we just saved you all from…” She glanced around at their felled opponents. “What appears to be a bunch of… empty black clothing.”

Gwyd winced. “I knew coming here was a bad idea…” he muttered.

Elaine heard a rustling behind her, and turned to see that Morgaine and Flordespina Maganza. “Hey, guys!” said the diminutive sorceress. “What did we miss?”

“How… where did you…?” began Elaine.

“Not important,” replied Morgaine. “Now answer the question.”

“Umm, sure,” began Elaine nervously. “The ceremony was--well, typical, and kind of long and tedious, and then those people Nisrioch picked up got into a fight with this… other group of people, and now the other people are gone, and it turns out the people Nisrioch picked up were a Cruel Disciple, and a Thanatos.”

Morgaine stroked her chin. “I’m probably going to have to get that explained to me again. Likely several times.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 23

2011-10-27T08:51:00.000-07:00

Gwyd stood at the back of the building, watching the ceremony with a slight smile on his face. He’d forgotten what a lovely place White Pine could be, when a person didn’t get distracted by unpleasantness.

“Gwyd!” shouted Faileuba.

Gwyd turned, as the unpleasant distraction grew closer. “What is it Faileuba?”

“You won’t believe it!” she said gleefully. “Meliadus and I just had an awesome fight with a bunch of shifty characters!”

Gwyd sighed as Meliadus approached. “Mel…” the Goblin stated accusingly.

“She’s telling the truth,” said Meliadus. “And they attacked us, so it’s completely legitimate.”

“Yep!” agreed Faileuba with a nod. “It’s all in the Code.”

Gwyd turned around and rested his head against one of the temple’s pillars. “So--a bunch of… shifty characters… attacked you. Any idea why?”

Faileuba shook her head. “Nope. All I know is that for once, it has nothing to do with me.” She stroked her chin nervously. “At least--so far as I know…”

Meliadus nodded. “Yeah. We even went over every grudge she could recall on the way here. None of them quite work.”

Gwyd nodded dully. “So… what do your… mystery attackers look like?”

“Oh, just a bunch of guys in dark clothing,” answered Faileuba with a shrug. She looked over the room and then blinked. “Sort of like that… guy over there. Trying to hide behind the pillar. All… sinister like.” A slow smile spread over the Chivalrous Warrior’s face. She began to walk away. “Just… give me a minute.”

“Fai--Fai!” hissed Gwyd. “This is a wedding! A WEDDING!” He turned to Meliadus for support only to see the lanky Erl was cracking his knuckles and preparing to follow Faileuba. “You too…?”

“You have to understand, Gwyd,” stated Meliadus, “it’s been--oh, fifteen minutes since I had a fight. And when I’m given such a clear opportunity to have one--in the cause of good--well, how can I resist?”

Gwyd watched the Erls walk towards the man in the corner. “You two are crazy, you know that?” He shook his head, and then readied his staff. “I am getting much too old for this crap,” he muttered, as he headed off after them.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 22

2011-10-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

Justinian leaned back in the pew, his face pale. “That poor goat.”

“It’s ritual,” hissed Eurydice. “Now, sit up straight.”

Justinian did so. “Sorry.” He looked over at the Vanir and Aesir contingents, who were both busily ignoring each other. “You know, I have to ask--why were they invited?”

“They’re cousins to the Chiaramontes,” answered Eurydice.

Justinian blinked. “Both of them?”

“Yes,” said Eurydice. “It’s the result of many years of the Dukes Chiaramonte playing both ends against the middle.” She sighed. “The Mountain Clans used to cause a lot of trouble. Back in the old days.”

“Tell me, why is you people seem to spend more time fighting each other than the Lands of Light?” asked Justinian quietly.

Eurydice shook her head. “Typical.” She sighed. “Sometimes, Squire Sigma, I almost forget your from… over there… and then you say something like that.” The chambermaid shut her eyes. “We Nightfolk aren’t like you Milesians. We’re proud of our lands, and we value our independence. You won’t see us bowing to any Holy Emperor!”

“You won’t see us doing it either,” said Justinian. “There isn’t one anymore.” He frowned. “Well, all right, the Easter King says he is, but no one takes him seriously…” He glanced over at pillar. “Eurydice?”

“Mmm,” muttered the chambermaid with a nod.

“Who is that guy in dark clothing, trying to hide behind a pillar?” he asked, with a nod of his head in the direction he wanted her to look in.

Eurydice glanced to the side, and then blinked. “I… don’t know.”

Justinian nodded. “Tell me--is my--impression that this is bad news… correct?”

Eurydice bit her lip, and then nodded herself. “Probably.”

“Thought so,” said Justinian. He sighed. “Why is it something always happens? Eh? It always seems that we’re going to have a nice, pleasant time, but then--something happens.”

Eurydice merely buried her face in her hands.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 21

2011-10-22T09:28:00.000-07:00

Elaine and Jean watched Marfisa slowly, formally walk forward through the cathedral, holding the axe before her, while stately organ music played in the background “You know,” whispered Jean. “I always got the impression that Nightfolk weddings were more… casual things.”

“They can be,” said Elaine. “Mom and Mansemat just went for standing under a tree and kissing the axe. But some people splurge.”

Jean nodded, and then tapped Elaine in the shoulder. “Hey--look at Malachel.” Elaine turned her head, only for Jean to gesture for her to stop. “Not like that. He’ll see you looking at him.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “So you want me to look at him, without… looking at him.”

“Exactly,” declared Jean. “Just move your eyes.”

Elaine tried to follow her friend’s instruction. “Okay.” She blinked. “Damn. He’s--staring at her.”

“Yep,” muttered Jean. “So… at least their marriage will have that going for it.”

Elaine shuddered slightly. “Yeah. Somehow--I don’t think so. That’s not… good staring. It’s… creepy staring.”

Jean nodded regretfully. “Yeah. You’re right.” She sighed. “Why does someone as nice Marfisa have to draw an utter slime like Malachel?”

Elaine waved her hand. “It’s these Shadow Wood noble houses. Big on arranged marriages, and the like. You should read The Prince of Dead Leaves to give you a feel for it…”

“I’ll pass,” said Jean.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” chided Elaine.

“Yeah, I do,” answered Jean. “A book. A very long, very elaborate book.”

“Have we missed anything?” asked Nisrioch as he sat down next to the pair, with Malina beside him.

“Just a lot of walking,” said Jean. “Where…?”

“She was with Pinador,” answered Nisrioch. “It was rather sweet.” He glanced over the crowd. “Who is that fellow in red next Malachel Maganza?”

“Roince Sans Pitie,” said Elaine. “Some kind of… business associate, apparently.”

“Malachel has business?” said Nisrioch incredulously.

“Apparently,” said Jean.

“So where are Morgaine and Flordespina?” asked Nisrioch.

“We don’t know,” said Elaine. “And we don’t want to.”

Nisrioch nodded. “Well, that’s sensible, I suppose.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 20

2011-10-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

“This is damned annoying,” muttered Faileuba as the trio raced ahead. “Have I mentioned that?”

“Only a half a hundred times in the last twenty minutes,” said Gwyd.

The Erl blew a stray bang out of her face, and then glared at the Goblin. “That is not an accurate count,” she declared.

“Actually, it is,” said Meliadus. Faileuba glared at him. He glanced away sheepishly. “Hey, I’m just trying to be neutral here.”

Faileuba snarled as she turned away. “Yeah, whatever.” Her eyes brightened. “Hey, this looks like a shortcut to the cathedral! Great!”

Gwyd raised his hand. “Faileuba! Wait…” He sighed, and turned to his partner. “So--remind me again--she’s the one who insisted on keeping her distance from the Arbiter--she’s the one who got the directions wrong--she’s pretty much the cause of this entire mess--and we stay with her…”

“The Code, man,” said Meliadus with a shrug. He looked at Gwyd pointedly. “Want to go get her?”

“You do it,” said the Goblin, turning away. “I don’t know if I could handle it.”

Meliadus nodded and raced after his companion. “Hey, Fai! Wait up!”

Faileuba glanced back at him. “Excuse me? We’re already late!”

“I really don’t…” began Meliadus, and then paused. “What’s that?”

Six men dressed in dark clothing stood there, staring at the pair in surprise. “Ummm… hi!” said Faileuba, with a casual wave.

The six men stared at them for a moment, then drew knives and dove at the two chivalrous warriors.

“Oooh! A fight!” declared Faileuba joyously. As one of the men slashed at her, she blocked the blade with her hand.

To her assailant’s immense surprise, his knife snapped in two. Looking at the female Erl, he watched as her hands began to glow. Glancing over at Meliadus, he saw that the lanky Erl had just dispatched two of his fellows with a single kick.

It suddenly occurred to him that now would be a good time to run.

Meliadus looked at Faileuba as their opponents beat a hasty retreat. “Any idea what that was about, Fai?”

“None at all,” answered Faileuba. Meliadus raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“Well, come on,” said Meliadus. “It’s--you. You have to understand my skepticism.”

She nodded. “Okay. Point.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 19

2011-10-18T09:45:00.000-07:00

Malina skipped merrily down the road, while Pinador followed her. “Now this is the most neatest thing!” explained the little Dev. “I saw it while me an’ Sis an’ Jean were out yesterday!”

Pinador glanced back at the crowd. “Sh-shouldn’t we go to the wedding?”

Malina gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’ll just say we forgot. I do that all the time, and it always works on grownups.”

Pinador blinked. “Really?”

Malina bit her lip. “Well, sometimes they get a little mad, but then you just frownen your face up, and say you’re really, REALLY sorry, and things go all right.”

Pinador scratched his head in disbelief. “If you say so…”

“Oh, don’t be a baby!” said Malina. “This is so neat and cool it’ll be worth it!”

Pinador nodded. “Okay. Okay. It’s just--it’s spooky not having any grownups around.”

“Is not!” said Malina, putting her chin up. “I don’t get scared by stupid things like that! I’m like my Daddy, brave and jivalrus.”

“My Daddy is jivalrus too!” said Pinador fiercely. “He lost an eye saving the King--and he saved my mommy’s life when she was on trial by jousting!” He looked around. “That’s when two people get on top of horses and try to knock each other off with sticks.”

“I know what jousting is!” said Malina. She glanced at the young Erl. “What was your mommy on trial for?”

“Murder,” said Pinador casually.

“Ohh,” said Malina with a nod. “Was she guilty?”

“No!” replied Pinador. “That’s why Daddy was able to save her.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Well that and he’s the greatest jouster ever. And their love was true. And other stuff.”

Malina clapped her hands together. “Wow! That’s a much neaterer story than how my Daddy married either of my Mommies!” She glanced ahead. “Okay--we’re here!” She gestured to a small fountain carved in the shape of a naked Goblin boy urinating. “See?”

“Oh, neat!” said Pinador.

“Yeah,” Malina agreed with a nod. “It’s cool because he’s peeing,” she added in a confidential whisper.

“Mmm hmm,” said Pinador. Malina regarded him for a moment, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Pinador pulled away. “Ewww!” He looked at the young Dev. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because I like you!” she said. “Now we have to get married!”

“Nuh uh!” said Pinador shaking his head.

“Uh huh!” said Malina.

They were still discussing this matter when Nisrioch found them.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 18

2011-10-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

“I m-m-must say,” said Psyche as they walked down the Red Path, “this has all b-b-been m-m-most ex-ex-exquisite.”

“Ahh,” said Malagise, “just wait my love. The wonders I have to show you beggar all description!”

Psyche snickered. “That is s-s-so like a m-m-man,” she stated gleefully.

Malagise glanced at his fiancée. “Hmm?” He blinked. “Oh, that. No, not I was talking about. That is completely normal, and utterly unremarkable.”

“You p-p-poor thing,” said Psyche.

“It serves its function well enough,” replied Malagise. “And anyway, I do all the hard work for the damn thing, and it gets all the credit.” He sighed and shook his head. “Frankly, it makes for a rather strained relationship at times.”

Zenobia shook her head. “W-w-well, M-m-Mal, I’ll s-suh-say this--conversations with you will never be d-d-dull.”

“I should hope not, Suky,” noted Malagise. He gestured ahead. “Look--Our Darksome Lady In Perpetual Gloom!”

The building at the end of the wide red-brick road was a massive edifice that looked like a fortress. It was covered in engravings and statues--the familiar images of Mother Night on her Lotus Throne, resting on the Dragon’s back, an image of the Dragon fighting with a gigantic winged lion, images of children, followed by images of men, followed by images of old men, followed by images of skeletons. And then there were birds, beasts, and fish--flowers, trees, and bushes--rivers, lakes, and oceans.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” noted Malagise, his voice a fervent whisper. “I first saw it years ago as a boy. I swore then if I’d ever be wed, it would be in there.:

“Ahhh, so the tr-tr-truth is revealed,” said Zenobia. “That is why White P-p-Pine.”

“What can I say?” answered Malagise. “I am sentimental. Can you forgive me for this trifling flaw?”

The Dev smiled. “It is why I’m m-m-marrying you,” she noted. “My parents were wed w-w-without sentiment.” She shook her head. “Let us say--it was not a h-h-happy marriage and leave it at that.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 17

2011-10-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

Jean Crow watched as Lady Psyche Zenobia and Duke Malagise joined hands.

“You know,” she whispered to Elaine, “they’re actually kind of… sweet.” Elaine looked at her. “Proof there’s someone for everyone, I mean.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow. “You know--I always thought that was a pretty damn stupid saying.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Right. Right.” She sighed and shook her head. “I should realize by now that this isn’t something I can talk about with you.”

“You should,” agreed Elaine. She turned to see Justinian Sigma approaching them.

“Miss du Lac, Miss Crow,” he stated with a stiff bow. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around very much. Eurydice needed my assistance.”

Jean smiled crookedly. “I can imagine.”

Justinian frowned. “We’ve been cleaning bedrooms. That is all.”

“Oooh, so that’s what you call it,” snickered Jean.

“I really don’t know why I bother,” said Justinian with a sigh.

“Well, I can guess that,” said Jean. “After all, bedrooms must be cleaned every now and then.”

Justinian seemed about to turn, when Eurydice reached his side. “Squire Sigma!” she stated. “I just realized I never got around to thanking properly for all your help…” Jean began to giggle furiously. Eurydice paused. “What’s she…?”

Justinian brought a hand to his forehead. “Take a guess,” he stated tiredly.

Eurydice thought it over, and then frowned. “I see.” She glared at Jean. “You have a filthy mind, Miss Crow. To imagine…” She bit her lip. “I’m a good girl.” Eurydice crossed her arms. “Anyway nothing untoward happened. We merely turned out sheets, dusted, and straightened things.” A twinkle came to the chambermaid’s eye. “It was wonderful!”

As a beaming Eurydice walked away, Elaine looked at Jean. “You know there might be something in that saying after all…”

“Shut up,” muttered Jean.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 16

2011-10-11T10:04:00.000-07:00

“So,” Faileuba asked Gwyd, “why are these the Ghoulish Stairs again?”

“Because Ghouls made them,” said the Goblin, with a woeful sigh.

Faileuba frowned. “Well, that’s just stupid. I mean--would you call this wall the ‘Erlish Wall’ because Erls made it?”

“Not really,” answered Gwyd. “Because Goblins made it.”

Faileuba bit her lip. “That was a hypothetical example.”

Meliadus glanced at her, as music began to play. “Do you even know what that means?”

Faileuba snorted. “Of course I do! It…” She blinked. “Uh oh. I know that tune.” She darted behind Meliadus.

“Ummm… what…?” muttered the Erl nervously.

“It’s the Arbiter!” Faileuba hissed. “I have to hide!” With that, she ran off into an alleyway. A moment later, a pair of Mountain Erls--a man and a woman--emerged from it, looking rather shaken., and then pointedly began to walk in opposite directions of one another.

“Hmmm. Looks like someone was getting lucky,” noted Meliadus.

“Until they got Faileuba,” said Gwyd with a sigh. He shook his head. “I do wish she’d tell us what went down in Albracca. We might be able to help.”

Meliadus nodded. “And I wish you’d tell me what happened here. For the same reason.”

The Goblin raised his hand. “It was just--Guild of the Sword bullshit. Not important to anybody but me.”

“Not much of an answer, pal,” said Meliadus.

Gwyd glared at his partner. “Yeah. Well, it’s all you’re getting. There are things we keep private in this association. Which is why I’ve never asked you about those tattoos of yours.”

Meliadus nodded. “Fair enough.” The pair watched as the female Dev with stunted wings walked down the stairs towards a fat little Erl dressed in rich clothes. “I’m still trying to figure out who’s the lucky one in this relationship.”

“They’re both richer than we’ll ever be,” said Gwyd. “Descendents of some of the oldest families of the Lands of Night. So really--are we in any position to mock?”

“Yes,” answered Meliadus. “I have to do something to feel better.”

He glanced back at the alleyway. Faeileuba briefly stuck her head out, saw Madame Zenobia, and then went back to hiding.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 15

2011-10-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

“You know, people forget this bit,” announced Morgaine as she and Nisrioch raced down the hall. “They talk about the inconveniences, but nine out of ten of any of these things is standing around waiting for stuff to happen.”

Nisrioch glanced at his sister. “We aren’t exactly doing that, are we?”

“I’m being figurative!” shrieked Morgaine. A male and female Erl jumped out of a nearby nook in surprise, stared at the Cthoniques for a moment, then rushed away.

“Very loudly so,” noted Nisrioch.

“Quiet, you,” snapped Morgaine. She shook her head, ruefully. “What are we doing? Rushing to the Ghoulish Steps so we can stand around and wait for the freaking Bride to walk down them! Honestly, bro. I really regret getting dragged along for this.” She pointed at her brother. “I mean--can you name one good reason for me to be here?”

A pair of thin pale arms snaked around her. “My magnificent cadaver,” purred a familiar voice.

“Despi!” squealed Morgaine, falling back and nuzzling with the taller Erl.

“Mmm, my exquisite vision of netherworldly enchantment,” murmured Fiordespina Maganza, resting her head on Morgaine’s. “Have you missed me?”

“You have to ask?” said Morgaine, taking Fiordespina’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you had an invitation,” replied Fiordespina. “So I acquired one for myself.”

“Oh, you’d do that for me?” cooed Morgaine, fluttering her eyelashes.

Fiordespina curled one of her fingers in Morgaine’s hair. “Anything for my Lady of Dark Desire.”

Morgaine shut her eyes. “Mmmm,” she whimpered blissfully. Nisrioch coughed. “What?” asked Morgaine, her eyes snapping open.

“The Ghoulish Stairs…” noted her brother quietly.

Morgaine gave a dismissive wave. “Yeah. Go on without me. I’ll catch up. Eventually.” Fiordespina planted a kiss on the Dark Lord’s forehead, causing Morgaine to release a cheerful giggle.

“Well, I see you can now think of ONE reason to be here,” muttered Nisrioch as he walked away.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 14

2011-10-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

The Abbot of Eternal Darkness coughed. “Rather nippy today, I think.”

Aldigier Chiaramonte nodded. “Mmmm. It’s early Ventose. So--it’s to be expected.”

“True, true, but…” The old Erl sighed, and fiddled with the necklace of beads that hung at his side. “This is colder than the norm. It’s rare to see a cold Ventose after a warm Pluviose. Some say it’s an ill omen. Things not following their natural course, and so forth.”

Aldigier raised one grey eyebrow. “Lord Abbot, some say a calf being born with one horn is an ill omen. They may be correct, but I have my doubts.” Having said that, the Bastard of Cremonia returned to his usual silence.

The Abbot picked up the heavy tome before him. “So then--you wish for--the traditional service, yes?” Aldigier nodded brusquely. “Oh, good, good!” declared the old man cheerily. “Too many people want the quick version these days.” He sighed. “I tell you, it is depressing, seeing them wishing to rush through the most sacred rite that produces the most sacred bond…” The Abbot realized who he was speaking with, and coughed nervously. “Well, one of the most sacred bonds, anyway.”

Aldigier smiled despite himself. “Of course.” He yawned. “So--I assume you are prepared for all this.”

“Oh, yes,” noted the Abbot. “I’ve even purchased the required goat.” He smiled. “Pure black! Quite auspicious.”

Aldigier nodded again. “I assume so.”

“I must thank you once again for the donation,” the Abbot stated. “Your family has been most generous to our See.” He sniffled. “We have fallen on hard times.”

“Many people have,” replied Alidgier.

“Aldy!” came the shrill voice of Lanfusa Chiaramonte. “You must do something! Mal STILL hasn’t bought more liq--” The little old woman blinked as she saw the Abbot there. “Oh. Reverence.” She mechanically performed the Obeisant Gesticulation. “Pleasure to see you.”

The Abbot coughed. “Ahh. Yes. You as well.” He fiddled with his robes. “Well. I really have to get things in order. Sacrificial blades don’t sharpen themselves…”

Lanfusa watched him leave, a subtle sneer on her face. “Tell me, Aldy--didn’t the old Abbots used to fight it out with the Maganzas?”

“Quite regularly, ma’am,” replied Aldigier. “Of course, that was a long time ago.”

She nodded. “What happened to ‘em?”

“What happens to us all,” said Aldiger levelly. “Time.”

“Hmmmph,” snorted Lanfusa. “Lady’s Love, I hate weddings. They make me feel old.” She shrugged. “Well, older than usual. And this one…” Lanfusa sighed. “Our little Mal. A married man.” She shook her head. “If that doesn’t drive you to drink, nothing will.”

“That is a way of looking at it, ma’am,” replied Aldigier.

“It’s my way, you mean,” muttered Lanfusa. “Tell me, Aldy--do you think anyone there will even consider that I was young, and pretty once?”

Aldigier bowed. “Of course. I will, ma’am.” He smiled at her, and took her hand. “I have never forgotten that.”

Lanfusa chuckled and then caressed his face. “You old dear.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 13

2011-10-04T09:03:00.001-07:00

“What can I say?” noted Marfisa, her voice gone bubbly. “I’m just--excited to be wearing this stuff! I don’t usually get a chance to!” She tapped the breastplate lightly. “I mean--there really isn’t much call for me to wear my full Marshal regalia. No battles, or anything--like that.” She bit her lip nervously. “At drills, I have to make do with my practice armor.” She sniffled. “It’s not as pretty.”

“Ahh,” said Elaine. “Well, it’s definitely a--sight.”

Jean gave a dull nod. “So… what are the wings for?” She scratched her head. “Do they let you fly, or…?”

Marfisa fiddled with one of the large wings attached to the back of the armor. “No, no, nothing like that.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “So--what then?”

“Nothing really,” answered Marfisa, spreading her hands. “They just--look cool.”

Jean blinked. “So it’s… useless? But…” She stared at the Marshal incredulously. “You go into battle wearing armor with useless wings because it looks cool?”

“Yeah,” said Marfisa.

Jean began to rub her temples. “But… why? Why? It makes no sense…”

Marfisa laughed. “Oh, come on!” she declared. “Tremisona is famed for its winged cataphracts! How could we call ourselves that if we didn’t have wings on our armor?” She pointed emphatically. “That would make no sense.”

Jean looked at the floor bleakly, then glanced at Elaine. “Back me up on this. Please.”

“No, no, no,” said Elaine. “This is your thing. I’m keeping my mouth shut for once.”

A knock came at the chamber door. “Marfisa, my sweet?” came a cloying voice. “Are you decent?”

Marfisa froze, and muttered a solitary ‘eep’, as Malachel Maganza opened the door and entered.

“Ahh, Marfisa,” he noted pleasantly, as he slid into the room. “You are, as always, an image of loveliness.” Marfisa gulped, started to say something, then stopped, started again, stopped again, then glanced down at her feet. Malachel turned to regard Jean and Elaine. “And you have companions. Her Estimable Grace. Madame Crow.” He bowed. “It is an honor. I am… enchanted.”

Elaine forced a smile on her face. “And I am… something. What about you, Jean?”

Jean nodded acidly. “Oh, yeah, definitely something.” She looked out the door. “Who’s your friend?”

Malachel glanced out at the sullen-looking Erl dressed in dark red standing at the doorstep. “Ahh. That is Roince Sans Pitie. An… associate of mine. In… business matters.” Malachel’s smile took on a rather forcibly fixed manner as he spoke about Roince, who studiously avoided eye contact with the women in the room.

Having thus acknowledged Roince, Malachel returned to ignoring him. “So my dear,” he announced to Marfisa, “may I be assured of a dance with your… exquisite self after the ceremony?” Marfisa gulped, then nodded. Malachel grinned. “Excellent. I shall await it with bated breath.” He glanced at Jean and Elaine as headed out of the room. “Good day, Your Estimable Grace. Madame Crow.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Marfisa collapsed against the wall. Elaine glared at the doorway. “Why is it that I feel like I was just covered in slime?”

“Because you were,” replied Jean. She rose and went to Marfisa’s side. “Are you all right?”

Marfisa righted herself, nodding fervently. “I… it’s noth… I’m fine.” She shook her head. “Malachel… I’m not good with boys. Especially him.”

Jean nodded. “I don’t really blame you.” She sighed. “I wish Hoppedance were here. He could swear at that guy and get away with it.”

Marfisa blinked. “Oh, your crow! Where is he?”

Jean shrugged. “Flying around Castle Terribel, I guess. He doesn’t like weddings.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 12

2011-10-01T08:41:00.000-07:00

Harald Tangletwist was walking with his friends and coworkers, Padge Thistle, and Zeno Falconwing, his head alight with excitement. And not because of this ducal marriage, which had so many of White Pine’s citizens cooing, among them his parents. No, Harald was made of sterner stuff than that! Harald was excited for the reason he often was these days, for when he shuffled off from his shift at as an Underapprentice of the Guild of Printers, he became a proud member of the vanguard that was going to change the Lands of Night. Indeed, even now they were singing their triumphant song of triumph--albeit, rather tunelessly.

“So let us together raise our hands! We are stronger than we know! And as we gather in our bands--our courage we shall show!”

Admittedly know one thought of it as great verse, but it did stir your spirit. A few months ago, Harald had just been another Goblin working in a print shop--but now, he was a Hand! A member of the organization that would usher in a new era of peace and plenty. This was much better than being a lowly under apprentice, especially on the matter of being introduced to people you wished to impress at parties.

As the little cluster took a break from their singing, Padge and Zeno began another of their interminable arguments. This time, they were discussing the Flamefist, and whether he was as Padge insisted, an admirable and worthy leader, or as Zeno thought, merely a spoiled aristocrat slumming. Harald sighed. It was still better than their lengthy debate on whether comradely love was a noble pursuit that the other Nightfolk had hounded mercilessly, so that even the Goblins practiced it furtively, and with passionate denial, or merely the decadent pursuit of the Goblin elite that they draped in mystery so they could pretend to the rest of the world that it was not the hideous perversion it was.

As the argument went on, Harald started to rethink his initial opinion. Fortunately, something occurred which ended it.

“Well, I say the Flamefist can only be understood in the proper heroic ethos. You see…” Padge stopped in the middle of his sentence--an occurrence so remarkable that both Harald and Zeno noticed it. “Who are those people?” asked Padge.

His companions glanced ahead to a small group of men dressed in black clothing. Apparently this had been done with the thought that it would help them blend in, apparently not realizing that against White Pine’s exceedingly whitewashed buildings, it had the exact opposite effect. The men, realizing they’d been spotted, froze briefly, and then started to run very swiftly away. As the three friends watched, they darted into an alleyway, only for one of the group to bump his head on a low-hanging sign, and totter around in a daze. Eventually, an arm emerged from the alleyway and pulled its stunned compatriot along.

Padge, Harald and Zeno had watched all this in a state of mild surprise. As the last black-clad man disappeared, Padge began to wave his fist. “Hey! Come back here!”

Zeno snorted and raised his hand. “Don’t bother, Padge. It’s probably just a bunch of Upperjourneymen out to pull a prank.”

The trio all shared a nod. Upperjourneymen were the bane of Underapprentices’ existence, and thus no form calumny was seen as below their vile natures.

“Probably putting glue in somebody’s shoes,” stated Padge. Another nod. They’d all had that happen to them.

“First thing we do,” muttered Harald, “is we completely overhaul the Guild system of apprentices, journeymen, and masters.” He nodded to himself. “Then we hang all the lawyers.”

And so, the three wandered on, dreaming their great dreams, discussing their great matters, and never realizing how close they came to something very important.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 11

2011-09-29T11:13:00.000-07:00

“And--PULL!” shouted Eurydice. With that, she tugged on the blanket, while Justinian pulled in the opposite direction. They then swiftly spread it over the bed. She smiled at the Sacristan. “You’re quite good at this.”

“Plenty of practice,” he replied. “Much of squiring in the Order is… assorted duties.”

“Ahhh,” said Eurydice with a nod. “Well, it definitely shows.”

The pair stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Finally, Justinian coughed. “So… we made all the beds, and dusted around the closets. What should we do next?”

Eurydice looked at him awkwardly. “Ahh. Yes. Next. Right.” She glanced away. Justinian, realizing that he might have just allowed the conversation to venture into strange and terrifying directions.

Thankfully, he was saved by loud shouting from the hall. “--You arrogant toad of a Vanir!” came the booming voice.

“Crawling worm of an Aesir!” replied an equally loud voice. Eurydice and Justinian, sensing a valuable distraction, darted out of the room. A pair of tall, middle-aged Erls stood there, scowling at each other, each flanked by a group of younger Erls who looked rather embarassed. The most distinctive thing of each was their dress--one wore green and brown, the other wore yellow and brown. Aside from that, they were rather disconcertingly similar, in a manner that was rather more off-putting than if they‘d been identical.

After several minutes of glowering, the pair started into shouting at each other again. Justinian decided to attempt to bring a measure of peace. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he began, stepping forward. “I’m certain we can settle whatever problems you have peaceably…” Actually, he wasn’t certain of that at all, but saying that seemed to be a rather unlikely way of getting them to quiet down.

The one in green and brown stared at Justinian suspiciously. “Who’re you to be talking to the Count-Palatine of Castle Wild in this fashion?”

“Umm, well, I’m Squire…” stuttered Justinian.

“Wait--is the Margrave of Dagomir being talked to in this fashion NOT a problem?” muttered the one in yellow and brown.

“To my mind, yes,” replied the Count-Palatine. “So, hush, Dolistone.”

“Hush yourself, Manodante!” sputtered the Margrave.

Eurydice stepped forward. “I feel you are taking my associate’s words far too lightly,” she noted.

“And who are you?” asked Dolistone. “Another squire?”

“The young le Fidele,” answered Eurydice.

As Justinian watched, the Count-Palatine and the Margrave both flinched slightly, while their respective entourages flinched quite a bit more. “Ahh…” muttered Manodante nervously. “Well… why didn’t you mention that?”

Eurydice bowed. “I just did.” She smiled at the pair. “Now, if you will please allow us to… solve whatever horrible problem that has arisen…?”

Manodante coughed. “Ahh… it is a family matter, really.” He glared at the Margrave. “Certain individuals don’t understand certain matters of rank…”

“Are you speaking of yourself, you oaf…!” Dolistone blinked, then coughed. “Pardon me, Miss. My choler got up…”

Eurydice nodded. “Well, as you gentlemen seem to have realized your proprieties, perhaps it would be best if you both went your separate ways.” The Margrave and the Count-Palatine did so, with only a few glares at each other as they left.

Eurydice took a deep, relieved breath. “Who WERE those people?” asked Justinian.

“The Aesir and the Vanir,” she said. “Mountain lords. They’re sworn to the Regni and the Utgardi respectively, and they have their own little version of the feud.” Eurydice shrugged. “Not very important Dark Lords, really. Simply… annoying ones.”

Justinian nodded. “You know--some of those pictures in the room seem slightly crooked…”

Eurydice clapped her hands together. “Yes! And we will straighten them! Excellent idea.” She grabbed his arm. “Come on. We have to make Their Excellencies’ rooms immaculate!” Justinian followed her. It seemed to him there were worse ways to spend your time.

Guests At A Wedding--Part 10

2011-09-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

“So,” asked Nisrioch quietly, as he moved his Elephant on the board, “I must ask--why White Pine?”

Malagise nodded softly to himself, and brought out his Chariot. “To which I must answer--wait and see. All shall be revealed.”

Nisrioch smiled slightly, and then shifted out his Dragon. “Very well then. As a master of mystification, I must allow others to practice it. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be sporting, now would it?”

“Mmm, I suppose not,” agreed Malagise, taking the Dragon with his Vizier.

Nisrioch grinned. “Oh, I knew you’d see it my way.” There was an audible pop by his side, and then Malina was tugging his sleeve.

“Uncle Nissy! Uncle Nissy!” she shouted joyfully. “We just saw the Black Iron Tower, and it was so COOL!”

“Well, that’s nice, dear,” said Nisrioch, as he patted his niece affectionately on the head.

The door to the chamber opened suddenly. “…Iron Tower?” said Jean, spreading her hands. “It’s not… made of iron.”

“That’s the name of the maker,” said Elaine. “Well--title, really.”

Jean sighed. “You know what--I’m not going to ask. That just leads to further weirdness.”

“Umm… hi, Duke Malagise. Lord Nisrioch,” said Marfisa quietly, looking at her feet.

“Marfisa Mongrane,” said Malagise with an expansive wave of his hand. “You look as lovely as ever.”

Marfisa mumbled an answer that sounded like ‘thank you’.

Nisrioch moved his Lion forward. “Check,” he declared. He turned to Marfisa. “I just spoke to your fiancé,” he noted.

“Ahh. Yeah,” said Marfisa, fidgeting. “I… Malachel… He can…” She gulped. “How bad was he?”

“Oh, merely a rude little twit,” said Nisrioch. Marfisa nodded, and began tapping her fingers together nervously.

“I do hope we aren’t interrupting things,” came a croaking voice.

“Pinabel?” said Elaine turning. The scarred Maganza entered, accompanied by a beautiful female Erl with fiery red hair, and small boy with the same red hair.

“Your Estimable Grace,” said the older Erl, with a bow. He gestured to the woman at his side. “May I present my wife, the Lady Tessina. And my eldest son, Pinador.” Tessina bowed, and then placed a motherly hand on Pinador’s shoulder to get him to bow as well.

Malina waved at the boy. “Hi.”

Pinador glanced away. Tessina smiled gently. “Don’t worry--he’s shy.” She patted Pinador’s shoulder. “Come on dear. Say hello to Her Precious Grace.”

Pinador blushed and hid his face at his mother’s side. “Awwwwww!” said Marfisa. She knelt before the child. “Hi, there, little guy!” Pinador peeked at her shyly. “Oooh! Oooh! He’s looking at me! He’s looking at me!” she declared to Elaine and Jean. She blinked, and then smiled apologetically at Pinabel and his wife. “Sorry. I like kids,” she said.

Tessina smiled. “We gather.”

“Check,” declared Malagise, moving his Lion.

“My, my,” said Nisrioch, eyeing the board. “This is a tricky game, isn’t it?”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 9

2011-09-24T09:03:00.000-07:00

“This is a pretty swanky set-up,” noted Faileuba to her companions, as she leaned out the window of their new quarters. “Much nicer than that last Dark Lord we worked for.”

“The Prince of Dead Leaves is barely a Dark Lord at all,” grumbled Gwyd. “I mean--what’s he lord of? A little keep in the middle of nowhere. What’s he do? Spends all his time making sure that everyone has forgotten about him. If he didn’t have the bloodline and an Old Sphere, he’d pretty much be just another old coot.”

“Hey, don’t forget the little bat things,” said Faileuba.

Meliadus shuddered. “Those were creepy.”

“Okay, I’ll grant you, his little servitors were almost impressive,” said the Goblin. “But still, he only had… what--three of them?”

“I thought it was more,” said Faileuba.

“No, no, Gwyd’s right,” said Meliadus. “The Prince just maneuvered things so it looked like he had more of the little bastards.”

Gwyd nodded. “Which proves my point. How impressive can he be if…?”

“CRAP!” screamed Faileuba then ducked behind the wall. She took a deep breath, then glanced at Meliadus. “Ummm… could you look out there and tell me if there’s a Dev walking on the street below--a woman, with funky horn?”

Meliadus ambled over to the window. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” declared Meliadus.

Faileuba whimpered. “I thought so. Damn.” She clenched her teeth. “I know who the red scorpion is. That’s Psyche Zenobia, the Arbiter of Albracca.” She fell to her knees. “Why me? Why? I’m just a simple young woman, with a few odd hobbies. Why does fate see fit to ruin my hopes, and cause me such distress? WHY?”

“Because your few odd hobbies include theft, gambling, and sundry acts of havoc,” noted Gwydd flatly. “Now ask me a hard one.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” said Faileuba. “Aren’t you the wit?”

“So--you have unfinished business with the Arbiter?” asked Meliadus with a yawn. He shrugged. “Don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, she’s… what? Her Worshipfulness’ fashion critic?”

Faileuba’s eyes went wide. “Psyche Zenobia’s job,” she began with a shudder, “is to give Alcinna Ashurana advice so that everything she does fits her standard. Mostly, it’s about what to wear, and who to let perform at the Pageants. But she also advises her on… who is causing trouble. Making the city… less up to her standard.”

“I take it you were one of those people?” said Gwydd.

“I got in trouble there,” said the Erl quietly. “Then got into more trouble trying to get out of it. Finally had to flee the town with hired knives after me.”

“Love to know the rest of that story,” said Meliadus with a grin.

“Well, I’m not telling it,” said Faileuba sharply. “Though I will say there were elephants involved.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 8

2011-09-22T08:24:00.000-07:00

Justinian glanced nervously at Eurydice, as they walked down the placid marble hall. “This seems a little more… sedate than Castle Terribel, actually,” he noted.

“The Warden’s Mansion was built simply to house the Dark Lords of House Cthonique when they visit,” said the chambermaid with a shrug. “Or… well, sometimes to give members who’d made themselves--unwelcome a place to… keep to themselves.”

Justinian nodded. “You have a rather charming way of explaining away horrors,”

“Not horrors, precisely,” said Eurydice, vaguely. “Just people doing things that necessitates never mentioning them if you can help it.” She fiddled with her lip. “Not bad enough to warrant a true Judgment of the House, mind you. Just… a tad unpleasant. Like Lord Assur’s brother Uall.”

“What did he do?” asked Justinian.

“We don’t talk about it,” said Eurydice. “At least, the stewards don’t. The Dark Lords might. If they’re in the mood to.”

It occurred to Justinian that if the stewards didn’t talk about whatever Uall Cthonique had done, then Eurydice wouldn’t know about it, and wouldn’t be able to mention it to him. He decided not to press the matter though. It appeared to be one of the ones that Eurydice took very seriously, and he preferred not to cross her. Aside from being just a tad fond of her, there was the fact that he was fairly certain she could cause him severe injury if she so desired.

These disturbing thoughts were thankfully brought to an end by a tall, well-dressed Erl with a rather pinched expression on his face, who halted before the pair. “Boy,” he drawled quietly, fiddling with the pin on his lapel, a small golden device that showed a sun, either setting or rising, “do you know if the Dark Lords are seeing petitioners?”

Justinian nodded quietly, as he tried to fight the niggling suspicion he’d seen this man before. “I believe so, sir.”

“‘Your Honored Sir,’” corrected the Erl fiercely. He looked at Justinian intently. “I know you. You’re the Milesian that Lord Asterot throttled at the Council of Shadows.”

Justinian blinked. “And you are… a Maganza, I believe?”

“I am Malachel Maganza, Heir to Belfior, boy,” snapped the Erl with contempt. He leaned forward, his contempt obvious. “Best not forget that.” He shrugged. “Enough. I’ve no time to discipline servants. Simply know who you address and address them properly in the future.” With a dismissive wave, Malachel strode away.

Eurydice watched him go with a mild glare, her hands on her hips. As soon as he was out of earshot, she said “‘Simply know who you address’” in imitation of Malachel’s tone. “Upstart,” she spat out. “Did you see him play with the Setting Sun?” She shook her head fiercely. “He has no business wearing that! That was the Belfiors’ device!”

“I thought he was a… Belfior,” said Justinian.

“No,” corrected Eurydice, “he’s a Belfior Maganza. From the city of Belfior. Which the family of Belfior used to rule, before the Maganzas kicked them out.”

“Oh,” said Justinian with a nod. “So what happened to the Belfiors after that?”

“They died out,” said the chambermaid casually. She furrowed her brow. “Well--wait, I think there’s one living in a monastery somewhere, but he’s mad as a hatter. Wears chains and thinks he’s an owl.” Eurydice shook her head. “Anyway, it’s not important. The thing is it’s in bad taste to wear another family’s sigil--especially when you ruined them. But that’s the Belfior Maganzas for you.” She looked at Justinian confidentially. “Descendents of the fifth son of Lord Asterot’s thrice-great uncle, and a woman of dubious ancestry, who he may or may not have married. Heirs presumptive to the throne now.” She shook her head. “Largely because they were so insignificant that nobody bothered to kill them in the wars.”

Justinian nodded. “By the sounds of it, this was a mistake.”

Eurydice sighed. “Well, so many Maganzas were getting killed back then, you think they could have tried to finish off the more unpleasant ones.” She frowned. “Oh, well. He’s a guest. Best behavior in front of him. Another reason to avoid the bastard.” She glanced at Sigma. “Do you want to help me dust the bedrooms? I figure they need a good turning out.”

Justinian considered saying no, but he had nothing better to do. And as she said, it would let him avoid Malachel. And Jean, for that matter.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 7

2011-09-20T12:38:00.001-07:00

“Well, here we are, my darlings,” proclaimed Nisrioch, spreading his arms wide. “White Pine Square! The bustling center of this grand metropolis!” He tittered nervously. “I tell you, merely looking at it makes me giddy! Giddy I say!”

Jean Crow winced. “Yeah, having been around you a lot when you’re…” She tapped her chin meditatively. “Normal, I guess, I really don’t want to see that.”

“Oh, but you should,” declared Nisrioch. “It is a wondrous thing.” He clapped his hands. “Now Morgaine and I must be off to meet with the Duke. State ritual, and so forth…”

The Goblin Nisrioch had picked up on the road stood nearby with his two companions. “So, do you want us to watch them, or…?”

“Oh, no!” said Nisrioch. “You three chivalrous warriors shall accompany us, along with Squire Sigma and young Miss le Fidele. No--I wish my nieces and my young apprentices to travel around White Pine, enjoying its essential… itsness.”

Jean glanced around the bustling square. “Are you sure that’s… safe? I mean they’re a lot of people here…”

Morgaine turned towards the young sorceress as she stepped out of the carriage. “And we will know if any of them try anything.” The Dark Lord grinned. “Isn’t that a comforting thought?”

The three “chivalrous warriors” all shuddered slightly. “So--are we supposed to be getting ominous feelings about traveling with you?” asked the female Erl.

“If you aren’t, then I question your sanity,” noted Justinian brusquely, as he fell behind Nisrioch. He shot Jean an apologetic look, while Eurydice quickly stepped behind him. The Dark Lords and their entourage quickly filed away.

“Yeah,” muttered Jean at his retreating form. “You better run.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘running’,” said Elaine. “More… ‘walking swiftly to keep up with others’.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “I’m really just trying to keep up my spirits here, all right?”

Malina looked at Jean intently. “Why are you doing the eyebrow twitching thing?” she asked.

Jean gritted her teeth. “No reason.”

“Is it because Siggy isn’t your beau?” asked Malina smiling.

“No reason!” hissed Jean. She took a deep breath. “So… any ideas what we can do for… the time being?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Elaine. “We’re in White Pine! We can… go to the Great Gallery! Or visit Black Iron Tower! Or…”

At this point, Elaine was interrupted by a high-pitched noise that sounded somewhat like someone saying ‘squee’. And then Marfisa Mongrane hugged her.

“Elaine! It’s you!” said Marfisa happily. “I didn’t think I’d see you again! I mean--not so soon. I--urr--well, you know, I knew I’d see you again eventually, but I… ummm…”

“Good to see you again too, Marfisa,” said Elaine placidly.

Marfisa backed away and fidgeted nervously. “Ummm… so… here for the wedding?” She blinked, then winced. “Of course you are. Sorry. I was… I… Miss Zenobia asked me to be the axe-bearer. She’s really nice once you… get to know her. Kind of.” She blinked several times in succession, then looked away.

“Want to come to the Iron Tower with us?” asked Elaine.

Marfisa squeed again.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 6

2011-09-17T08:43:00.001-07:00

Faileuba glanced around at the banners hung from buildings. “Well, isn’t this a cozy setup?”

Gwyd shuddered. “Being dragged along by the maddest Dark Lord in the Lands of Night to Lady knows what? Very cozy.”

Meliadus looked at Gwyd curiously. “You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m in White Pine,” muttered the Goblin. “I’ve been trying to avoid it for the last few years.”

“You owe somebody money here?” asked Faileuba.

“No,” snapped Gwyd.

“Some woman break your heart?” suggested Meliadus.

Gwyd crossed his arms. “No!”

“Goblin, remember?” noted Faileuba. “So--who was the lucky guy?”

Gwyd rolled his eyes. “I am not, nor have I ever been a practitioner of the Goblin tradition of comradely love.”

Faileuba laughed. “That’s what they all say!”

Gwyd groaned. “Why do I travel with you people? WHY?”

Meiliadus stretched and yawned. “We already covered that. Hey--whose device is a giant glass tower?”

“The Dukes Chiaramonte,” said Gwyd sullenly.

“Ahh. They’re out around Cremonia, right?” asked Meliadus.

“Yes, mostly,” noted Gwyd. “Why do you ask?”

“Because that device is hanging around here--well everywhere,” said Meliadus, pointing to the various banners.

Gwyd looked at them. “Let’s see--those aren’t in position of authority, so… honored guest… crossed with another device… though I don’t know that one…” He shrugged. “Looks like we’re guests at a wedding.” He turned back to his companions. “Between Duke Chiarmonte and someone who uses a red scorpion as a device.”

Faileuba nodded. “Oh. Well--hope they make each other happy,” she said. She scratched her head. “A red scorpion… where have I seen that…?”

Gwyd sighed. “Why does that question fill me with dread?”

“Because you know Faileuba?” suggested Meliadus.

“Hey--not every past associate of mine wants to kill me!” she snapped.

“Just most of them,” noted Gwyd.

Faileuba waved her hand dismissively. “I have a strong effect on people. Is that my fault?”

“Yes,” answered Meliadus.

“Quiet, you,” muttered Faileuba.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 5

2011-09-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

The Goblins perched on the city gates struck the gongs. “Hail to the Dark Lords, the Dark Lords, the Dark Lords!” sang a large crowd near them--the White Pine Guild of Singers, Chanters, Heralds, and Water-Bearers to be precise. “Hail to the Dark Lords of Waste and Heath! Hail! Hail! Hail! Hail! HAIL!”

And that was when they shot off some rockets.

Jean relaxed in her seat as the carriage approached the gate. “Have to admit--the lyrics may be crap, but the tune is catchy!”

Malina clapped enthusiastically. “Yay! More ‘splosions!”

Elaine had been leaning out the window for the last ten minutes, and turned to Jean visibly annoyed. “That’s all you can say? You are approaching one of the wonders of the Lands of Night! The Gates of White Pine!”

Jean glanced out. “Hmmm. They look nice. Interesting carvings.”

Elaine blinked. “Nice? Nice? Nice?!!!” She looked again at the Gates, then turned to Jean. “These things are architectural miracles, and artistic masterpieces! I’ve dreamed of seeing them for years! I mean--look--the balance! It’s perfect! And the images! I mean--” She gestured towards the image at the top of the gate. “There’s the damn Lady with the stars in her hair you’ve been driving me crazy singing about for the last few hours!”

Jean blinked. “Huh. Would you look at that?” She looked at Elaine. “I always thought that was some person. Because she smiled at the juggler at the end. For juggling so well.”

“No,” said Elaine. “It’s a carving. That’s the whole point of the song. It’s a miracle.”

“Ahh,” said Jean. “Well, that puts an entirely new spin on the song.” She rubbed her chin. “Don’t know if I like it, actually.”

“Forget the stupid song!” snapped Elaine. “Look! There’s Luned, Bringer of Woe routing the Great Holy Army! And there’s Enkidu striking down Aurelius! And there’s… a cow. I guess. Maybe an ox.” She nibbled her lip for a second. “But… look at the detail!”

“It’s nice,” declared Jean concomitantly.

“Ahhh,” groaned Malina in disappointment. “They’ve stopped! I want more ‘splosions!”

“Why do you keep saying ‘nice’?” groaned Elaine. “The Gates of White Pine are beyond ‘nice’. They’re extraordinary! They’re amazing! They’re wondrous!”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” said Jean with a yawn.

Elaine crossed her arms. “The problem with you is you have no culture.”

“I blame my upbringing,” said Jean.

Malina glanced at the pair. “Do you think if I ask them nicely, they’ll do ‘nother ’splosion?” She twiddled her fingers. “It wouldn’t have to be a very big one.”

Guests at a Wedding--Part 4

2011-09-13T09:49:00.000-07:00

Malagise Chiaramonte adjusted his cravat, a feat made difficult by his stubby fingers, and multiple chins. “I tell you, Aldy, I’m nervous as a school boy!”

“I can tell, Mal,” replied Aldigier Chiaramonte the Bastard of Cremonia, stepping forward to assist the Duke.

“Much obliged, Aldy,” said Malagise, appraising himself in the mirror. He sighed. “Not exactly the stuff of maidens’ dreams, I must admit.”

“Dreams are fantasies,” said Aldigier. “You are real. This makes you quite distinct from them.”

Malagise nodded. “True, true. And Suky is a far cry from some blushing provincial, waiting for a prince to sweep her off her feet. But still…”

“By the Darksome Lady, Mal!” muttered Lady Lanfusa as she walked into the room. “You look like a frog in a suit.” The diminutive old Erl brought a hand to her wig, and fiddled with it.

“Thank you, Mumsy,” said Malagise. “You don’t know how much I count on you to… put everything in perspective.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lanfusa. She yawned. “Anyway, I came to tell you that our brandy supplies are low. There’s no way I will make it through your wedding on a case. And Morgaine Cthonique is coming, and we all know that creature simply guzzles the stuff.”

“Thank you for your… notice, Mumsy,” said Malagise. “I do not know how I would ever manage without you.” He fiddled nervously with a ring. “I really do not. That is how profoundly you’ve affected me.”

Lanfusa snorted, as she backed out of the chamber. “Of course I have. I’m your mother. Flesh and blood, and all that rot.” She turned to glance at Aldigier. “I expect you to come to my chambers in an hour. I need help sorting my clothes. I swear the servants forgot to pack a case…”

Aldigier bowed. “Of course, ma’am.” Lanfusa gave another snort than retreated from view.

Malagise looked at him with a mixture of wonder and resignation. “Still her slave, eh?”

“Your mother is a formidable woman,” replied Aldigier. He glanced at Malagise inquisitively. “Tell me, does your Suky know exactly what she’s getting into…?”

Malagise smiled gently. “We’ve talked on it some,” he said. “Well--more written on it, with a bit of mindspeaking…” He sighed. “I tell you, it’s wearying, getting in touch with someone on the opposite end of the Lands of Night. Even with the best apparatus…” He raise a hand. “Besides the point. Rest assured--Madame Psyche Zenobia is a most formidable woman herself.”

Aldigier walked over to Malagise and slapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it, Mal. Glad to hear it.” He smiled at the Duke. “Hope she makes you happy.”

Malagise smiled to himself. It was nice to be married with your father’s blessing. Even if you were supposed to pretend he was your half-brother.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 3

2011-09-10T08:49:00.001-07:00

Gwydd Palepole stared at the contents of the bag for a long time. The Goblin’s face was a bleak mask of disappointment as he looked back at his companions. “One… onion,” he said

Meliadus Holdfast frowned in reply, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yes, Gwydd,” said the Erl. “One onion. You have correctly determined the number and identity of the vegetables in our bag.”

Faileuba Pepperpot snorted. “He’s marvelous,” she declared, stretching one lithe arm. “He should perform to crowded halls.”

Gwydd stared at the pair. “I’m simply stating my disappointment. You two don’t have to make a production out of it.”

“Oh, Palepole,” said Faileuba. “You think this is a production?” She sighed and shook her head. “To think, after all these years, you still don’t know us that well.”

“I know Erls are mad,” declared Gwydd, crossing his arms. “Especially to think three people can live off one onion.”

“No one said that,” noted Meliadus. “In fact we are in complete agreement with you on the matter.”

Faileuba pulled her scarf around her shoulders, and shivered. “I’m cold. Why are we standing outside talking about not having food in early Ventose?”

Meliadus turned to look at her. “Because they threw us out of the inn. After you threatened to burn it down.”

Faileuba pointed at him emphatically. “Hey, the pot boy got touchy!” She shrugged. “Besides they were going to throw us out anyway. On account of us being broke.”

“Which is also your fault,” noted Meliadus. “You bet all our earnings in a foldol game.”

“Which I did because all our earnings weren’t enough to pay for a meal,” said Faileuba. She jabbed Meliadus in the chest. “Because you got a little happy with the Eastern Fire on our last job and we had to pay damages. Significant damages. Remember?”

Meliadus raised an eyebrow. “Vaguely. I believe I was drunk for much of that time.”

Gwydd rubbed his temples. “Remind me again--I travel with you two because…?”

“We’re warriors of chivalry,” declared Meliadus. “It’s part of the code.”

“Right, mutual support for those who live by the code,” said Faileuba. “Plus, we’re the only people who can stand you, Gwydd. Without us, you’d just be an angry old Goblin with delusions of grandeur who got tossed out of the Guild of the Sword.”

Gwydd shut his eyes, and sighed. “Right. Thanks for reminding me about that. Another reason I… enjoy your company so much.”

Faileuba waved her hand. “Hey, don’t mention it. So… what do we do now? Banditry?”

“Oh, and that ISN’T against the code?” said Gwydd putting his hands on his hips.

“Not against people who deserve it,” said Faileuba.

“Or have money to spare,” noted Meliadus.

“Or cause us personal injury,” added Faileuba. She snapped her fingers. “Hey, we can go rob the inn!”

“Too many guards,” said Meliadus, rubbing his chin.

“Pfft. I counted… thirty. Tops,” said Faileuba dismissively.

“There were an extra twenty in hiding,” answered Meliadus. “And those are the ones I noticed.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure that was an Emporium place,” added Gwydd. “They don’t like it when their businesses are robbed. I used to demonstrate their displeasure.”

“Okay, okay,” Faileuba groaned. She shook her head in sorrow “A perfectly good plan ruined by details. So… need a new one…” She glanced out at the road. “Hey! We could rob that carriage that’s coming.”

Meliadus looked it over. “Hmmm… There’s more than one.”

Faileuba clapped her hand gleefully. “Even better! Extra goodies!” She glanced at her companions. “So--somebody needs to get them to stop…” She and Meliadus looked at Gwydd.

Gwydd grumbled as he walked out into the road, his quarterstaff in his hands. “Why is it always me…?” he asked himself, as the carriages headed towards him.

The lead carriage screeched to a halt. After a moment, a white-haired Erl peeked out the window. “Oy! Sirrah! May I ask why you’ve placed yourself so on the road, so as to make it quite possible that you could be run over?”

Gwydd scratched him side. “Well, sir…” He blinked as he saw the device on the carriage’s door. “That is to say… Your Magnificence?”

“His Excellency,” answered the Erl. “His Magnificence is with Her Magnificence at the moment, blessing a river.”

The Goblin bowed. “Ahh. Well, sir, I am a humble warrior of chivalry, traveling the dusky roads…”

“Holy shit!” shouted Faileuba standing up in the bushes. “This is House Cthonique!”

Gwydd gestured to the bushes. “With my companions.” Meliadus stood up and waved.

Nisrioch glanced at the trio for a moment, then tittered to himself. “Oh, my. You were planning a robbery, weren’t you?”

“Of course not!” said Faileuba defiantly. Nisrioch glanced at her for a second. The Erl withered under Nisrioch’s amused, multihued gaze. “Yes, Dark Lord,” she state sheepishly.

“Oh, this is too darling!” he declared. “I must take you with me!” He gestured to the carriage’s roof. “I believe there’s some room up there, if you don’t mind…”

As they darted towards the carriage Meliadus glanced Faileuba. “Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

“I’ll say,” she noted as she scrambled up to the roof. “Maybe our luck is turning!” Gwydd decided not to add that he very much doubted that.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 2

2011-09-08T08:21:00.001-07:00

“He juggled high, he juggled low, he juggled to, he juggled fro…” sang out Nisrioch, playing his harp energetically.

Morgaine tapped her fingers on the windowsill. “I’ve figured it out. You’re trying to drive me nuts,” she declared quietly. “That’s it, eh?”

Nisrioch paused. “There’s no place to drive you, Morgaine,” he said gently, strumming idly on his harp strings.

“Oh, ha, ha,” she said. “This is why I hate going on long trips with you. It turns into a sarcasm match, and may the best witticisms win.”

“Can’t you simply enjoy the experience?” queried Nisrioch, his rainbow-hued eyes shining merrily.

“Not with you playing that damned song,” she replied.

Nisrioch sighed. “As you wish.” He glanced at Justinian. “She has no appreciation for the finer things in life. Sometimes, I’m amazed we’re kin.”

“Don’t listen to him,” yelled Morgaine. “He lies! He lies like lying liar who lies!”

Justinian sighed, and rubbed his temples. You’d think he’d be used to the fact that the two most fearsome sorcerers he knew had the dispositions of spoiled children by now, but no, he wasn’t.

Morgaine was now sulkily crossing her arms. “No appreciation for the finer things…” she muttered darkly, then glanced at Nisrioch resentfully. “Eurydice! I require my extra-fancy tiara!”

The young chambermaid popped out of the corner. “The one with sapphires and emeralds, or the one with rubies and diamonds?” she asked obligingly.

“Neither!” declared Morgaine. “The one with pearls and amethysts!” She clapped her hands together. “Swiftly!”

Justinian winced. Partially in sympathy for Eurydice, and partially in painful anticipation of what Jean’s response would be when she found out they’d been in a carriage together for a lengthy period of time. He wasn’t sure just what it would be, but he expected that it would result in the further demise of his tattered dignity.

Morgaine glanced at Nisrioch. “So I’ve avoided asking, but I’ve got to know--is SHE going to be there?”

Nisrioch sighed. “Alse is, alas, being kept busy by business with Albracca’s Council of Ancients, I’m afraid.” He shook his head. “Much like Mansemat and Viviane with the blessing of the Drada.”

“Hah!” muttered Morgaine with a snort. “‘Sacred Badb business’, my ass! Two-to-one those to are going at it like weasels right now. Bastards.”

Nisrioch sighed. “Envy is an ugly emotion, Morgaine. Especially when we are going to be hobnobbing with the upper crust of the Shadow Woods and the Fangs, while they are standing by a midge-infested river in the Marsh.”

“Given a choice between the two, I’ll take the midges,” snapped Morgaine. “They don’t pretend to be anything else besides blood-sucking insects.”

Nisrioch chuckled and shook his head. “How does the rest of the Nightlands put up with us?”

Eurydice arrived with a tiara, and showed it to her employer. Morgaine nodded. “Ahh, yes, perfect.” She placed it on her head, and smiled broadly. “Perfect. Now I feel fancy.” She turned to Nisrioch again. “Anyway, to answer your questions, I think we’ve got it spooked,” said Morgaine.

Justinian couldn’t help but agree.

Guests at a Wedding--Part 1

2011-09-06T07:27:00.001-07:00

“Oh, juggler, come to White Pine Fair, come see the lady with stars in hair,” sang Jean.

Elaine threw her head back and sighed. “Jean, how many times are you going to sing that damned song?”

The young sorceress-in-training flopped back in her seat, and looked out the carriage window. “It’s the only song I know about White Pine,” she noted.

“And this means you have to sing it… why?” asked Elaine, shutting her eyes.

Jean shrugged. “Good point,” she noted.

Malina awoke with a yawn. “Are we there yet?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Nope,” answered Elaine.

“Oh,” muttered the young Dev disappointedly. “Okay then.” And with that she leaned back, and went back to sleep.

“Man, I envy her ability to do that,” said Elaine.

Jean nodded. “Oh, yeah. I knew River Traders who could conk out like that, but me--I just never could…” She glanced at Elaine. “So--you’re… history girl. Does Duke Chiaramonte rule White Pine, or something?”

“Nope,” said Elaine. “The Chiaramontes rule Cremonia--that‘s the bit of the Shadow Woods by the Eastern Ocean. And a few other places. They used to rule Chateau Chiaramonte but that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“What happened to it?” Jean asked, having a sneaking suspicion she knew the answer.

“The Maganzas razed it to the ground,” answered Elaine. “Same as Castle Mongrane. Just to make it clear that there’d be no more talk of ‘Kings of the Crossing’ and ‘Kings of the Coast’. No, White Pine’s a Cthonique city. Sort of.”

“Thought it was in the Shadow Woods,” said Jean, glancing out the window.

“It is,” said Elaine. “But the Cthoniques have had it for centuries. Off and on. Well--mostly on. It’s a… trading city I guess is the best way to put it. Neutral ground, really.”

“So… that’s why Duke Chiaramonte’s getting married there?” asked Jean.

“Maybe,” noted Elaine with a shrug. She sighed. “I don’t read the minds of chunky Dukes. Or… any Dukes, really.”

Jean nodded. “I wonder what’s going on in Nisrioch’s carriage?”

Elaine crossed her arms. “Do you really?”

“No,” said Jean abruptly. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured with the coin toss,” noted Elaine, scratching her neck.

“Poor Justinian,” noted Jean.

“Oh, yeah,” agreed Elaine.

There was awkward silence for a moment. And then Jean began to sing. “Oh, juggler come to White Pine Fair, come see the lady with stars in her hair…”

In Memorium--Part 12

2011-09-03T05:14:00.000-07:00

Morgaine was sitting out in the Small Courtyard when Nisrioch found her.

“Listen,” she said. “I know what you’re going to say. But I saw what I saw, all right?” She looked at him desperately. “It was her. Big as a mountain, and glowing… but her.”

Nisrioch looked at his sister for a moment. “I believe you.” He sat down next to her.

Morgaine stared at him incredulously. “What, that’s it? No--talk of how suggestible people are? No… saying how I really, really want to see her again, one last time. Not even an argument of mystical properties? Nothing?”

“You saw what you saw,” replied Nisrioch. “Lady Shamhat watching over us all. That’s true, no matter what it really was.” He shook his head. “We are all of us, living the world she made, with simple kindness and love. Things that proved stronger than her husband’s power and evil.”

Morgaine raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. That’s basically a sentimental way of saying you believe me without believing me.”

“It might be,” replied Nisrioch with a crooked grin.

Morgaine was a quiet for a moment, and then hugged his arm. “I love ya, bro. You do know that, right?”

Nisrioch patted her head. “Of course, I do, sister. Of course, I do.”

In Memorium--Part 11

2011-09-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

“Did you hear that?” asked Morgaine, looking around the table.

Jean groaned. “That is the twentieth time you asked that!”

“It is not!” snapped Morgaine peevishly.

“Yeah, it’s actually the twenty-seventh,” noted Elaine. As every eye turned to her, she looked away awkwardly. “I’ve been keeping count.”

Morgaine took a deep breath. “You are all destroying this with negative energy!” she shouted. “And also--doubt! Oh--and scorn! Can’t forget that one!”

Viviane began to rub her temples. “Could you stop the yelling, Morgaine? It isn’t helping, and I’m getting a headache.”

“Here, let me,” said Mansemat, taking over for her. He glanced at his sister. “I… this was your best try yet, Morgaine. I swear I almost felt something.”

“Do not patronize me, Manny,” declared Morgaine, pointing at her brother. “I’m still the girl who forced you to eat a worm once, and I’m still older than you by fifteen minutes and eighteen seconds.”

“That’s not something I forget, Morgaine,” replied Mansemat. “You don’t let me.”

“Oh, snark, snark, snark!” snapped Morgaine. “That’s it! This wondrous glimpse into the realms of the spirit is OVER!” She stood up, and stomped to the door.

“It started?” said Justinian quietly.

Morgaine whirled around. “Don’t you get in on this, Sigma! I’m still a hell of a lot scarier than you!” She then turned to Nerghal. “As for you--this is your fault! Somehow!” And with that she stomped out of the chamber.

There was silence for a moment. “You know,” said Jean quietly, “I always knew she could be high-strung, but…”

“You should have seen her lose at jacks,” muttered Nerghal. “One of the most terrifying sights I ever beheld. And I fought in six wars. Seven, if you count the Great Feud of the Khans.”

“I have to say, I don’t necessarily enjoy your commentary,” noted Mansemat, as he rose from his chair. “Too many bad memories.”

“Would it help if I apologized for the snakes?” asked Nerghal.

“Not really,” answered Mansemat, as he walked out the door.

“Well, THAT was a waste of time,” muttered Elaine to her mother.

Viviane shrugged. “That’s a bit harsh. I mean the bit where she tried to get us to lift up the--oh, who am I kidding. You’re right Elaine. That was worse than Mayor Miller’s musical recitals.”

Elaine shook her head. “So damned tuneless…”

“No swearing,” shot out Viviane. “But, yes, I remember.”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah, well, it sounds like it outranks this. I mean--things happened during…” She paused and then pointed. “Ummm…what’s that?”

Justinian followed her hand. “What’s… what?”

Elaine raised her hand. “No, I think I see it… in the corner… it’s…” And then her eyes went wide. “Morgaine! Morgaine! You have to see this!”

Justinian looked around puzzled. “Are you sure? I still can’t…”

Mansemat raised his hand to his chin. “I think I see it… Over… there, right?”

Viviane nodded, and patted his shoulder. “Yes, that’s it.” She bit her lip. “I… it’s…” She shook her head.

Morgaine stomped back. “Look, if this just some try for another shot, then…” She froze and stared ahead. “M-Mom? Is… that you?”

“It’s moving…!” shouted Jean. The group ran out together to the Courtyard.

“Oh---wow!” gasped Viviane.

“It’s--she’s… so… big,” muttered Jean.

Nisrioch stood a ways off from the crowd, watching them. Most of the group were smiling, while Mansemat and Morgaine had tears in their eyes. Nisrioch glanced to his side, where Nerghal stood. “Tell me, O spirit--what do you see?” he asked quietly.

Nerghal turned to him, his ghastly face, smiling. “The same thing as you do, I imagine,” answered the ghost. “Nothing.”

Nisrioch nodded silently to himself.

In Memorium--Part 10

2011-08-30T06:52:00.000-07:00

Justinian stared in surprise as he opened the door. “You were the last person I’d expect to attend this… séance,” he muttered.

Nerghal slid into the room. “Ahh, well… professional interest, I suppose.” The ghost glanced around casually. “After all, if anyone should be interested in what lies beyond it’d be me.”

Justinian raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought you’d know.”

Nerghal sighed and shook his wounded head. “Do I look like a man who’s achieved some sort of spiritual epiphany? The last thing I remember is screaming obscenities as half a dozen Kizaks filled me with arrows, and then passing out from blood loss.” The ghost frowned. “You’d think they’d just finish a wounded man off quickly, but no--they made a proper production out of it. Hacked me up after I was dead, actually.”

“Are you STILL complaining about that?” snapped Morgaine from her seat. The undead Dark Lord was clad in mass of black and scarlet lace, with a large golden headdress perched precariously on her forehead. “Lady’s Love, Nerghy, you were a kinslayer, and a usurper! You’re surprised people got a little rough with your corpse?”

“But the man I was usurping from was your father!” said Nerghal. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Considering that Dad was like… fifth down the line of succession before you started rearranging it, no,” answered Morgaine. She yawned and began tapping the crystal ball that lay before her. “Look, I really don’t want to have this discussion again. Just find a nice little corner, and watch the miracles occur. Got it?” Nerghal nodded and began to head towards a small nook. “Also, if I discover your negative vibes scared Mom’s spirit off from whatever happy place in the Netherworld she’s in… I’ll do… something.” She frowned. “Don’t know what, but it’ll be unpleasant.”

“So--you’ll just be yourself, then?” muttered Nerghal.

“What was that?” snapped Morgaine.

“Nothing,” whispered the ghost.

Morgaine nodded. “Good.” She glanced around the table at the attendants, most of whom looking awkwardly away. “He is like that all the time,” she said. “You’ve got to be firm.”

“We’re… not saying anything,” noted Jean.

“Right,” agreed Viviane. “You talk to your… spectral… great-uncle… however you want.”

Mansemat rubbed his forehead. “I know. Not something you ever imagined yourself saying. No matter how hard you tried.”

Morgaine glared at the table. “You are all ruining the atmosphere before it even begins. I want you all to know that.” There was a knock on the door. “Ohh, Darksome Lady… Sigma! Get…” Justinian opened the door once again. Nisrioch stood there. Morgaine stared at him for a while. “Thought you weren’t coming this year.”

“So did I,” said Nisrioch with a sigh. “But, then I started asking myself--’well, what if this is the year she finally does it?” He sat down. “So here I am.”

Morgaine nodded. “Right.” She clapped her hands together. “Sigma! Dim the lights! Everyone prepare to be transported to new heights of mystical spectral--stuff! Let the séance BEGIN!”

In Memorium--Part 9

2011-08-27T06:21:00.000-07:00

Nisrioch walked down the hall with a bowl of black lentil soup. Shamhat enjoyed it--as much as she could enjoy anything these days--and it kept her health up--as much as anything could these days. He looked at the soup and sighed. This was what they shared now--bowls of soup, and this endless grim vigil. And despite this, Nisrioch kept at it. Largely because what would follow would be a world without her. The kitchen staff had been sympathetic as they handed him the bowl--as had Breus, in truth. He tried to recall just when he ceased to become "Shaddad's little monster" to them all, and become himself. Shortly after Shamhat arrived, he decided. Another thing to thank her for.

Which he supposed he was doing, after a fashion.

“Ahh, Nisrioch,” came his father’s deep voice. The tall young Erl stiffened and then stopped.

“Lord Shaddad,” he said quietly, as the Dark Lord slid into view. Nisrioch stared at him. These days, Shaddad had to glance up to look him in the eye. It irked Shaddad, and the Dark Lord hid it… poorly. Nisrioch did his best to keep his face stoic. How was I ever in awe of this man? How could I not See through all the bluster, and realize how hollow the person underneath was?

Shaddad fidgeted slightly, then saw the bowl. “Ahh. I see you’re… keeping up with… that.”

“I feel she deserves it,” answered Nisrioch simply.

Shaddad nodded silently. “I do feel as if I mishandled that situation.”

Nisrioch raised an eyebrow. He’d know his father for sixteen years now, and admitting mistakes was not exactly a common occurrence for Lord Shaddad. “How so?”

“Oh, I felt I had to make a worthy heir,” said Lord Shaddad. “Based on… well, some things your mother said, a long time ago. But… I think I misunderstood her. And I failed to realize…” He shook his head. “I am not an affectionate man, Nisrioch. I never had much time for such things, and my experiences with my uncle… drove what little aptitude I possessed from me. And Shamhat… well, she was young. Girls like that need a little affection. And you two were of an age.” He sighed. “Should have done the obvious. Married you two.” The Dark Lord stroked his chin. “True, you’re a bit younger than her, but--well, time has a way of evening those things out.” He shook his head. “Ahh, well. Too late now.”

Nisrioch frowned. “Yes, I suppose it is a bit late to contemplate marrying your bastard to your wife.”

Shaddad stared at him, and as his amber eyes lighted on him, suddenly Nisrioch did remember why he‘d been in awe of the man for so long. “My heir, Nisrioch,” said Shaddad. “Not my bastard.”

Nisrioch gulped. “You have an heir, Your Magnificence,” said Nisrioch.

“Oh, yes,” said Shaddad with a dark chuckle. “And what an heir! A blubbering child with no magic, who’s afraid of his own shadow!” He frowned. “Honestly, I look at that… boy and I wonder how could I have sired him. And Morgaine--” He sighed. “Too much magic, too much will, and… well, I’d heard the Southerners were overbred, but I’d thought a little Cthonique blood would… straighten things out. Instead…” He shrugged. “I think she wound up with too much male humors in the womb. For a start.”

Nisrioch frowned. “Ahh. I see.” He nodded, and started to walk down the hall again.

“Nisrioch!” shouted Shaddad. “Don’t you see? I’m offering it all to you! You’ll be my heir! You’ll be the Cthonique of Castle Terribel!”

“What would the Things have to say about that?” noted Nisrioch quietly.

“They’ll come around,” said Shaddad. “One way or another.” Nisrioch nodded again, then continued down the hall. “Come on, son! Don’t you have anything to say to that?”

Nisrioch turned. “Only that I am more fond of my siblings than you are, father. I’m not going to betray them to gain your… favor. Keep your titles, and honors. Anything I got from you would be poisoned.”

Shaddad stared at his son in disappointment. “This isn’t just about me, Nisrioch. It’s about House Cthonique. I have to do what’s best.”

“I know, father,” said Nisrioch, retreating down the hall. “You love this family. In the abstract. The actual members are… less worthy of affection.”

Lord Shaddad said nothing to that--merely sulked away. Nisrioch wished he could say he found that comforting--but he knew his father too well to think that this was the end of the matter. There would be more trouble, coming from that direction.

Well, Nisrioch could handle it. He wasn’t a little boy any longer. There were ways Lord Shaddad scared him, but they weren’t by the simple magic of being his father.

Arriving at Shamhat’s door, he knocked on it gently, then let himself in. She lay on the bed, quiet, and barely moving. Her eyes opened gradually as he walked towards her. “I didn’t hear you knock,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping,” said Nisrioch, setting the bowl before her. “It’s your favorite.”

She smiled, as best she could with her parched lips. “Could--could you feed it to me? I--my hands aren’t doing what I want today.” Nisrioch nodded, and picked up the spoon. Shamhat’s skin was as pale and withered as parchment left out in the sun too long, and drawn tight against her bones, while her eyes shone bright and feverish when she opened them. She slurped down the spoonfuls Nisrioch with a sense of dull necessity, not enjoyment. After a moment, she stopped. “Did--did I ever tell you about when my mother died?” she asked, quietly.

“Not that I recall,” said Nisrioch worriedly.

“She… got pretty bad by the end,” gulped Shamhat. “Started screaming about… men wearing bird masks and… giant cockroaches. For hours on end.” She winced. “Sometimes days. It was the poison. The stuff they gave her starts in the brain, and then just… spreads from there. So you go mad before you die.” She took a deep breath. “My uncles--told me it was simply… nerves. That she’d get over it.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “I suppose in a way she did.”

“I am sorry,” whispered Nisrioch.

“Water… water under the bridge, really,” said Shamhat. “But thanks.” She shut her eyes and was silent for a long while. “I don’t want to die like that, Nisrioch. But I’m going to, aren’t I?” Nisrioch gave no answer. “Aren’t I?”

“It… is a possibility,” said Nisrioch softly.

“Nissy--I… if you could…” Shamhat sobbed softly. “I can handle dying, Nisrioch, just not like that…”

“Do not ask me what you plan to,” declared Nisrioch emphatically. “I cannot do what you wish.”

Shamhat nodded sadly. “I… thought… as much…”

Nisrioch raised a hand. “But--I might be able to do… something.” He began to trace symbols in the air, chanting softly under his breath. Slowly, steadily, a strange glowing haze began to flow from his hands.

“What… what is that?” asked Shamhat.

“A dream,” answered Nisrioch. “A dream of summer days, and simple joys. I can give you this dream, and it will fill you, and be the bonds of your world. You will pass into this dream, and in it, you will live, until you leave your life, gently and easily, like a raindrop falling from a cloud.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Shamhat simply. She bit her lip and looked at Nisrioch. “Thank you for this. Thank you--so much.” She shut her eyes. “Take--care of Manny and Morgaine for me, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Nisrioch. “Now--look into the center of the light…”

Shamhat did her best to follow his instructions. “I… I’m not sure… wait--wait, I--it’s beautiful, it’s…” And then she drifted off to sleep.

Nisrioch placed a kiss on her forehead. “Good rest, daughter of the South, until Mother Night takes you back to Herself.” A dark laugh came from behind Nisrioch.

“How very touching,” said Zamial mordantly. Nisrioch turned to regard his mother. She shook her head in scorn. “Thou disappointeth me, son of my desire. I had such hopes for thee, and yet thou hast chosen to wrap thyself in…” She scowled forcefully. “Mortality as if it were a cloak.” She pointed at her son forcefully. “What has come of all the time thou spent with that creature lying there? Wasted! Gone! And thou art left none the richer for it!”

Nisrioch sighed. “You are completely wrong about that, Mother. And I shall leave the matter at that, as I’m certain you wouldn’t understand me if I tried to explain it to you.”

“Thinkest me ignorant, dost thou?” snapped the demon. “There is death in thee now, my son. I smelled it all those years ago, but hoped I was wrong.” Zamial sighed. “More fool I. Demon, trusteth thine own oracles.” She laughed once more--than sobbed. “Why? Why, oh son of my delight?”

Nisrioch sighed. “Because she loved me, Mother. Something you never quite managed to do.”

“Love?” snapped Zamial. “More mortal nonsense! Speak not to me of it, my poppet--‘tis a lie given to desire, to make it seem loftier!” She stamped one hoofed foot on the ground. “Nisrioch! I bid thee apologize to thy mother, for thou hast been most hateful to her!”

Nisrioch crossed his arms. “I do not hate you, Mother. I pity you.”

Zamial’s eyes went wide. “Thou pitieth the Queen of Fear?” She raised her clawed hands in menace. “Thou DARES pity me?”

“Yes,” said Nisrioch simply. “I pity any blind thing, and that is what you are, Mother. Your Sight shows you so much--and yet you can understand so little of it.” He shook his head. “It’s almost poetic, if it were not so sad.”

Zamial stared at her son in shock, then stood to her full incredible height. “Nisrioch--thou hast made thy mother FULL WROTH!” There was a peal of thunder. “If this is how thou wouldst treat me--then I shall visit thee no more! If thou wishest words with me--thou may petition me, as all others do!” She hissed at him, her eyes glowing. “Perhaps this will teach thee what a treasure thou hast thrown away!” She took one baleful look at him, then vanished.

“Goodbye, Mother,” said Nisrioch with a sigh, then looked back at Shamhat’s slumbering form. She was smiling now, her breaths coming slow and even. Nisrioch felt something warm on his cheek. When he put his hand on it, he realized it was a tear.

In Memorium--Part 8

2011-08-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

Morgaine sipped her ‘tea’ imperiously. “Really, Nissy,” she proclaimed, her amber eyes regal, “surely you know better than to bother us with items of such neckligiblable importance?”

“It’s--‘negligible’, Morgaine,” said Nisrioch kindly. “There’s no neck in it, and you added an ‘able’.”

Morgaine frowned and turned to the empty chair next to her. “Why, yes, Nerghy, Nissy does have a big mouth!” She set her cup down and looked at the chair intently. “How very interesting, Nerghy! But I don’t know if I can get that many ants…”

Nisrioch coughed. “Morgaine, I am merely asking you to come sit for a portrait.” He smiled at his sister. “There is absolutely no reason to bring ants into the matter.”

Morgaine looked at the empty chair guiltily. “It was Nerghy’s idea.” She picked up the empty pot and “poured” it into her cup. She paused and looked at Nisrioch. “Would you like a refill?”

“A proper host asks before serving themselves,” noted Nisrioch, pushing his cup forward. “And yes.”

“I am defiantly unproper!” said Morgaine grandly as she “poured” . She lifted a plate up. “Now--would you like a cinnymom cake?”

Nisrioch deftly picked up the imaginary sweet. “Thank you.” He pretended to eat it and smiled at his sister. “Very nice. Now--please Morgaine. Pretty please?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “I’ll let you look in my spectramogifierscope.”

Morgaine looked at him suspiciously. “How long?”

“An hour,” replied Nisrioch.

“Two,” said Morgaine. She tapped her chin idly with a finger. “And a half.”

“One and a half,” said Nisrioch.

“Two even,” said Morgaine. “And afterwards, we blow bubbles.”

“It’s a deal,” declared Nisrioch, offering her his hand to shake.

Morgaine took it and glanced at the empty chair. “Ha! See, Nerghy? I do know how to drive a bargain!” She smiled. “This makes seeing Daddy worth it.”

“Father won’t be in the portrait,” said Nisrioch.

“He won’t be?” asked Morgaine puzzled. “But you said this was a family portrait.”

“Without him,” said Nisrioch. “He’s… busy.”

Morgaine nodded. “Sacking some place. Right. He does that a lot.” She squinted in puzzlement. “Why do they call it ‘sacking’? They don’t put stuff in sacks, that I can see, anyway…”

“A linguistic mystery,” said Nisrioch. “We’ll figure it out some other time.”

“I wished you’d said Daddy wouldn’t be there,” said Morgaine. “That changes everything!”

“Does this mean you won’t be demanding a look in my spectramogifierscope?” asked Nisrioch hopefully.

“A deal’s a deal!” snapped Morgaine. “You are lucky I’m so happy that Daddy’s not around, that I’m not going to get angry for saying that!”

Nisrioch rose, and bowed. “See you shortly.” As he headed towards the door, he heard Morgaine say, “No, Nerghy, I’m not going to set Daddy on fire! That would make him angry and he’s extra-scary like that!”

Despite himself, Nisrioch shook his head. He was in no position to judge, but he did have to admit, Morgaine seemed… slightly odd. There was a sharp hiss to his left. Nisrioch turned his head. His little brother Mansemat stood there looking at him nervously with his big green eyes. “Is she coming?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” answered Nisrioch. “In a little while.”

“Oh, good!” answered Mansemat with a smile. “That will make Mom happy!” He bit his lip nervously. “At least--I hope so.” He sniffled slightly. “How--how is she today?”

“Very good,” said Nisrioch. “I think when this is finished, we might go out to the garden for a while.”

Mansemat nodded. “That would be nice.” He fidgeted slightly. “It’s always nice… when Mom’s all right.” He sniffled and then broke into tears. “It’s--uh--not FAIR!” Mansemat sobbed, then buried his head in his brother’s robes.

“Manny?” asked Nisrioch kindly.

“I--I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I--uh--I know I sh-shouldn’t cry. But it’s not FAIR! Why does Mom have to be sick all the time?”

Nisrioch swallowed awkwardly. “It’s simply one of those things,” he said. That was true--or as much truth as he felt needed to be said.

Mansemat sniffled some more. “I know. I know. That’s what she says, but…” He gave another sob. “It still makes me sad.”

Nisrioch patted his brother’s head. “That’s because you’ve a kind heart, Manny. It‘s a good thing to have.”

“Then why don’t you ever cry?” asked Mansemat.

“I am the child of a Demon, little brother,” said Nisrioch. “We don’t have tears to shed.”

Mansemat looked at his brother oddly. “Not even if you’re hurt horredbly?” Nisrioch shook his head. “That doesn’t sound fun,” Mansemat noted.

“It isn’t supposed to be,” answered Nisrioch. The brothers made their way through the halls of Castle Terribel in silence for a moment, then reached Lady Shamhat Sekhmetides Maganza’s room. Nisrioch knocked gently on the door. “Lady Shamhat? I’m here. And Manny’s with me.”

“Oh, good, good!” came her voice from the door. “Come in you two!” Nisrioch opened the door gently. Shamhat had gotten herself dressed in some of her favorite clothes, and now sat in her chair. She spread her arms. “Manny! Come give Mommy a hug!”

Mansemat rushed forward and dove into her lap. “You look womberful!” he said.

Shamhat planted a kiss on the top of her son’s head. “Thank you, Manny.” She looked at Nisrioch. “Where’s Morgaine?”

“She’ll meet us in the Small Hall,” said Nisrioch. “She had something to finish…”

“She was having tea with Nerghy,” said Mansemat, shivering.

Shamhat grimaced. “Oh. Him.” She shuddered. “You know--I don’t mind her having an imaginary friend--but could she have one who was… less creepy?”

“Being Morgaine, I would say, no,” replied Nisrioch, stepping behind the chair and taking the handles. “Now, shall we be on our way.”

Shamhat waved her hand. “If you’d please.” As Nisrioch wheeled her out into the hall, it occurred to him that she really did look wonderful today. He just wished days like today weren’t getting rarer.

In Memorium--Part 7

2011-08-23T07:28:00.000-07:00

Nisrioch awoke as effortlessly as he always did, eyes opening smoothly to see his mother standing over his bed in all her terrible majesty. “Ahh, Nisrioch, my darling,” said Zamial. “Dost thou see how precious thou art to me?” She smiled at him, showing her fangs. “I come to thee so soon after our last meeting! It has been--oh, some trifling few turnings of the moon…”

“Eleven months, Mother,” said Nisrioch quietly. “It has been eleven months since our last visit.”

Zamial thought that over, glancing around the room distractedly. “Ten… ten… ten…” She shook her antlered head dismissively. “That sounds about right.” She took a sniff at the air. “I swear, this smells wrong, it does…” She turned again to Nisrioch. “But thou--thou my precious, my poppet, my sweet manikin! Thou art what brings me here! How goes it?”

“Well, Mother,” said Nisrioch. He knew his mother knew his answers, in a sense, without even asking the questions--but still, she liked to ask them. Mostly, he got the impression, because she had gathered that was what mortal mothers did. “It goes… well.” He bit his lip nervously. “Lady Shamhat and I play games much of the time. Or… we did, until her… condition made it unwise.”

“Ahh. The swelling in her belly,” said Zamial, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Frankly, I’ve never seen why mortals bother with that. ‘Tis most… disconcerting.” She brought one clawed hand down gently on Nisrioch’s forehead, tracing it delicately with a finger. “Thou, my darling boy, were brought into this world through no such gross action, rest assured. I created thou pure and pristine from the mingling of thy father’s and mine own essences.” She leaned forward and smiled at her son. “Is that not a comfort to thee, Nisrioch, son of my delight?”

“I…” Nisrioch shut his eyes. “Of course it is. Thank you, Mother.” He swallowed and looked at her frantically. “I-is Shamhat going to be all right? I… My Sight… shows me… horrible things when I look at her, but… only faintly…”

Zamial threw her head back and laughed. “Is she going to be all right?” she cackled. “Come now, my darling boy. Thou shouldst know better.” She leaned forward. “She is going to die, as all mortals are. Such is their doom, poor silly creatures.” She yawned idly. “She’ll die sooner then most, I admit. But still--it’s a small matter, when one gets down to it.”

Nisrioch stared at his mother in horror. “No,” he whispered. He grabbed Zamial’s side in desperation. “I--I have to save her. I have to do something.”

Zamial sighed. “It lies beyond thy power to do anything in this case, son of my heart. Shamhat Sekhmetides Maganza has already taken her death wound.” The demon stared idly at her claws. “She will live a while longer. But not very long.” Zamial waved her hand facetiously. “But what cares thee about this, Nisrioch, when thy Mother comes to share with thee all the secrets and powers at her fingertips.” She leaned forward, her rainbow-colored eyes glowing in the darkness. “Such wonders have I to show thee, my son! Such marvels! The krakens war on the leviathans in the far corners of the Great Grey Ocean! We shall go see this! In the Far Isles, women are diving for pearls, so the Great King may have a necklace for his wife of the Great Year. If by the end of that time she has not born him a son and heir, he will strangle her with it. Let us go to his treasure chamber, and see his slaves make it, and then look at the necklaces of his last six wives. Or perhaps we can go to the Temple of the Great Golden God. Seventy-nine years have passed, so it is now time for his bath in fine wine, pomegranate juice, and precious myrrh. We shall watch this!” Zamial knelt on the floor before her son. “We may see this, my darling. We may see all this and more! Come with me, take my hand, and I shall take thee to all the corners of the world!” She reached forward, offering her great hand to Nisrioch.

Nisrioch backed away. “Sorry, Mother. I… I must check on Lady Shamhat.” He opened the door, and prepared to leave, then paused. “Perhaps--some other time.” And then he darted from the room, certain that he heard an eerie wailing behind him.

Nisrioch ran down the hallways he knew better than men who had grown old walking down them, expertly navigating their twists and turns. As he came closer to his goal, he heard Lord Shaddad shouting.

“--said it was certain!” he yelled. Nisrioch paused by the door, and waited just out of sight.

“That ith not quite what I thaid, Your Magnifithenthe,” sputtered Orrill impotently.

Shaddad strode toward the reptilian sorcerer menacingly. “Oh, well, that makes it all right!” snapped Shaddad, pointing an accusing finger at Orrill. “You promised me a GOD for an heir, Orrill!” A black flame began to crackle at the end of Shaddad’s finger. “All the powers of my blood and hers--the power of the old Kings of the South--DOUBLED!”

“And you did get that, Your Maginifithenthe,” said Orrill quietly. “Jutht… not in quite the child you wished for…”

“In the girl, Orrill. THE GIRL!” Shaddad gestured at the sorcerer, who fell to his knees with a groan. “A girl cannot be the Cthonique of Castle Terribel, Orrill. A girl cannot be the Dark Lord of the Plains or Waste!”

“She ith her mother’th heir,” shot out Orrill. Shaddad clenched his fist, and Orrill gave a shriek, then writhed on the floor.

“Are you trying to anger me, Orrill?” said Shaddad quietly. “Is that what you’re trying to do? I know that! It isn’t a benefit.” He shook his head. “All my plans--ruined. You swore that this would work…”

“I thaid--the chanthe--of thucceth wath ekthellent!” gasped out Orrill. “I have been able to achieve… the dethired rethultth in earlier attemptth. But the amount of magic involved here meant that there would alwayth be thome unpredictability…”

“I wish you had mentioned that more prominently when you first suggested this plan to me,” hissed Shaddad. He frowned. “Can you make another attempt?”

“With another girl, perhapth, but Lady Shamhat ith…” Orrill coughed. “Delicate,” he spat out at length.

Shaddad rolled his eyes. “Lady’s Love, Orrill, do you think Southern Princesses grow on trees?”

“I’ve heard thtorieth…” whimpered the sorcerer.

“This is not a fairy tale--it’s life!” shouted the Dark Lord. “You have ruined all my plans, Orrill. And I am… displeased.” Nisrioch darted away as Orrill began whimpering yet more abject apologies. He walked in silence to Lady Shamhat’s chamber, fading himself to walk past the witch and the midwives, who whispered to themselves in tones of quiet concern.

Shamhat lay on her great bed, eyes closed. She looked tired, frail and worn. Two bundles were resting in her arms. Nisrioch took a hesitant step towards her. Shamhat opened her eyes. Nisrioch found himself fidgeting uncomfortably. “How are you?”

“I’ve… been better,” she said. She shifted slightly. “Here, I have a couple people I need you to meet…” She looked down at the bundles before her and smiled. Nisrioch looked down and saw them. Two, tiny sleeping babies, looking wrinkled and frail. “The one on the right is Morgaine,” whispered Shamhat. “The one on the left is Mansemat.”

Nisrioch looked at his half-siblings, and felt love once again steal into his heart.

In Memorium--Part 6

2011-08-20T06:59:00.001-07:00

“I’m going to get you! I’m going to get you!” yelled Shamhat as she ran down the hall.

“You just try!” Nisrioch laughed, trying to keep out of her reach.

“Oh, no I won’t!” said Shamhat, racing after him. “I’ll succeed!”

Nisrioch rushed forward, and ducked behind a pillar. “Ha! My speed is only exceeded by my wit.”

Shamhat began to circle around it. “You make that sound like an accomplishment.”

The pair were interrupted in their game by a polite cough. They turned to see Breus le Fidelé standing at the opposite end of the hall. “His Magnificence has arrived back from the Alts,” he noted simply, “and requests the pleasure of your company.”

Shamhat stood up. “You make that sound like a chore on our part.”

“I am a Steward,” said Breus. “I do not comment on His Magnificence--I serve him.”

“That still doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement,” said Shamhat.

Breus looked at her for a moment. “I am a le Fidelé, Your Excellency. My forefathers swore loyalty to the Cthoniques for all time. Through a strange quirk of fate, I have found myself working for the killer of my previous employer twice now. And yet, I continue to serve loyally. Because I remind myself--it is not my duty to judge House Cthonique. It is House Cthonique’s.”

Shamhat sighed as she walked alongside the steward. “But you have to have an opinion.”

“I might, but if so, I’ve no obligation to share it,” he replied. Breus gestured to a door. “His Magnificence is in here.”

Shamhat took a deep breath, and glanced at Nisrioch. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” And then she darted in. Nisrioch followed quickly behind her.

Shaddad was apparently in the middle of a conversation when they entered.“…flattered that you think me tho nethethary, thir, but nonetheleth, I am not confident in Malabayn…”stated the crocodile-headed sorcerer, poking nervously at the fire. Shaddad, lounging in a chair, quietly raised his hand. His underling stopped and turned to regard . “Ahh. Your Ecthellenthy,” he said with a bow. “It hath been tho long.”

“Orrill,” noted Shamhat, frowning. “Never thought I’d see you again.” She bit her lip. “Wish I could say the years have been kind to you, but--you’ve still got… the head, so, why lie.”

Orrill made his strange hissing sort of laughter. “Ahh, Lady Shamhat. Thuch a thauthy tongue on you, girl.” He stared at her with his cold reptilian eyes. “Thometimeth, I almotht wanted to thee what maketh it tho.”

“That’s enough, Orrill,” said Shaddad quietly. “We can finish our conversation--later.” Orrill bowed at the Dark Lords, then hurried out of the room. Shaddad glanced at Shamhat and smiled. “I do apologize. He can be a bit… trying at times.”

Shamhat frowned. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” She glanced away. “He killed people. A lot of them. Sometimes to see what would happen. Other times because he felt like it.”

“I am aware of his proclivities,” said Shaddad, rising from his chair. “Still, he serves his purposes. And is kept on a tight leash.”

“Yeah, that’s what my uncles used to say,” noted Shamhat. “It didn’t go well in the end.” She smiled. “Sharing an opinion with them… doesn’t give me the best opinion of you.”

Shaddad sighed. “Do try to remember, my dear, this is a political marriage. Our opinions of one another are immaterial.” He glanced at his son. “I do hope Nisrioch has been--good company.”

Shamhat placed a hand on the young Erl’s shoulder. “He’s been great.” She looked Shaddad in the eye. “You’re real lucky to have a kid like him. No matter how you came by him.”

Shaddad regarded her for a moment, then chuckled. “Well, I’ll say this for you--you don’t lack for spirit.” He turned to the door. “Let’s make this official, shall we? I expect you in the Great Hall in an hour. I’d prefer it if you were wearing your regalia.” And then he left them there.

Nisrioch stared at her for a moment, and it struck him how young she was. There was less than a decade between he and her. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“Yeah, I kinda do,” said Shamhat sadly. “I know what the standard Lord Shaddad procedure is for… disappointment. If it were just me--well, that’d be one thing. But the Heath has a lot of people living in it. I don’t think they‘d appreciate dying because I got cold feet.” She smiled at him. “Besides, someone has to take care of you.” She patted his head. “Relax. I’ll be fine.”

Nisrioch watched her leave. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he knew she was wrong on that last part.

In Memorium--Part 5

2011-08-18T06:39:00.000-07:00

“Hey! Nissy!” shouted Shamhat, raising a bouquet of flowers. “Look! Bluebells!”

Nisrioch turned to regard her. The young Dark Lord of the Blasted Heath seemed considerably less polished wearing in a cotton dress, and a pair of gardening gloves. And she hadn’t seemed that polished when she was wearing her regalia to begin with. “You planted them,” he stated simply.

Shamhat sniffed the flowers and smiled. “Yes, but I didn’t know for certain they’d come up.”

Nisrioch blinked. “I could have told you,” he noted.

“But that would have ruined the surprise!” said Shamhat in mock vexation. She shook her head at Nisrioch. “Honestly, Nissy, sometimes I worry about you…”

Nisrioch glanced up. “You should not do that, miss. I was told to keep you amused, not worry you.” He frowned. “Dark Lord Shaddad will be displeased.”

Shamhat also frowned. “Your father could stand to be displeased on occasion.”

Nisrioch simply stared at her for a moment. “Perhaps. Please don’t say that to him.”

“Why, Nissy,” said Shamhat, tickling his nose with the bouquet, “I wasn’t sure you cared.”

Nisrioch glanced away. “I… you interest me. You are so… happy. Always.”

“I’m just a blithe spirit,” replied Shamhat, going back to her gardening. “That’s what my mother always said.”

“Yes,” said Nisrioch. “Before she was poisoned by your uncles.” He looked at her interestedly. “They killed your father as well. Before Lord Shaddad killed them, and demanded your hand in the peace treaty.”

Shamhat frowned, and turned to Nisrioch. “Do you think I don’t know these facts, Nissy? Do you think I walk around with my head in the clouds? That I’d didn’t realize my mother was stretching the truth when she said that dad had… ‘gone away’? That I didn’t realize the sort of men my uncles were? Do you?”

“I… no.” Nisrioch shifted awkwardly. “But… the world pits strong against weak, and it favors the strong. You must be strong--stronger than all else--to survive.”

“That’s what Lord Shaddad says, eh?” muttered Shamhat.

Nisrioch nodded. “He... He shall be the strongest. The Lands of Night need a strong leader. It will be best for all.”

“Especially Lord Shaddad,” replied Shamhat. She glanced at Nisrioch. “Look--Nissy… I know there are bad people. But--you can’t be one. You just can’t. Telling yourself that you have to be a vile asshole because otherwise the other vile assholes will get you is just… stupid.” She shook her head. “There are so many good things in the world, Nissy. You have to see that, and you have to try to be one.”

Nisrioch blinked. “That is… an interesting viewpoint. I will have to… consider it.”

“Yeah, you do that,” noted Shamhat with a crooked grin. “I worry about you sometimes, Nissy. I mean--I know you’re the son of the Queen of Fear, and you can do all sort of amazing things--but you’re still a kid. You need to laugh, and play and have fun.”

Nisrioch glanced away. “I… thank you for worrying about me.”

“Don’t,” said Shamhat. “It’s free.”

Nisrioch turned to look at her again, working cheerfully in her garden. And he realized at that moment that love had entered his heart like a thief.

In Memorium--Part 4

2011-08-16T08:02:00.001-07:00

Nisrioch stood by the Great Gates of Castle Terribel. A small crowd stood with him, the High Steward Breus le Fidelé among them. “So… sir,” said Breus to the young Erl. “I suppose Her Excellency will be her shortly,” he noted.

“Yes,” replied Nisrioch in a bland monotone.

Breus glanced at the boy, then glanced away. After a moment, he looked up at the sky. “Lovely weather, eh?”

“It is pleasant,” said Nisrioch, his voice as flat as ever.

Breus nodded. This was the last effort he made at conversation with the young Erl for some time. After several minutes of silence, Clarin Bluebell leaned towards the High Steward. “Do you think she’ll have elephants?”

“Not really,” said Breus.

“Pity,” said Clarin. “I’d like to see elephants.”

Nisrioch raised his hand. “Silence. She is near.”

Clarin looked around in unease. “How do you…?” And that’s when the noise made its way to them. Horns played in the distance. A dust cloud rolled into view, the vague image of forms moving in it visible to a discerning eye. It moved closer, and closer.

Nearly a hundred Ogres were marching, playing horns as they did so. A chariot, pulled by a pair of grphons followed behind it. Seated on it was a young female Erl, her long black hair done in a braid, guiding the gryphons with an expert hand. She wore a great gold headdress, and fine blue robes, and she smiled brightly. As the group reached the gate, she raised her hand. “Halt!” she yelled. The Ogres ceased their movement with eerie precision. The gryphons on other hand, kept moving. “Thistlewhistle! Gewgaw!” shouted the Erl maiden. “I said--’halt’! Halt’!” With a shake of their heads the gryphons stopped moving, and took to chewing their bridles sullenly.

The maiden stepped out of her chariot, and placed her hands on her hips. “Honestly you two! Can’t you behave?” The gryphons snorted. She sighed. “Look, I know you guys want to fly. And you can later, okay?” The gryphons eyed her suspiciously. “Come on,” she said in a wheedling tone. “I’m sure these nice people have plenty of slightly-rotten meat just hanging around…” The gryphons nuzzled her and licked her hands. “Ahh! Down guys! Down!”

One of the Ogres coughed. The maiden stiffened. “Oh. Right.” She waved. “Do the thing.”

The Ogres blew their trumpets. “Presenting Her Ineffable Excellency, Shamhat Sekhmetides Maganza, Dark Lord of the Blasted Heath, Geat to Irem, Maganza of the Silent Tomb, Heir to the Majesty of the Sekhmetides, and the Bastetides, and the…” declaimed the Ogre who’d coughed.

Shamhat took a deep breath. “Cut to the chase,” she hissed.

“Nerystides,” said the Ogre apologetically.

Shamhat waved at the crowd. “Hi!”

The crowd was silent, as if trying to figure out how to process this… occurrence. Shamhat ignored this, and dived before Nisrioch. “Ohh! You must be Lord Shaddad’s son!” she announced.

Everyone besides Nisrioch shuddered. One did not speak of Nisrioch’s relation to the Dark Lord. It was one of the many topics that Shaddad did not like discussed. Like what had happened to his brothers, or why certain hallways had to be sealed off, or quince jellies.

Shamhat continued to ignore their reaction. “Well, look at you! Aren’t you darling?” She pinched Nisrioch’s cheek. “Awwwww!”

“Please stop,” requested Nisrioch.

Shamhat let go of his cheek. “Sorry.” She smiled at Nisrioch brightly. “So… where’s my… husband?”

“He is subjugating Altaripa and Altafoglia,” replied Nisrioch levelly. “He should be finished with that shortly.”

Shamhat bit her lip. “Ahh. Business with the… northern branches of the family.” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Oh, well. They don’t get along with… my side anyway.”

Breus coughed. “Dark Lord… do… you wish us to take care of your… animals?”

Shamhat turned to smile at the Steward. “Don’t worry. My men will do it. Just give them some scraps, and they’re as happy as can be.”

Clarin looked the Ogres over. “Always thought you’d have… well, Ghouls.”

Shamhat chuckled. “Yeah, well, let’s just say our arrangement in the Heath involves vast amounts of ignoring each other and leave it at that.”

Clarin turned to her and decided to try his luck. “You… don’t have any elephants, do you?”

“Just back at home,” said Shamhat with a shrug. “I thought about bringing some, but they’re tough to transport.” She wrinkled her nose. “And the messes… ewww.”

Nisrioch tugged her sleeve. “Does Your Excellency wish to be shown her chambers?”

“Well, if it’ll let me slip out of this,” said Shamhat, rubbing her headdress resentfully. “It’s heavy, and I only wear it for ceremonial occasions.”

Nisrioch bowed. “This way then.” As he turned he rubbed his cheek. It still stung from where she’d pinched it.

Oddly enough, he found this less irritating than he would have imagined.

In Memorium--Part 3

2011-08-13T06:26:00.001-07:00

The boy with rainbow-colored eyes stared at the charts intently.

“The Bringer of Victory lays in the House of Glory,” he declared levelly, pointing to the stars. “Further, it is influenced by the Unholy Flail.” He looked up. “Your undertaking will succeed, if done within the next three weeks. You must approach by the south, however. And travel under darkness.”

“That then is your divination?” asked the tall man with long black hair.

The boy nodded. “It is, sir.”

“Excellent.” Lord Shaddad Cthonique looked at the two men seated to his right, a pair of red-headed Erls, clad in green and yellow respectively. “Estramin, Eudropin. Can you do this?”

The brothers nodded. “It will be done, Your Magnificence,” declared Estramin, fiddling with the sleeve of his green shirt, while Eudropin merely smiled.

Shaddad turned back to the boy. “And what of the Alts?”

“The Red Gate is in ascendance in the Crown of Majesty,” answered the boy. “It must be done by a Dark Lord.”

Shaddad smiled. “I see then that I have work as well. Orrill requires my aid, it seems.” He looked at the boy again. “Very good, Nisrioch. Please roll up your charts. This session is at an end.” Nisrioch did as Lord Shaddad asked, silently and efficiently, the Dark Lord watching him all the while. “Also, Nisrioch, I wish you to walk with me a ways,” he said.

Nisrioch tucked his charts into a sleeve and bowed. “As you wish, Your Magnificence.” He fell behind Lord Shaddad and exited the room.

The pair walked in silence for awhile. “I thought I might have to handle the Alts myself,” noted Shaddad pleasantly. “Poor Bizet Maganza. He’s not living up to my hopes. I’d think he’d have been able to kill Malprimo by now.”

“The White Fox is crafty,” said Nisrioch. “Still, he will fall in the fullness of time.” He shut his eyes. “Three years, if fortune is with him. A month, if it is not.”

Shaddad laughed merrily. “And what of his little son, Asterot?”

“That I cannot See,” replied Nisrioch.

Shaddad glanced away. “Well, you’ve given me some hope, at least.” He raised a hand. “Enough. This matter in the Shadow Woods--complicates things.” He looked at Nisrioch pointedly. “My bride is coming within a fortnight, Nisrioch.”

“Lady Shamhat Sekhmetides Maganza,” said Nisrioch flatly. “Dark Lord of the Blasted Heath, Maganza of the Silent Tomb. Great is her lineage, and great is her honor. She brings glory to whatever house…”

“I know all this, Nisrioch,” said Shaddad amusedly.

“I am sorry, Dark Lord,” answered the child.

“You are young,” noted Shaddad. “As is she. I wish you, Nisrioch, to meet her. When she arrives.”

Nisrioch bowed. “It will be done, Dark Lord.”

“Keep her company. Keep her amused,” said Shaddad.

“I will try, Dark Lord,” said Nisrioch.

The pair stared at each other for a while, these two Erls who looked so much alike. “You’re a good boy, Nisrioch,” said Shaddad. “A very good boy.”

“I attempt to please you, Dark Lord,” replied Nisrioch.

“I know that,” answered Shaddad. For a moment, he almost seemed ready to pat Nisrioch on the shoulder. But then he turned, and walked away. Nisrioch impassively watched him leave, then headed to his chambers. As the boy moved through the halls of Castle Terribel, the staff kept their distance. Nisrioch was not a beloved figure to the people of the Castle. He was the Dark Lord’s--trusted servant, and thus, best left to himself.

Not that Nisrioch cared. He arrived in his chambers, shut the doors, and blew out his candles. Then felt a familiar hand run through his hair.

“Nisrioch, my darling boy,” said Zamial, as she appeared out of the darkness. “Thou hast grown since last I saw thee.” The demon frowned. “When was that?”

“Hello, Mother,” said Nisrioch. “And it was a year ago. A year, two months, and three days, actually.”

Zamial grabbed Nisrioch affectionately by the shoulders. “Such a clever boy, such a darling boy, such a pretty and a precious boy.” She raised Nisrioch in the air. “The Amirant is dead, my little son, his blood spilt on the sand. Now his kinsman take him to the Valley of the Princes to wrap him up in fine linen, and preserve him in honey and spice.” She smiled at her son, her rainbow eyes glowing in the darkness. “Wouldst thou seest this, my beauty? See the Prince of Ghouls laid to rest?”

Nisrioch nodded. “I would, Mother.”

Zamial wrapped her arms around Nisrioch. “Then come with me, my treasure, for I may move through all times and places in the twinkling of an eye.”

And then Zamial and her son vanished.

In Memorium--Part 2

2011-08-11T07:54:00.000-07:00

Elaine glanced at the pages before, and smiled. “Ah-ha!” she declared, scratching something down on the sheet of paper on the table at her side. “Thought you could hide from me, did you? Well, I am the master discrepancy finder, and I…” She stopped, as Nisrioch entered the library.

Nisrioch nodded at his niece, and walked to a bookshelf. “I’m making notes on how Kvasir the Elder, Mimir, and Kvasir the Younger contradict each other on key historical points,” she said sheepishly.

Her uncle smiled at her. “Sounds fascinating.” He pulled a couple volumes off the shelf. “I’m looking into differences between the Mountain Rite of the Medb, the River Rite of the Badb, and the Wood Rite of the Scathach!”

Elaine blinked. “That… does sound kind of cool.” She glanced away. “It’s… kind of too bad the Medb and the Scathach no longer exist…”

“Well,” said Nisrioch, yanking several books off the shelf, “we have been left with plentiful sources…”

“Hey, Nissy!” said Morgaine, stomping into the room. “Tonight’s the big night!”

Nisrioch winced. “Ahh. Yes. Your séance.”

Morgaine crossed her arms, and grinned at her brother. “Naturally, you’re coming...”

Nisrioch fidgeted uncomfortably. “Ahh, yes… I was considering… considering, mind you--not showing up for this one…”

His sister froze, and narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Well, you know,” said Nisrioch. “I have things to do…”

“More important than piercing the veil that separates life and death, and talking to Mother?” hissed Morgaine.

Nisrioch glanced away. “You make it sound as if it’s actually happening, Morgaine.”

Morgaine glared at him. “This time IT WILL! Eighteen! Twenty-four! Six! Three! Four!” She waved her fist. “Mystic!”

“I love you too, Morgaine,” said Nisrioch, with a sigh.

“I knew I shouldn’t have done this,” muttered Morgaine, pouting slightly. “You’re always a killjoy about this, Nissy! Always! Always!” She tapped her chin. “Should I say it one more time for extra emphasis?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” said Nisrioch with a shrug.

“ALWAYS!” yelled Morgaine. She waved her fist. “I tell you, sometimes, it’s like you don’t want me to pull Mother across the void.” Nisrioch stared at his sister, rainbow eyes refracting light. Morgaine glanced away. “Okay. Low blow. Sorry. But… I need you to be there.” She stared at him pointedly. “I mean, I had Nerghal track you down.”

Elaine glanced up. “You know, that actually sounds kind of creepy.”

Morgaine turned to her niece. “I’m starting to enjoy your company, kid. Don’t ruin it.”

Elaine went back to her notes. “I’ll be good.”

Morgaine turned again to her older brother. “Look, I’d like you to be there, okay? Just--think about it.” And with that, she left the library.

It was quiet there for a while. Elaine glanced at her uncle, who was busily gather books. “It might be interesting,” she noted.

“It might be,” agreed Nisrioch. “But it probably will not. I’ve attended quite a few of these things, Elaine. They tend to devolve into everyone sitting around a table, while Morgaine swears she heard something.”

“She really misses her mother, doesn’t she?” asked Elaine.

Nisrioch looked at the family portrait that hung in library. “We all miss Lady Shamhat.” He frowned slightly. “She was… a wonderful person.”

In Memorium--Part 1

2011-08-09T07:02:00.000-07:00

Jean groaned as she tried to pivot on her left leg while raising her right foot. “How is this a magic lesson again?” she stated.

“The body is the lens through which magic travels,” said Nisrioch, looming over his apprentice as she performed her exercises on the walls of Castle Terribel. The tall Erl struck a pose. “It must sparkle, shining brilliantly in the light, to get the full effect!”

Jean placed her hands on her hips. “How does me displacing my joints make me… sparkle?”

Nisrioch smiled. “In time you will understand the soundness of my methods.” Jean rolled her eyes.

“Hey, all!” shouted Morgaine as she toddled into view on a pair of extremely unstable-looking high heels, a black iron crown on her head. She looked at Jean sympathetically. “Magic training, eh?” She shook her head. “It’s a bitch.” The undead Cthonique shrugged. “Just keep at it, though. It’s worth it.”

Jean frowned at the Dark Lord. “Yeah. Easy for you to say. You’re finished with this.”

Morgaine stared at her for a moment, then leaned backwards, and raised her left leg. With a deft motion, she grabbed her foot with her right hand, then released it. She then bent her leg back, and touched the back of her head with it. “You’re never finished with this,” said Morgaine, as she righted herself. She glanced at Nisrioch. “Pretty good, eh?” She gestured towards her shoes. “And I’m doing it in these things, so that has to be worth double points!”

Nisrioch stroked his chin, rainbow-colored eyes narrowing. “Hmmm… I’m willing to give you five bonus points for them. Is that acceptable?”

Morgaine considered things. “It’ll do.” She crossed her arms. “So--Nissy--it’s that time of year again…”

Nisrioch sighed. “I know. I was hoping you’d given it a rest…”

“Oh, that’s great, Nissy!” snapped Morgaine. “Could you be any more patronizing?”

Jean blinked. “Wha…?”

“Hush, we’re talking!” declared Morgaine, raising a hand in admonishment. “It’s the eighteenth anniversary of her death, Nissy--her death at the age of twenty-four.” Morgaine raised an eyebrow. “Eighteen. Twenty-four. Sequential factors of six. By the numbers three and four respectively.” She leaned forward. “I don’t have to tell you how mystically significant all this is.”

“Clearly you do,” said Nisrioch with a smile, “as that is precisely what you’re doing.”

Morgaine frowned and crossed her arms. After chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, she glared at her brother. “Big mystic stuff! She’s bound to show up this time!”

“That’s what you said last time,” replied Nisrioch. “And the time before that. And…”

“Just BE there,” declared Morgaine, turning to walk away. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t want to see her again…”

Jean waited for Morgaine to get out of earshot before turning to Nisrioch. “So--what was that about?”

“It’s the anniversary of Lady Shamhat’s death,” said Nisrioch simply. “Morgaine has held séances for the last sixteen years trying to reach her spirit.”

“Oh,” said Jean. “That’s--her and Mansemat’s…”

“Mother, yes,” declared Nisrioch brusquely. “A wonderful woman, as I have said in the past. Now seventh form, apprentice. Seventh form!”

Jean glared at him. “That one’s impossible.”

“And has Morgaine’s demonstration taught you nothing?” asked Nisrioch, one white eyebrow arching.

“Yeah. That being dead helps your flexibility,” muttered Jean.

“It does nothing of the kind,” declared Nisrioch. “Believe me. We’ve checked.”

Jean gulped slightly, and looked away. “Well, I don’t see you doing these ridiculous things,” she spat out.

Nisrioch immediately leapt in the air and grabbed his feet. He then twirled around midair, released his feet, landed on his hands, then pushed off with them, righting himself. Jean stared at him, her jaw hanging open. “Seventh form, apprentice,” he announced cheerfully.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 18

2011-08-06T07:59:00.000-07:00

Porone Belltower sipped his wine as Tisiphone played her lute. He glanced around the room. Armida’s was close to empty, tonight. “Odd time, these last few days” he stated quietly.

The blind girl simply nodded and continued playing. “Someone is coming,” she noted.

Porone nodded, and turned to see Menadarb entering the room. “Well--young Brighthand. It has--been awhile.”

“I don’t go by that name anymore, Belltower,” replied Menadarb casually.

Porone nodded quietly. “You’ve broken your father’s heart, you realize,” said the older Erl.

“Good,” replied Menadarb. “That shows he still has one.” He glanced around the room. “I was hoping to speak to Rhea…”

“She is out,” said Tisiphone softly.

“Ahh.” Menadarb nodded swiftly. “Will she be back soon?”

“No,” replied Tisiphone, tuning her lute.

“I see,” said the young Erl. “Well--tell her I was here.” And with that, he headed towards the door.

“Won’t you stay for a drink?” asked Porone suddenly.

“No,” answered Menadarb. “Exile and all that.”

Porone sipped his wine, eyes fixed on the young man. “And where will you go, now that you must leave?”

Menadarb smiled slightly to himself. “I’m making for Carcosse. Foxglove has people there. And they tell me--there’s work to be done there.”

“You’ve an interesting life ahead of you,” noted Porone. Menadarb simply nodded, and left. Porone was silent for a long while. Finally, he glanced at Tisiphone. “We’ve helped ruin that young man. I hope you know that.”

Tisiphone put down her lute. “We did not start the Cheapside fire, Friend Porone.”

“So I have been assured,” noted the merchant acidly. “It still does not help. You had Rhea encouraging that young fool every step of the way. And why? Why did we help the Hands on this one? What did the Necklace gain?”

Tisiphone idly tuned her instrument for awhile, before even deigning to answer. “Friend Porone, you are supremely useful Link--but in the end, only a Link. The whole of our design is denied to you. What the Necklace has gained in this is beyond your ability to see. And you may never see it, even when the moment of our triumph arrives.”

Porone sighed. “Of course, Friend Tisiphone. And I am--increasingly used to hearing this. But still…”

Tisiphone began to play again. “We did very little in all this, Friend Porone. Merely quietly facilitated what would have likely occurred without us. When they write the history of this down, none will ever know we were even involved.”

“Thank the Lady for that,” said Porone. “This is not something I’m proud of.” He looked glumly at his empty glass. “It’s the girl I feel most sorry for. She’s half in love with that young man, you realize. Did you see that coming, when you plotted all this out? Or did you even care?” He raised his hand, and gave a dismissive wave. “Ignore what I say. I am drunk, and sad, and lonely.”

“I sometimes wonder how you manage,” noted the blind lautist.

“I’m a man who puts more store in necessity than pride,” answered the older Erl sadly. He refilled his wineglass, stared at it for a moment, then gulped it down.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 17

2011-08-04T06:38:00.001-07:00

Jean watched the people file out of the room. “So that was it?” she asked. “All this production, and in the end Manny just says ‘pay them properly, let them take breaks, and make sure your factories aren’t deathtraps’.”

“Oh, no, Miss Crow,” said Nisrioch cheerfully. “You’ve left off the part where we watch to make sure they do what we say.” He gave a merry laugh. “Why it will be marvelous!”

Jean nodded to herself. “Yeah. I’m happy for you.”

“No need to be sarcastic, apprentice,” noted the Dark Lord. “I did let you have some of my melon.”

Jean sighed. “Yes. Yes, you did. And it was delicious.”

“Of course,” replied Nisrioch. “It was melon! The Darksome Lady gave them to us so we could have the concept of delicious. They are the pinnacle of the apex of…”

“Damn it, please stop,” groaned Jean slumping forward quietly. She whimpered slightly. “You are just trying to break me aren’t you?”

“Somewhat,” admitted Nisrioch. “It’s part of your training. I must shatter your concept of the possible, then rebuild it, then shatter again, then rebuild it again, then shatter again, and then rebuild it one last time, adding on a delightful little apex…”

Jean rubbed her temples. “Are you certain that your mother is the spooky one?”

“Actually, I’m not,” said Nisrioch quietly. He raised a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell.”

Jean turned away, and saw Menadarb leaving the court. “I still don’t get why he wound up exiled…”

“Old laws,” said Nisrioch. “Really, it’s as much a form of protection as it is a punishment. And--it’s only temporary.”

“I know, but--” Jean shook her head. “I just thought--things would--finish more.” She watched Menadarb walk past his father, who desperately signaled his son. “I mean--the problems that started all this--they’re still here…”

“Well, that is life, my dear,” noted Nisrioch. “We strive and strive to solve the problems of our existence. And that is good. It is when we cease to do so that we fail.”

Jean stared at her instructor. “Now I know I’ve been hanging out with you too long. I’m trying to figure out how many meanings what you just said can have. I’m thinking… a lot.”

“You ARE learning,” noted Nisrioch with delight.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 16

2011-08-02T06:07:00.001-07:00

“After the fire in Cheapside, I found myself trying to understand how it had happened,” explained Menadarb. “The answer was, I’m afraid rather horrifically easy to uncover and understand--wanton, systematic neglect by the owners, coupled with numerous abuses of their employees.”

“Indeed,” said Mansemat. “These are serious allegations you’re making young Mr. Brighthand.”

“I… prefer to be called ‘Flamefist’, sir,” replied Mendarb quietly.

“Duly noted,” said the Dark Lord, his chains clinking on his wrists. “But do you have proof, sir?”

“Quite a bit, I’m afraid,” the young Erl stated. “I’m afraid that no one really bothered to hide any of this…” He shook his head. “It’s almost as if they didn’t care. Or even acknowledged the possibility that what they were doing was wrong.”

“I object! I object!” shouted out Meleagans Flaxseed, standing to his feet. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!” He turned around and regarded the courtroom. “Where’s it say a man can’t look after his own profits, eh? That’s all we were doing. Now, I admit that maybe things got a little out of hand, this one time, but these things happen. So I say, let’s just forget about all of this, and get on with our lives.” Flaxseed gave a big boyish grin and looked around the courtroom.

No one smiled back at him. In fact, several people he considered his good friends were staring at him with such contempt that it struck him that they wouldn’t mind if he just happened to die. Meleagans Flaxseed was not an overly bright man, and like most not overly bright men who have been favored by fortune, he had wound up with an ironclad delusion that he was invariably correct. However, even the strongest delusion has its limits, and while it would be wrong to say that Meleagans was forced to rethink his absolute correctness, he was beginning to consider that this was something that was less readily apparent to others.

“Mr. Flaxseed,” stated Mansemat after a moment, “I must advise you that your… unguarded statements not only influence my judgment, but constitute ‘contempt of court‘. Is this clear?”

Meleagans nodded brusquely, and then pointed at Menadarb. “He’s been conspiring to break the City’s peace! Go on, ask him!”

“Mr. Flaxseed, enough,” snapped Mansemat. As the Meleagans sat down, Mansemat glanced at Menadarb. “Do you have any response to these charges?”

“Merely that they are probably correct,” noted Menadarb quietly. “Not in a large way, but… I have been helping the workers organize. To get things done.”

“I see,” said Mansemat. “These are serious matters, young Mr… Flamefist. I am not asked to consider motives in these matters--only results.” He glanced away. “Still it can be dealt with after my decision in the greater case.”

“I… thank you, Your Magnificence,” said Menadarb.

“Don’t mention it,” said the Dark Lord. “Now--please. Continue.”

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 15

2011-07-30T08:26:00.000-07:00

“Well,” said Meleagans Flaxseed. “I think that went rather well.”

Porone Belltower and Hadrub Brighthand stared at the man. “Meleagans--you more or less confessed that your employees are also your tenants,” noted Porone quietly. “And that you pay them less than you charge them for rent. So that they have to take loans. From you.”

Meleagans nodded, a smile on his face. “Well, naturally. Right clever bit of business that is. Get the bastards hooked good and proper.”

Porone and Hadrub stared at each other, and silently confirmed to themselves that Flaxseed had united the entire Folly, however briefly, in a burning mutual desire to see him thrown into a deep, dank hole. Possibly, several times in succession.

Meleagans seemed quite oblivious to this fact. “Hey, look! His Excellency’s gotten himself a melon somewhere!” he noted. Flaxseed patted his belly. “Reminds me--I haven’t eaten since breakfast! Best go remedy that!”

Porone and Hadrub watched him amble off. “If we’re lucky he’ll be torn limb from limb,” noted Hadrub quietly.

“If you’re lucky, Brighthand,” commented Porone. “Remember, I’m only a sympathetic bystander. And if Flaxseed becomes the face of matchstick factory owners, I will change sides.”

“And wisely so,” agreed Hadrub. He sighed, and gave a ferocious shake of his head. “I told them not to try and set off a riot. The problem with undisciplined violence is, you never know where it’s going to end.”

“So what was your plan?” asked Porone.

“Cut off the snake’s head,” replied Hadrub. “Find these ‘Foxglove’ and ‘Flamefist’ fellows and have them dealt with.” He nodded quietly to himself. “Men can handle suffering themselves if they’re desperate. But seeing men they looked up to crushed--that kills the fight in them. Most times.”

“Or dulls it for awhile,” said Porone. “Still--a better idea than your fellows came up with. Putting everyone on edge only resulted in tipping everything over it. And where it will all fall--the Darksome Lady alone knows.” He glanced away. “I hear Flamefist is coming forward.”

Hadrub gave a bleak laugh. “So they say. Personally, I doubt it. His sort always crawl back under their rocks once the trouble starts…” He smiled. “Besides, things aren’t so bad, really. Flaxseed makes a fool of himself? Well, we make sure he takes the hit, a few nice words are said, and then we get back to business as usual.” Brighthand slapped his hands together. “Just you watch. Nothing will really need to change.”

Porone was considering how to respond to that when a stirring came from the crowd. “Flamefist!” cried someone. “It’s the Flamefist!” shouted another. Porone turned to see this mysterious champion of the commons. And then he found himself grabbing Hadrub by the shoulder.

“Brighthand,” he noted. “You might want…”

Hadrub glanced over. “Wha--?” And then he froze. His son Menadarb was walking among the crowd, clad in simple clothing, head held high. Around him they chanted ‘Flamefist, Flamefist, Flamefist!’

Hadrub darted forward. “Menadarb! Boy! What--what is the meaning of this?”

Menadarb moved on, as if he didn’t hear Hadrub speaking, or even see him. He simply walked up the court steps.

“Menadarb! Menadarb!” shouted his father, as Menadarb disappeared into the building. “What’s going on? What is happening?” Hadrub gave a great sob. “Darksome Lady, lad, don’t you know your own da’!”

Porone rushed to his friend side, as Brighthand tried to hold back his tears. “Hadrub--are you all right?”

“Lady’s Love, Porone!” he cried. “That was my boy! My own sweet boy! And he--now he’s--” He shook his head. “What is happening in this city?”

Porone considered what to say, and decided to simply pretend he didn’t know the answer, while patting Hadrub’s shoulder.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 14

2011-07-28T07:30:00.000-07:00

Nisrioch Cthonique spread his hands. “Hear ye, hear ye, people of Marsilion’s Folly!” He gestured to his brother, who sat on a large chair, his chains displayed prominently on his arms and legs. “Mansemat Cthonique, Slave of the People, Cthonique of Castle Terribel sits in judgment to uphold the law and keep the peace. May Mother Night lead us to truth, and the Dragon protect us with His mighty wings.”

“And may Darkness reign eternal,” proclaimed the assembled crowd in the Folly’s Great Court. Jean Crow glanced at Nisrioch as he took his seat.

“So--that’s it for you?” she asked.

“Until the case ends. Now I’m merely an observer,” he replied. “Comes with being the Cthonique of Lamek’s Needle. Traditionally, it was the Dark Lord of the Plains of Dread heir, though we’ve changed that somewhat… Still--the protocol is clear. The Dark Lord of the Screaming Waste opens the Court.”

“What is it you people and ritual?” muttered Jean. “The Church across the river has less of them.” She shook her head. “I’m betting all this is written in a book somewhere.”

“Several books, actually,” replied Nisrioch. “But--well, we lost so much to the Empire. I think a great deal of the Nightlander culture is about making sure we never lose anything else again.”

Jean stared out at the crowd. You could tell the owners from the workers rather easily. “You guys love lost causes, don’t you?”

“Best things to fight for,” said Nisrioch positively. “Well, aside from a good bit of melon at the breakfast table.” He licked his lips fondly, rainbow-colored eyes twinkling with delight. “I tell you, they are wonderful. Quench your hunger AND your thirst at the same time! And they work as their own bowl. So they’re very efficient, food-wise.”

Jean sighed and lowered her head. “I should just--stop expecting to carry on meaningful conversation with you, shouldn’t I?”

“Not for very long stretches, I’m afraid,” replied Nisrioch. “It bores me.” He smiled at her. “Has… Mother’s little mark been…?”

Jean touched her hand to the strange markings Zamial had placed on her forehead. “These days, I barely notice it’s there. Except when I look at myself in the mirror.” Nisrioch nodded. “Okay, there’s something you’re not--”

Mansemat clapped his hands together. “People of Marsilion’s Folly--I come here to speak of weighty matters. The peace of the city has been broken and I have been asked to sift through this matter. Both sides claim to be the wronged ones in this dispute, the victims of the other’s greed. In such cases, it is difficult to find the truth--and yet I shall endeavor to do so, to the best of my ability.”

“Hail to His Magnificence,” shouted the assembled crowd, both groups trying to shout louder and with more enthusiasm than the other. “The people’s Lord is the people’s slave!”

Nisrioch rubbed his chin fitfully. “Oh, dear.”

Jean glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I seem to have given myself a craving for melons,” said Nisrioch wistfully. He sighed. “Hopefully, I can last until the first recess, but if not…” He let out a low moan. “Oh, cruel fate! To make a man desire melons, and yet keep them from him!”

“I’d think you’d be used to that,” muttered Jean. “What with being involved with Alcina…”

“Mmm, she does hog them some mornings, but usually, she and I enjoy a delicious sampling of melon, followed by peaches and dumplings,” said Nisrioch.

Jean winced. If this conversation wasn’t obscene, then it damn might as well have been.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 13

2011-07-26T08:02:00.000-07:00

Justinian wandered down the hall, lugging the ponderous ebony box with him. A few moments past, he’d been recruited by Eurydice to carry the heavy thing to Mansemat, as it was part of ‘the Lord’s regalia’. As far Justinian could tell, that seemed to be code for ‘ridiculously heavy item that serves no actual purpose, save to get lugged out on occasion and put someone’s back out.’

That was more or less what it meant back at the Sacristry. At times like this, Justinian couldn’t help but feel that crossing the Murkenmere and being impressed into the service of House Cthonique really wasn’t that great a change for him. He was still lugging heavy objects around for purposes he only vaguely understood in exchange for room and board.

Of course, there was the difference of loyal service to the Church and Faith in contrast to grudging service to his spiritual enemies, but on the day-to-day things, that didn’t make much of a difference.

Justinian stopped before the large copper-studded door Eurydice had directed to and knocked. “Your Magnificence? It’s me. Justinian Sigma. With your… box.”

“Ahh. The chains of office,” came Mansemat Cthonique’s voice from within. “Just in time. Please, enter.”

Justinian set the box down, and opened the door, then dragged the damn thing into the chamber. Mansemat stood inside, wearing a short-sleeved doublet, and a pair of silk pants. An elaborate robe covered with images of dragons, lotuses, and holly leaves hung nearby. The Dark Lord stepped forward and knelt by the box. “Thank you, Squire Sigma,” he stated. “I appreciate this.”

“Don’t…” began Sigma and then stopped as he saw Mansemat’s right arm.

The Dark Lord paused and glanced at the lengthy scar than ran to his elbow. “Old wound,” he said quietly. “Not as bad as it looks. I barely feel most days.” He popped open the box.

“I didn’t mean to stare, sir,” began Justinian, “it’s just…” And then he got a good look at what Mansemat was taking out of the box. “I… Those are your…”

“Chains of office, yes,” said Mansemat, as he fastened the gold-plated, jewel-encrusted shackle around his wrist. “Supposedly they’re Marduk’s originals--though I have my doubts…”

Justinian nodded dully. “So when you sit in court, you are… wearing chains. I see.” He bit his lip. “Why?”

“I’d say ‘tradition’, but it’s one that had fallen to the wayside when I became the Cthonique of Castle Terribel,” noted Mansemat. “I restored it. I thought we needed to remember where we came from.” He fastened the other shackle on and smiled. “Marduk Cthonique, founder of my line. Born a slave, in Mount Cthonique, like a hundred others. Lead his fellows in an uprising, and helped free the Plains. He kept his chains to show people that there was still one slave left--himself, servant to the people’s will.” Mansemat shook his head. “His descendents prettied the chains up--which only made them more cumbersome--and then they created a nice little symbol of the chains to wear, so they wouldn’t be inconvenienced.” He sighed. “If you ask me, that was when the rot set in, the things that lead us to Nerghal and my father…”

Justinian nodded. “So--Asterot wasn’t just… venting back at the Council. You are descended from a slave.”

“From many slaves,” said Mansemat. “The first of whom lead his people to freedom against odds that were by all rights impossible.” A smile came on the Erl’s white face. “I see no shame in this aspect of my heritage, Squire Sigma. Only pride. The pride of being a member of a family who climbed so high through the favor of Mother Night, and in the service of her causes--justice and freedom. Let other’s keep their storied names, their descent from divine heroes and spiritual beings. I’ll take my chains and wear them gladly.” Mansemat turned back to the box, then paused. “Squire Sigma--could you help me with the leg irons? They--tend to be a bit of a hassle…”

Justinian nodded. “Of course, Dark Lord.” It occurred to him that there were other times, like this, when he felt that his situation had changed beyond all belief.

The frightening part was he was getting used to it.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 12

2011-07-23T07:14:00.000-07:00

“They did what?” said Mansemat Cthonique, his eyes wide. Breus quietly refilled the Dark Lord’s glass.

“Unleashed their… hired muscle on the protestors,” said Mayor Latheawl. The muscular Erl’s face twisted into a grimace. “Of course, they all deny that’s happening, or claim that it’s somebody else. But, really it’s all so transparent…” He waved his hand. “All over three drunken Caps getting some sense in them.”

Mansemat nodded and looked at his brother. “I thought you were bringing matters under control.”

“Trying to,” said Nisrioch admonishingly. “You know how tangled these things can get.”

Mansemat leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “Yes, but I was hoping against hope this would be one of the simple times.” He turned again to the Mayor. “So--how bad is it?”

Latheawl looked away. “Well, they aren’t fighting it out in the streets at the moment. Largely because the owners were surprised at the resistance, and the protestors--well, they know how that ends up.” Mansemat and Nisrioch both nodded in grim agreement. “Everyone is expecting something to be done, though exactly what is a somewhat thornier issue.”

“And what of you, sir?” asked Mansemat.

“Don’t see where I have much choice,” replied the mayor. “Blood has been shed in the streets of my city. And so I invoke the Dark Lord’s Judgment.”

Mansemat nodded, and shut his eyes. “Very well. Tell the folk to gather in the Court. I will hear the case.” He looked at Breus, and gave a slight nod of his head. “Break out the chains of office, le Fidelé. The Dark Lord of the Plains sits in the Court.”

Breus bowed. “It will be done, Your Magnificence.”

As the High Steward left the room, Nisrioch turned to regard his brother. “Well--look on the good side, Manny--it’s not the latest iteration of the pig case.”

Mansemat winced. “I swear, Redroot and Gristmill have managed to find more wrinkles on that matter than I thought possible!”

Mayor Latheawl coughed politely. Nisrioch glanced at him. “Oh, don’t worry, sir. We complain about Redroot vs. Gristmill in front of all the Lord Mayors of the Folly.”

Corin nodded, and then stood. “Well--still, I must be off. Have to prepare for things. And spread oil on the waters, so they don’t try to burn down the rest of the city…”

Mansemat regarded him for a moment. “You know, Mr. Latheawl, I have to ask--has it all been what you thought?”

Corin stood there and regarded the Dark Lords calmly. “I suppose to say it’s been a surprise. But honestly--this is exactly how I thought things would go if I ever sat in the Mayor’s seat.” He chuckled grimly. “Knew this wouldn’t be an easy job, Your Magnificence. Just a necessary one.” He bowed slightly to Mansemat, who bowed slightly back, and then left the hall.

“There goes a dangerous man,” noted Mansemat to his brother.

“Only to his enemies,” replied Nisrioch.

“Let’s hope we’re never counted among them,” said Mansemat. He shook his head. “By the Lady, who’d have thought so small a thing could become so great a matter? All this--over matchsticks.”

“Well, it falls to you to resolve things, Manny,” noted Nisrioch.

“And I shall,” declared Mansemat ringingly. “Eight years of listening to disputes over a pig have not been wasted. My legal acumen and judgment have been strengthened so--ow!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Nisrioch.

“Bit my tongue,” said Mansemat.

“Oh, I hate it when that happens,” noted his brother. “Would you like some ice water?”

“Yes, please,” said Mansemat quietly.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 11

2011-07-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

Calabrun Truegoods tottered through the streets. “Love--loved that cricket!” he proclaimed to his companions.

“Fine animal,” said Elias Clabbermouth. “Credit to his species.”

“Mmm,” said Brontin Goldleaf. “Died with h--hon--honor.” And then he suppressed an urge to vomit, due to his extraordinary drunkenness, a condition shared by his two friends. They’d set out from the Fellowship Hall with the idea of cheering Calabrun up through the reliable help of alcohol. And yet for once, this reliable helper had failed--Calabrun only seemed to get more depressed as he drank, regaling his friends with anecdotes of the deceased Black Anguish, who Calabrun made clear had been a paragon among crickets.

It was all rather disconcerting when you got down to it. This was, after all, a cricket.

This probably explains why the trio failed to watch where they were going and wandered into one of those sections of Marsilion’s Folly. The sections that when sober they not only avoided, but pretended did not exist. Or when that was not an option, loudly opined shouldn’t exist. On a later recollection, none of the three could remember the exact moment when they strayed into an area where the sight of three well-dressed men in caps didn’t merely cause a mild annoyed roll of the eyes. They simply became aware of the fact that there was a not-small crowd following them.

If they’d been sober, the three would probably have recognized this as a situation that required them to keep their mouths shut, and move along quickly and quietly. But they were most certainly not, which is why things fell out like they did.

“Hey!” shouted Elias. “Are you following us?”

A scruffy-looking Erl came out of the crowd. “Just… keeping an eye on you, sirs,” he said, in a voice that managed to approach politeness, and yet ever so subtly miss it. “Making sure you don’t come to no harm. There’s rough sorts out in the Folly these nights.”

Calabrun turned and lifted his cap. “And do these ‘rough sortses’ wear the Cap of a High Worthy of Trade Gentleman?” He raised a fist, an act far less intimidating than he imagined it to be. “Well, do they?”

The scruffy-looking Erl handled this response with surprising aplomb. “Some do, yes,” he said, crossing his arms. “The Caps send folk here looking for fights.”

“Nonsense! The Fellows are the most worthy peoples there is in the city!” cried out Calabrun. “Are you saying they’re not?” He took a fighting poise. “Come over here and say that!”

Elias and Brontin, who were somewhat less drunk than Calabrun, grabbed him. “Keep calm, Truegoods,” said Brontin. “It’s not worth it.”

“I say we give him what he wants,” muttered one of the men.

“Remember what Flamefist said!” snapped the leader.

“Please, let’s all be calm!” said Brontin. “My friend’s had a rough night.”

“Right! You have to excuse him,” said Elias hopefully. “His fighting cricket just died.”

One member of the crowd blinked. “By the Lady! He’s gone soft-headed over a damned cricket?”

Calabrun snorted, and broke free from his companions. “Black Anguish wasn’t just any cricket! He was a champion!” he shouted, then punched that man in the jaw.

That was all it took to set it off. Afterwards, nursing their bruised and broken bodies, the three agreed they had perhaps a little more drink than was good for them, and that Calabrun had been ever so slightly out of hand.

But that was afterwards. At the time, they were much to busy being beaten up to form any real observances.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 10

2011-07-19T08:47:00.001-07:00

Porone Belltower sipped his wine. “So that’s it, eh?”

“There’s not much His Excellency can really do,” noted Hadrub Brighthand. “And he’s a man who has his own, strange agenda, though the Dragon knows what it is.”

“So in other words--expect little and you won’t be disappointed,” noted Porone.

Hadrub laughed, then shook his head. “True. True. This is… a muddle.” He bit his lip. “Everyone else is blaming the Mayor, but honestly, I think Latheawl’s as nervous as we are. It’s these leaders that are to blame. Foxglove and Flamefist. The bastards seem to know just how to hit us. Last week, Melissa Flaxseed had her Debut ruined by a group of them chanting outside Meleagans’ mansion.”

“Leaders can be dealt with,” noted Porone simply.

Hadrub rolled his eyes. “If you can find them. Foxglove used to run with the Street Orphans, so he knows how to hide. As for Flamefist--no one’s ever heard of the man before a few weeks ago. And all we do know is that they think he’s going to tear the city down around the Caps.”

Porone laughed. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Go, Black Anguish!” shouted Calabrun Truegoods, waving his cap. “Slaughter the bastard! You’ve got him!”

“Don’t listen to their talk, Red Lightning!” said Gosric Milkbeard. “You’re a champion, if there ever was one!”

Hadrub glanced at Porone. “Do you ever find the Fellowship Hall cricket fights a tad… depressing?” he muttered quietly.

“I try to find a measure of satisfaction from them,” replied Porone. “Think of it, Brighthand--men of wealth and prestige among the Caps--betting on which cricket will bite the other’s head off like a bunch of urchins in a back alley.” He waved a hand mildly. “There’s something almost--poetic about that, in my mind.” Hadrub gave a distracted nod. “How’s your son?” asked Porone quietly.

Hadrub looked at his friend with just a touch of desperation. “I can’t make head or tails of it, Belltower. Never had this sort of problems with him in the past. Oh, he was a bit driftless, and he spent money like it was water, but…” The older factory owner shook his head fondly. “Well, hell’s bells, I climbed so he could live like that. I wanted a son with… polish.” Hadrub looked at his wine bitterly. “But now… leaves at all strange hours. Comes back with dirty clothes. Last morning--he made it sound like he’s on Latheawl’s side.”

Porone nodded, and took another sip of his tea. “I ever tell you of the time I met Lord Nerghal?”

“No, you haven’t,” said Hadrub. He regarded Porone with a puzzled look. “What’s that…?”

“Let me tell you, and it should all make sense,” said Porone. “After he killed old Ailil, Nerghal made a tour of the Folly. He visited everyone, even us in the Bells. First Dark Lord I’d ever seen. This was after my father’s accident, so I was on water duty, even though I was only nine. Well, no sooner has Nerghal seen me, then he has me come to his side, and he starts asking me questions. Wants to know if I like it in the Belltower. Well, he’s the Dark Lord, so I tell him the truth--I say ‘no’.” A smile touched Porone’s features. “Well, everyone is staring at me in terror, and Nerghal, he just laughs and tossles my hair. ‘Then you better run, my lad,’ he tells me, ‘fast as you can.’ And then he handed me a gold mark.” Porone was silent for a while. “I worshiped the man after that. Oh, I knew he’d just come because he had to make his little bloodbath look like a proper Judgment of the House--but he listened to me. And in that moment--he cared.” Porone finished his wine. “I took his advice. And it carried me--a long way.”

Hadrub looked at the merchant in puzzlement. “How does that…?”

“I’m just trying to make it clear, Hadrub,” said Porone. “Everyone’s a hero to someone. Even a man who slaughtered most of his immediate family.”

“Hurrah for Red Lightning!” shouted Osric in joy.

Brontin Goldleaf and Elias Clabbermouth patted the weeping Calabrun on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Truegoods,” said Elias. “It was a good match. Black Anguish died with style!”

“Mmmm,” agreed Brontin. “Best one I’ve seen in a while. Red Lightning tore his head clean off!”

Calabrun buried his head in hands.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 9

2011-07-16T07:21:00.000-07:00

“This is an outrage!” shouted Meleagans Flaxseed. He gestured at Corin Latheawl. “Remove this man from office, Your Excellency!”

Corin Latheawl frowned at the man. “The Thing can remove the Mayor, Flaxseed,” he stated levelly. “Not the Dark Lord of the Waste. You know that.”

“Aye, and the Thing is packed with your--disgraceful followers,” snapped Meleagans. He looked at Nisrioch imploringly. “They’re encouraging this lawlessness! Even the Hats understood that you had to nip this sort of--restlessness in the bud! Use the vigils! We pay them for something!”

“To keep the peace,” said Corin. “Which they are doing. Such as when a group of men who were found to… work security for you tried to assault the picketers.”

“That was their own initiative,” said Meleagans quietly glancing furtively at the door. “Don’t you see how these people are tearing the Folly apart?”

“These people are as much a part of the Folly as you or I, Flaxseed,” replied Corin. The Mayor’s frown deepened, looking almost menacing on his large block of a face. “Some would say they’re more a part then some of us.”

“Don’t try and bring up your Hand nonsense!” shouted Meleagans, his face growing red. “This city was working before you started up!” The factory owner glanced at his fellows, who were all doing their best to look away from Flaxseed’s rather unseemly display. Meleagans shifted awkwardly, suddenly aware that he was not helping his case as much as he imagined. “Well, it was,” he said. “Folk did what they were told, and were happy to do it! But then you--” He turned to the Mayor, and pointed an accusing finger-- “came along and started telling them a lot of nonsense about how things ought to be, and now it’s all gone to hell. What with the grain dole, and all that rot…”

Corin stared at Meleagans quietly. “Flaxseed, do you honestly believe that the Cheapside fire would be less of a problem if I hadn’t reintroduced the grain dole?”

“Well, yes,” said Meleagans. “Because then folks would have to go back to work for us, so they’d shut their mouths, and not get ideas. But thanks to you, they can avoid working for a while, and that makes them get ideas.”

Corin was thinking of some way to respond to that when a loud slurping noise that caught everyone’s attention saved him from doing that. Nisrioch Cthonique was guzzling a cup. After a moment, he put it down with a satisfied sigh, and then smiled apologetically at the assembly. “Sorry. It’s simply the last bits of tea tend to be the best, and I haven’t had a first rate cup in a while.” He smiled at everyone again. “I have been paying attention. Honest.”

Hadrub Brighthand stepped forward, on the theory that someone--anyone--other than Meleagans Flaxseed needed to speak for the owners. “We do not doubt it, Your Excellency. We have called you in because we feel that the Mayor is not looking after our interests.”

“And the Mayor does not feel you are looking out for his,” noted Nisrioch gently. The Erl stood to his full height--a rather unnerving sight. “Rest assured, Mr. Brighthand, I wish this matter to be solved to the satisfaction of all, you included. But House Cthonique must look to the interests of all who we are pledged to serve, even in something as small as the matter of the matchsticks.” He looked at Hadrub sympathetically. “Surely some sort of compromise can be reached…?”

Hadrub frowned slightly. “You must understand Your Excellency--this goes beyond a labor dispute. These people hound us throughout the city, demonstrating outside our clubs, our theaters, and other places of amusement. They hound and harass us, and they work against our interests.” He turned to Latheawl. “While I feel my… colleague has overstated matters, the fact remains that it is hard not to feel that the Mayor and his fellow Hands are encouraging this situation for their own purposes.”

“We are simply trying to run this city by our principles,” said Corin. “A key one of which is justice for all, not merely those with wealth.”

“Ah, so that’s how you view it,” said Hadrub, frowning bitterly. He looked at Nisrioch. “Someone is giving direction to these people, Dark Lord. Their aim is a little too unerring to be mere luck. Someone is telling them where we are.”

“Are you accusing me?” snapped Corin. “If you are, just say so. This dancing around the issue does you and yours no credit, Brighthand!”

“Gentlemen,” said Nisrioch, raising his hand. “Let us all keep our heads. We are all ultimately working to the same ends, I hope.”

“I hope it as well, Your Excellency,” said Brighthand. “But hopes are a slender reed in these times.” Hadrub turned as he heard a skipping sound behind him.

“Uncle Nissy! Uncle Nissy!” said Malina as she rushed in. “Thecla had babies! There are baby seals now! Baby seals!”

Elaine followed her sister in. “I tried to tell her, but…”

Nisrioch sighed. “It’s all right.” He looked at his niece. “So--how many babies?”

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 8

2011-07-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

Justinian stared out at the streets of Marsilion’s Folly from the comfort of Nisrioch’s carriage. While he hardly considered himself an expert on life in the Folly, the atmosphere in the city seemed tense. Crowds of slightly ragged men and women milled about on the street, some of whom were holding blunt objects, and others of whom were holding signs. Justinian read one which declared ‘The Wellbeing of Marsilion’s Folly Is Built Upon The Labours Of Its Abused Workers Who Are Neglected By The Owners Who Have No Idea Of How Absolutely Vital They Are…” At which point, the sign bearer finally passed out of view.

It occurred to Justinian that the Folly’s higher rate of literacy had some rather odd side-effects. Still, the obvious tension was worrying. It put Justinian in mind of the Black Year when the harvest around Almace had failed, and people had become… restless. They’d crowded the streets calling out for bread, for coins, for something. A few odd street prophets had risen up, claiming that the end times were upon them, that the King had been stricken ill for his failure to abide by the Precepts of the Faith, that the Great War was at hand and that Heaven demanded the overthrow of the House of Pescheour. The Sacristans had actually been called out to patrol the streets when things reached their worst, though Joyeuse had been spared an outright riot. But it had been close.

Marsilion’s Folly didn’t seem quite as bad. The crowds parted to let the carriage through, with many saluting Nisrioch as he glanced out the window. Justinian was growing used to how fond their subjects seemed of the Cthoniques, but every now and then it still surprised him.

“You’ve got that far-off look,” said Elaine. “It’s kind of spooky.”

Justinian turned and bowed. “Just… musing, Your Grace.” He looked back out the window of the carriage. “About home, strangely enough. This situation… brings back memories. Impossible as it may seem to you.”

“So you have poor people in the Lands of Light?” said Elaine with a rather exaggerated gasp. “And--they get upset on occasion? By the Darksome Lady… how can this be?”

Justinian winced. “I really should lean how to avoid your sarcasm, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, normally, I’d say ‘no’, but you just stumble into rejoinders from everybody, Sigma, so I’ll agree with you,” replied Elaine. “I mean--you’re too easy. I feel guilty about it afterwards.”

“Well, thank you,” said Justinian with a satisfied nod. “Now, if Jean would just come around to your way of thinking, my problems would largely be solved.”

“What about Morgaine?” asked Elaine.

“Her Excellency is a force of nature,” replied the Milesian. “A sarcastic force of nature. I expect reasonable improvement, not miracles.”

Malina clapped her hands together. “Oooh! The menagerie’s open!” She looked at her uncle. “Can we go later?”

Nisrioch was peering worriedly at the crowds when this question was asked, but turned immediately to smile at his niece. “If this little matter doesn’t last too long, then of course, Mal.”

Malina nodded. “Yay! We can see the seals!” She turned to her sister. “I like the seals.”

Elaine nodded. “I’ve heard.”

Nisrioch sighed as the carriage came to a stop in front of large imposing building with a statue of Mother Night holding a sword placed in front of it. “I’m afraid that was a ‘maybe‘, Malina. It depends on this crowd, and--well, they seem to mean business.”

“Maybe we can ask them to go see the seals with us?” suggested the young Dev.

The Matter of the Matchsticks--Part 7

2011-07-12T07:25:00.000-07:00

Elaine was halfway through reading The House of Memory when her candle went out. As she was right in the middle of an incredibly interesting sentence, involving a revelation of just who was the actual heir of whom, she grumbled to herself, and went to her drawer for a matchstick. She opened the drawer, and placed her hand inside. It struck wood.

Elaine blinked. This was… odd. Actually, it was unprecedented. She ran her hand through the drawer, in hopes that a match might be in some little corner. There wasn’t. Elaine looked around the room to make certain her mother was incapable of hearing her, and then swore quietly under her breath. This was serious. Elaine put on her serious expression, and headed out of her room into the hall.

The hall was extremely dark, and she had to make her way through it by touching her hand to the wall. This worked well enough, until she struck a little form that went ‘oof’, that nearly sent her strongly. Elaine clutched the wall as tightly as she could, then coughed politely. She knew that ‘oof’’. “Malina? Is that you?”

“Yes,” said her sister. Elaine heard some rustling, and then felt Malina’s hand tugging at her shirt. “We are under attack by the Owlie Men.”

“Allemanes,” said Elaine. “And they were disbanded four centuries ago.”

“But they’re back, and they’re attacking us, so we have to put out all the lights, and be extra quiet,” declared Malina.

“Yeah. No, we aren’t, Malina,” said Elaine. “Now, any idea where your father is? Or someone who might know what’s going on?”

“Jean’s in the Small Courtyard,” said Malina. “I’ll take you to her. You have to be kept safe from the Owlie Men!”

Elaine sighed, and rustled her little sister’s hair. “Sure, Malina. Sure,” she said, with a light flick of the young Dev’s horns.

The pair made their way to the Small Courtyard, which was actually quite large, but much smaller than the Great Courtyard, which had been built after it. To Elaine’s surprise, Jean was standing on a post with her arms stretched out. “Ummm, Jean… what…?” she began.

“Magic practice,” said Jean bleakly. “Just be glad it isn’t you.” She shook her head. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Not… really,” said Elaine. “Ummm… do you know where my mom is? Or Mansemat? Or Nisrioch? Or… anybody?”

“I’ve been standing here for several hours, Elaine,” replied Jean. “I barely know where I am.”

“Ahh.” Elaine glanced around awkwardly. “Well, this is awkward, because I really need to talk to one of them.”

“The Owley Men are invading!” declared Malina brightly.

“No, they aren’t,” said Elaine. She sighed. “You’re making me regret reading the Tapestry to you, Malina…”

“Awww,” said Malina looking at Elaine pleadingly. “But I want to see who wins!”

Elaine shut her eyes. “It doesn’t quite work that way, Malina.”

“Salutations, nieces,” declared Nisrioch as he wandered into view. He glanced at Jean. “How goes the training, apprentice?”

“I’ve settled down from a burning need to kill you, to dull urge,” said Jean.

The Dark Lord nodded. “This is usual.”

“Nissy, I’m out of matches,” said Elaine.

Nisrioch turned towards her. “Ahh, yes. That. We’re all out of matches. The matchstick factories are still closed.”

Elaine blinked. “What…?”

“Remember that fire in the Folly?” began Nisrioch. “It started in the matchstick factories…”

“That was a month ago,” said Elaine. “Shouldn’t they be fixed by now…”

“They are,” said Nisrioch awkwardly, “but… well, it’s complicated.”

“I’m reading de la Marche’s novels,” noted Elaine with a cross of her arms. “I can handle ‘complicated’.”

Nisrioch studied her for a moment, his rainbow-hued eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Very well. I’ve been thinking of a trip to the Folly. Interested?”

Elaine nodded. “Sounds great.”

Malina clapped her hands together. “Yay!” She looked at her sister. “They’ll help us fight off the Owley Men!”

Nisrioch glanced at Elaine. “You’ve been reading her the Tapestry, haven’t you?”

“Yep,” said Elaine rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Ummm--Nisrioch? Sir?” said Jean quietly. “Can I get off this post now?”