Original Submissions by Sanvean of type 'Stories'
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How the Azia Got Their Stories
Added on Jan 26, 2005Adapted from a South African folktale, this is the tale of how stories came to Zalanthas.
Once upon a time and long ago, tesukrami, there were no stories in all of Zalanthas, for a Prince of the Djinni held them all, and kept them in a small wooden box with three locks upon it, away in his castle, beyond the great chasm to the north, and refused to let them go out wandering to be told and heard. And a boy of the Tan Muark, one of the Azia, decided that this should not be.
So he set out wandering along the road, and at length he came to the castle, and was admitted, and there he spoke with the Prince of the Djinni, and asked for the stories.
The Prince laughed at him, for he treasured his stories, but the Djinni are a gambling folk, and at length the boy persuaded him to make a wager. 'Very well,' said the Prince. 'I will give you the stories, but you must perform three tasks before I will even consider the notion. You must catch the Tembo with the Terrible Teeth, and the Hornets that Sting like the Fires of Suk-Krath, and the Rashani who cannot be seen.'
The boy's face fell, for these were daunting tasks indeed, but he nodded and set out. He went to his village, and from his mother, he asked these things: numut vines, and a hollow gourd, and three squash covered with honey before roasting.
First he went to the Grey Forest, into its green and shadowy depths, into its depths where there are halflings, and tembo, and cilops slithering in the shadows. He sat down in a clearing where tembo tracks clustered and there he began to tangle himself in the vines. And when the Tembo with the Terrible Teeth appeared to eat him, there he was, patiently coiling and uncoiling the vines.
"Before I eat you, and lick your bones clean," said the tembo. "Tell me what it is that you are doing."
The boy frowned, ignoring the tembo as he continued with his vines. "I am trying to tie myself up," he said. "In such a way that I cannot escape."
The tembo watched him for a few moments as he fiddled with the vines, and finally said, "You're not very good at that, are you?"
"No," the boy said in humble tones. "I'm not. Perhaps you might show me how it could be done?"
"Yes, yes," the tembo impatiently said. "Stand aside." And he took the vines and tied himself up so thoroughly that there was not a chance of escape, the vines so tight and thick around him that only his eyes could be seen.
"Very good," said the boy, for he had fulfilled his first task. And tugging the tembo along behind him, he went about his second task. He came to the place where the Hornets that Sting like the Fires of Suk-Krath were buzzing about, and he watched them for a while. He hung his gourd from a tree and then he gathered handfuls of sand and tossed them into the air. The hornets, thinking a sandstorm was rising, flew into the gourd for shelter, and soon as the last one had entered, he stoppered the jug.
"Very good," said the boy, taking up his angrily buzzing gourd, for he had fulfilled his second task. And he set out his squash beneath a tree and waited.
Before long, the wind whispered and the grass rustled, and he knew the Rashani Who Could Not Be Seen, the wind fairy, was there.
"Squash," her voice said. "My favorite food. May I have some?"
The boy pretended not to hear.
"Hrmph," she said. "Then I'll simply take some!" And she tried to take the squash, but the sticky honey held her fast, no matter how hard she tried to flutter away. "Very good," said the boy, for now he had fulfilled his third task. And he gathered up the tembo, and his gourd, and the squash with the Rashani still attached, and took them to the Prince of the Djinni.
The Prince scowled and frowned, but he was forced to admit that the boy had done what he had been asked to do. So he gave the boy the box. The boy bowed in courtly and elegant fashion, for the Azia have always been mannerly, and set back to his village. He was impatient to get home, and to show his mother how he had triumphed, so he began to run, the box tucked beneath his arm. And he tripped, and he fell, and the box went flying, the locks breaking open, and all the stories flew out, and scattered all over the world, and in this fashion, stories came to Zalanthas. But the best stories, they were in the bottom of the box. So the Azia still have those, and we tell them on occasion, tesukrami, and this is what makes us the best storytellers of all.
Once upon a time and long ago, tesukrami, there were no stories in all of Zalanthas, for a Prince of the Djinni held them all, and kept them in a small wooden box with three locks upon it, away in his castle, beyond the great chasm to the north, and refused to let them go out wandering to be...
Continue Reading...Templar's Sons, The
Added on Jan 26, 2005A templar beguiles three half-giants into believing he is their father.
Once upon a time, there was a templar, of the House of Sath. His name was Arylian, and he was altogether a generally unremarkable man, destined to remain in his blue robe, and whose only moment of note had been a conversation with Garrick of the Red.
Some of his lack of remarkableness he brought on himself, for he was a quiet man, and not given to flamboyant gestures or clever conversation. And his quietness did not reflect any sort of profound or philosophical ruminations, but rather was the quiet of a man who took life as it presented itself, with little wonder or appreciation. His appearance made up the other part of his lack of remarkableness, for he was, like most of the inhabitants of Allanak, dark of skin and hair, and not overly tall.
But the life of a templar has certain bonuses, such as the ability to tax people at whim, or to confiscate spice or coins or concubines, and with those benefits certain perils, such as assassination attempts by disgruntled merchants or members of the ALA. And after Arylian had seen the third of his fellow blues dead to poison or a quick knife, he decided he would try to avoid suffering the same fate by hiring guards. Good guards, loyal guards. And to this matter, he did lend a certain amount of thought and at length, arrived upon an idea.
He went to the slaving house of Borsail, and then directed the slave keeper that he wished to purchase three half giants, of a very young age. Old enough to walk, but not old enough to speak clearly. And when he had made his selection among the array of the best that Borsail had to offer, he went home with his new charges toddling after him.
For Arylian was clever enough when need held, and he had decided that the best ties are those of blood, or believed blood, and that if the giants believed him related to them, they would gladly enough serve him. So he set about convincing them, over the next few months, that he was their father.
"Look!" he told the giants, who he had named Tug and Toby and Teracitus, and touching his face. "Just like me, you have two eyes. You inherited those from me, your father! And two ears, and a nose, though mine is a trifle longer than yours. Does this not prove our relation?"
And the half giants, who were as simple minded as any other of their breed, nodded and accepted his word. As they grew older, he dressed them in armor, and had them trained to fight, and wherever he went, his three half giants trailed after him, solemnly following their sire.
There were uncomfortable questions at times, such as the fate of the giants' mother, but Arylian concocted a story of a beautiful giantess, with long dark hair that fell to her ankles, who had come from the shores of the Sea of Silt to fall in love with him, and who had died to an assassin attempting to kill the templar. The story grew over time and by the end, Arylian was half in love with his creation, whose eyes were blue, and lips were full, and who had a cleverer turn of mind than most giants. And every once in a while, Tug or Toby might slip, and call him father in public, but he discouraged that, pointing out that if assassins knew they were his beloved sons, that they might kill the half giants as they had killed the mother, in attempting to cause a templar pain.
On a hot day, when dust cloaked the streets and the beggars fought over the slightest sliver of shade, Arylian and his half giants went out walking. They paced the length of Meleth's Circle, and along Caravan Road, and near the gates, where the crowds were thickest, Arylian felt someone tug at his belt pouch, and turned just in time to see a lean, wiry elf tucking away the stolen pouch with one long fingered hand.
"Seize him!" he shouted, pointing at the elf, and the half giants did.
The elf pleaded for mercy, words spilling from his lips faster than sand grains being swept across a dune, and Arylian frowned and scowled and refused to listen. Telling Tug to continue holding onto the elf, he went in search of a collar and whip, for he meant to flay the elf's skin from his bones, and then enslave him for daring to touch the robes of a templar.
And so the elf continued speaking, trying to persuade the giants to let him go, in the name of kindness, and mercy, and various other opportunings. But Tug and Toby and Tericatus all shook their immense shaggy heads, solemnly and sadly.
"Father wouldn't like that," Tug said eventually, and the elf paused and looked at him, astonished.
"Father?" he said.
Tericatus pointed in the direction that Arylian had taken, and all three nodded their heads.
"How," said the elf, the words as slow as his thoughts were fast, "how could such a thing come to be?"
Tug leaned to whisper in his ear. "It is a long story. But he is our father. For proof of this, you have but to look at us, for do we not have two eyes, just as he does? And do we not have one mouth, and one nose, just as he?"
The elf's face cleared. "Ah!" he said. "My luck has turned. For here I came to Allanak, myself, searching for my three long lost brothers. Perhaps you've seen them? They are half giants, all fierce and brave, and each one of them has two eyes, and but a single nose...."
Astonished, the giants gaped at him and then one by one, they extended their arms and hugged him tightly, each shouting "Brother!" to the great astonishment of the passersby.
And when Arylian returned carrying his whip, and a collar, he found his giants gone, for the elf had persuaded them to come wandering with him, and where he led them, and where their bones lie, those three half giant templar's sons, no one knows to this day.
Once upon a time, there was a templar, of the House of Sath. His name was Arylian, and he was altogether a generally unremarkable man, destined to remain in his blue robe, and whose only moment of note had been a conversation with Garrick of the Red.
Some of his lack of remarkableness he...
Continue Reading...Phaerys
Added on Jan 26, 2005A wind elementalist, Alana, adopts an orphan, leading to further adventures.
Alana was sitting in Flint's, nursing a leather jack of ale and a small shot glass of whiskey, when she spotted the child. It had been a long trip up from Luirs Outpost, and she had been enjoying the swirls of conversation and mild speculation about the latest sighting of Mukareb flowing around the table of guards where she sat beside the caravan master, Yao. A flicker of light from the doorway caught her eye and she glanced over to see Teleri entering the bar and the girl just behind the swordswoman, fingers in her purse. She almost opened her mouth, with the half-thought, well, hell, Tel's got coins aplenty, she can afford enough to feed that starveling moving through her head to stop her lips when the other woman solved the dilemma of whether or not to alert her by reaching out without looking behind herself to snag the girl.
"That woman's got eyes in the back of her head. Damn spooky," Yao grunted. "'Nother drink, Lana, my dear? And I'll tell you, Lymon, you see Muk, or any other damn sorcerer for that matter, anywhere around when you go hunting, you turn around and run the other way."
Teleri, her grip firmly on the young girl's ear, pulled the waif around in front of herself. "Thieves," the silver-eyed woman said in her usual deliberate tones, "usually lose a hand for a first offense, here in Tuluk." She tapped the fingers of her free hand on the hilt that hung at her waist.
Alana watched the girl square her shoulders and return Teleri's steely gaze. "Brave, the youngling is," she murmured, shaking her head at Yao's offer. She flicked a braid out of her face, watching the other two stare at each other, then rose in one lithe motion, ignoring the other caravaners' sideways looks, to pick her way through the crowd to Teleri's side.
"Teleri," she said, abruptly. "Give her to me. She didn't manage to take any of your coins, so you can't really charge her with successful thievery."
The swordswoman gave Alana a look tinged with amusement. "Is this Alana, ever solitary, asking me to turn over a child to her? Getting lonely in your old age?"
Alana grinned at Teleri. "No, this is Alana, who spent an evening buying you ales in Red Storm when the weather was too bad to step outside in, and watched you fleece that poor fellow who offered to instruct you at swordplay."
Teleri gave her a grave nod, though her eyes were still amused, before she returned her attention to the girl. "I am going to let go of your ear," she said. "When I do, you will not run away. You will go with this kind lady who is apparently offering to feed you." She glanced at Alana for confirmation and when she saw the slight nod, she let go of the ear in question.
The girl didn't move, other than to raise a dirty hand to rub at her ear. She stared at Alana, who studied her in return.
She was a small girl, and the pointed ears that poked out from the tangle of matted curls that might be blonde, were the dirt to be removed, proclaimed that she had at least a fair portion of sidhe blood. Her clothes consisted of a ragged, too long tunic, belted with a length of black cord. The long toes of her bare feet twitched uneasily on the rough wood of the bar's floor.
Alana leaned her lanky frame over to speak to the child. "Have a name, youngling?"
The girl continued staring, silent. Then she lifted a defiant, pointed chin and touched the ragged scar that ran across her throat.
Alana gave her a courteous half bow. "Well then, little speechless, let me invite you to dine with me." She gestured at her table. Nodding her thanks at Teleri and turning on her heel, she walked back to Yao and the others, trusting the girl to follow her.
Yao gave her a wry look as the child slipped into the space between Alana and himself. "Never figured you for the motherly type, Lana," he murmured before signalling to the server for more ale.
"And some bread and fruit," he shouted over the bar noise as the barmaid acknowledged his wave.
When the food was brought, the child sat eying it until Alana made an impatient noise and pushed the loaf at her. Then the girl seized the bread and began eating with ravenous haste, washing it down with long draughts of ale.
"Should she be drinking that?" Yao said to Alana.
Alana shrugged. "My parents never stopped me from drinking ale."
He gave her a dubious look. "And your point would be? That if you want to become a skinny, longnosed windwitch, you should drink ale at a tender age?"
Alana flashed him a brief grin before turning back to watch the girl eat. "For that, you're paying me double next trip, merchantman."
He waved a dismissive hand at her. "Keep my caravans safe, witch, and you know I'll pay any price you ask."
Alana nodded slightly, her eyes not leaving the girl as the last of the bread vanished and a piece of yellow fruit began to share its fate.
She was at a loss in thinking where to put the girl that night, but at last she shrugged and beckoned the child into her own bedchamber, one of the rooms above the bar which Flint rented out, a small space with a bed and a wash basin. She sat down on the bed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, considering.
"Your choice," she said at length. "Bed's got enough room for two. But you wash first if that's your choice, since the linen's clean. Or you can take a blanket and sleep on the floor. I prefer men to children, if that's what you're thinking." She turned her back and began to tug off her boots, shaking sand out of them and curling her toes with a contented cracking noise. Far below in the bar, someone shouted something unintelligible.
She heard the tentative splashing of the girl in the water.
"We'll get you some less disreputable clothes in the morning," she told the wall.
A shy touch tapped her elbow and she turned. The girl was a little cleaner, but streaks of dirt still marred the brown skin. Alana reached for the piece of linen Flint called a towel and wet one end.
"C'mere," she said, and as the girl stood before her, she dabbed away splotches of dust and grime, working her way around old bruises. The scar across the girl's throat looked to be a knife wound, several years old. As she worked, she whistled a repetitive three note tune, an old song from her own childhood. She broke off as she put the towel back and took a tortoiseshell comb from her pack in order to comb out the tangled hair.
The girl winced now and then as a particularly difficult tangle hit the comb, but Alana was gentle and deft, coaxing knots and snarls out of the matted curls. "There we go," she said at length. The child turned to her and opened her mouth, tapping her chest beneath the ragged tunic.
"Phaer-rys," she croaked, in a voice as hoarse as an unused hinge.
Alana blinked a moment. "So you can speak," she murmured. "Phaerys, then. I'm Alana." She stood and reached for the child, lifting her into the bed. "Good night, Phaerys," she said to her. "Sleep well." The girl curled into the pillows and fell asleep with the speed of childhood. Alana sat in the windowsill, long into the night, watching the street and letting the evening wind stir through her fingers before she unfolded herself and lay down beside the child. She lay for a while, listening to the unfamiliar sound of someone breathing beside her before at last her eyelids grew heavy and sleep claimed her.
She woke in the morning to find Phaerys snuggled up beside her like a cat, warm and drowsy. Alana stretched and yawned. "Breakfast," she said. "Then we coax Yao into taking a day off to go shopping with us."
Although he pretended not to be overthrilled with the very idea, Yao insisted on taking the pair to the same tailor he patronized.
"Sandcloth has always suited me well," Alana grumbled, patting her leggings and adjusting the collar of her shirt, woven in a checkered pattern of dark brown and beige.
Yao threw up his hands in mock horror. "We can't all be exotic desert women who can carry off an unfashionable look with your style, Lana." He winked at Phaerys. They were walking along the Moonway, slipping through the crowds of tourists and travellers on their way to the Temples of the Elements. Here and there city guards eyed the crowds, making sure they moved along smoothly.
Phaerys reached a hand up to touch one of Alana's white braids, tied off with a bright wooden bead. "Pret-ty," she said, her voice almost inaudible over the noise of the crowd.
"She is, isn't she?" Yao said to Phaerys. "For a skinny wind witch, she's got a certain appeal, in my opinion."
"And now," he added to Alana, "You've got this exciting motherly thing going for you. It adds a little trace of the exotic."
Alana frowned at him, and his tone shook off its laughter and became serious.
"No, come on, Lana," he said to her. "You've always been the most solitary person I know. Do the job, drink an ale with the guards, and then vanish off the Wind knows where until you're needed for another job. Have you and I ever had the pleasure of a conversation of this length before? I think not. Adopting a child is the most human thing I've ever seen you do."
Alana shrugged. "I'm on the road too often for many ties," she said. She glanced at Phaerys. "Dunno what we're going to do about that."
"Well, you can't take her with you when you're acting as a courier," Yao said. "I tell you what, witch. I'll take half shares in the little one here."
She felt her eyebrow twitch upwards in a startled motion as she looked at the merchant. They'd known each other several years now, ever since he had first hired her to make sure one of his caravans, loaded with luxuries, made its way successfully to the seaport of Allanak, unhindered by bandits or storms. She knew he was one of the junior members of his House, unmarried, and had been raised in the Luirs Outpost. Her own tribe had come from that same area. Aside from that, she thought, looking at his dark blue eyes, the long drooping moustache shot through with strands of silver, the slight sardonic smile hovering on his lips as he returned her look, she knew very little about him.
"I've trusted you with my life several times on trips," she said slowly. "And you've laid yours in my hands as well. But are you sure you want this responsibility, merchantman?"
His chin dipped in a definite nod. "Think about it, Alana. Only time I go out of the city is with the caravans, which means I can watch her while you're off running the roads. And when I go off caravaning, you're there too, and another passenger, particularly a small one like this, won't make too much difference." He grinned more broadly. "Not like you'll have any trouble clearing it with the caravan master."
She nodded back at him, then looked at Phaerys. "This all right with you, youngling? To have Yao watching over you as well?"
The child glanced between the two of them and smiled her assent. Yao bowed to both before leading the way into the tailor's shop, where he insisted on buying Phaerys clothing of a finer quality than Alana's purse could have afforded.
"If she's going to be seen with me, I'm afraid I must stand firm on this matter," he said. "Put your coins away, wind witch." The tailor beamed at him as he tapped a length of deep blue brocade. "A short cape of that, I think, and use some of it to trim gloves to match."
"The child's going to be afraid to get dirty in something that fine," Alana objected.
Yao only smiled. "Then we'll commission another set of clothes for her to play in. And what about something for you, Lana? A skirt in which to go dancing with me?"
"The lady would look very lovely in this," the tailor suggested, pointing to a flowered silk. His face fell at the sound of Alana's snort of derison.
"Stick to re-outfitting the child, merchant," she said.
"We'll work on converting our skinny friend into a lady some other day," Yao whispered loudly to Phaerys as the girl giggled.
The first time Alana left on a courier run, leaving Phaerys behind, she felt a touch of nervousness. But the majority of her income came from these runs, no matter what Yao said about the amounts he paid her. Nobles and merchant houses often needed messages carried by hand between the cities, and no one moved faster or less obtrusively than a skilled wind witch, who could both make herself unseen and use magicks to speed her mount.
"Be good," she said to Phaerys as she prepared to leave the gates. The girl and Yao stood watching, seeing her off. "And you, merchant," she said to him.
He raised a hand in farewell to her, and she wheeled her riding lizard out the gates. She'd been asked to carry a letter to the northlands, a two day trip, which meant stopping at the grove of an old friend, something she normally looked forward to. As always, he was waiting to greet her.
"Emon," she said. The stocky, square-faced druid smiled as he took the reins of her lizard. He ran a hand over the beast's leathery yellow skin over a gash left by a branch, the skin rippling as it healed in the track of his fingers. The lizard nosed at him, its green eyes blinking sleepily.
"Safe journey?" he asked. They walked together toward the pool at the center of the grove. It sat in the middle of a copse of pymlithe trees, their elongated leaves rustling in soft cadences, a rhythm broken by the lilting cries of hunting ghants, moving somewhere out of sight. Several large boulders, overgrown with shaggy moss, sat at the pool's edges to serve as seats. Brushing road dust from her cloak, Alana gathered a palmful of cool water to touch to her lips.
"Yup," she said. "So, Emon, what if I told you I'd become a mother?"
He gave her a startled look. "I'd ask who the lucky father was, first, so I could spread the gossip all over the plains."
"No, no," she said, feeling her cheeks redden slightly. "It's an adopted child, really."
He glanced at the lizard. "Ah. I take it you're not carrying him or her in your saddlebags then."
She shook her head with a laugh.
He rubbed his chin, eying her. "Alana, I've always thought you didn't like children. Back when we worked together in Allanak, I would have sworn you avoided them."
She spread her fingers out, studying them, not looking at him. "Emon... I was the oldest of seven. And then my brothers were all killed." She touched a few of the beads capping the multitude of thin braids containing her moonpale hair. "My brother Deinol carved most of these." Her voice faltered a moment before she went on. "It's just been that every time I was around a child, they reminded me of my brothers. Then I looked at Phaerys, and for once I didn't see my brothers. I saw me. Ready to face the world and expect no quarter from it. There are some people you love from the very moment you first see them. Daughter of my heart, she is."
Emon ran a hand through his hair, watching her. "How did your brothers die?"
Alana sighed, watching the wind ruffle the pool's surface. "My nameday journey," she said. "I went out on it, came back to find the village burned to the ground, the folk killed by raiders. I should have been there."
"Why? So you could get slaughtered by the raiders too?" Emon gave her a quick half-smile. "Do you think your brothers would have wanted that?"
She returned the smile, shaking her head slightly. "No." She stretched her legs out in front of herself, using a boot-tip to flip a pebble into the pool. "It's funny, Emon. With Phaerys around, I don't spend as much time thinking about them. Too many things to see to for her."
He patted her arm. "Glad to hear it." He tilted his head to study her saddlebags. "I don't suppose you..."
"Ha!" she laughed, rising in order to rummage through the bags. "This is why you like my visits, druid. Because I bring you ale." She pulled out two stoppered clay jugs. "Flint's finest."
His smile was beneficent. "Ever kind, m'dear."
It was with a light heart that she set back to Tuluk, and her eagerness to see Phaerys spurred her to the point of not stopping, but riding through the night. The first pink light of dawn lit the city gates as she rode through them towards the House compound.
The yard there was unexpectedly busy, small knots of guards moving around, preparing for some duty. She wondered if a caravan would be leaving soon, and a smile lingered on her lips at the thought as she brushed past a sentry and ran up the stairs towards the suite of rooms Yao occupied. It would be pleasant to travel with Phaerys on the road, to be able to point out some of the sights and sounds, to take her to see Emon, who might be able to heal the scar that marked her throat and make it easier for her to speak.
The door was half ajar, and she pushed it open. Yao stood near the window, staring out into the courtyard. He turned as she entered and she gasped as she saw the bruises on his face, the sling holding his right arm.
"Lana," he said. "Lanay, I'm so sorry."
She crossed the chamber in three quick strides. "What?? She looked around. "Where's Phaerys?"
"We went out riding," he said. "I thought if she was to travel with the caravan eventually, she'd need to know how to ride. And we ran into Mukareb."
"You took the girl out riding in the country where a sorcerer had been sighted?" She grabbed his shoulder and shook him, ignoring his gasp of pain at her touch.
"Where?" she demanded.
"Near the edge of the Grey Forest, where it meets the chasm," he said. "But wait, Lana. I'm gathering guards to ride out there after him."
"No time," she hissed. And with that, she broke one of her oldest self-prescriptions, and summoned magic in front of someone else. Winds swirled in the chamber around her, sending the curtains and bedding flying as she reached out for Phaerys's mind and then flung herself into the wind's grasp, looking for her child. Yao's shout followed her. "Alana! No!"
When the winds parted, leaving her staggering, dizzy, she stood in a small clearing. Phaerys lay in a crumpled heap in its middle, and across from Alana stood a lean, brownskinned man, dressed in worn black robes, smiling at her.
"Alana, I presume?" he said. As he spoke, he gestured, and before she could react, she felt invisible fingers around her own, holding them still and unable to cast.
"Mukareb," she said, her voice grim.
He smiled again. "Why, yes. How kind of you to come. Though I must admit I was expecting you." He pointed at Phaerys's limp form. "Touching, your simulation of mother love. And so beguilingly predictable." With that, he pointed at her, hissing out three sibilant syllables, and she felt the air grow still in her lungs. Gasping, she sank to her knees, hands still immobilized, as the world broke into a thousand shards of blackness.
When at least the blackness began to break and she wearily swam back up to consciousness, she found herself sitting upright, wrists bound behind her around the slim trunk of a rough-barked callandra tree.
"Awake?" Mukareb said from nearby. Alana decided that she had previously underestimated how intensely annoying a constant smile could be. She watched as the sorcerer moved around the clearing, dragging dead branches into a sizeable heap in the middle.
"Phaerys?" she said, trying to look from side to side.
Mukareb shrugged. "Didn't need her. I let her run off into the forest. Easier to let the predators there dispose of her. We sorcerers aren't totally bent on wiping out every life we run across. You, on the other hand, my dear, are going to be very very useful to me."
She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Useful?"
"Surely, my friend, you know that as an elemental witch, your blood is full of that element's essence?" He licked his lips, a slight unnerving greedy flicker. "It's the component I need to take on some of that element's power myself. And you came so running so beautifully, so predictably into my hands." He laughed at her look of surprise. "Alana, the solitary. I knew you'd come looking on your own."
Alana shook her head again, remembering Yao's shout, the despair and anger in it. She closed her eyes, feeling warm wetness beneath the lids.
Mukareb's voice continued, relish in its tones. "So easy to take you, wind witch, when you try to carry all the weight on your back"
Another voice broke in. "She tries, but there's a few willing to help shoulder the burden."
Alana's eyes flew open. Yao, flanked by two guards, stood at the edge of the clearing, swords drawn.
Mukareb laughed. "Think to take a sorcerer with blades alone?"
"Funny," Yao grunted. "You seem more interested in flapping your tongue than weaving magics." He nodded to the guards, and the three advanced.
With a flick of Mukareb's fingers, a dark rift opened in the air in front of the sorcerer and from it dark tentacles roiled, reaching out. As broad a man's shoulder, their surfaces were covered with a tracery of jet scales, glistening wetly with an indescribable moisture as they moved with a boneless sinuosity. Blades flashed, severing the writhing limbs as they reached for the men, but for every one lopped, two more sprouted. One guard backed up, eyes wide and terrified, but his fellow stood staunchly by Yao, whose sword, even fighting left-handed, moved like a lacework of gleaming metal in the air between them and the rift.
"He's awfully good for a merchant," Alana thought dazedly. "Who'd have ever thought?" She felt something touch her wrists behind the tree, and then the cool caress of a knife, cutting away the bonds, strand by strand.
A tentacle moved unexpectedly sideways, eluding the flashing blades in order to seize the guard by the leg and dragging him towards the patch of dead blackness hanging in the air. Yao interposed himself, hacking at the tentacle, and its fellow seized him by the throat. His face purpled as the black length coiled around his neck, cutting off the air, but his sword continued to rise and fall, slashing at the rift itself.
The last bits of cords fell away and Alana pulled away from the tree, trying to rub blood back into her cramped hands, her legs weak beneath her. Mukareb spun to see her as a branch crackled underfoot and began to move his fingers in a spell but she spoke a single word, hands moving clumsily and behind his slight form, yet another space opened, winds howling, reaching out for him, pulling him into the eye twisting colors of that hole His arms flailed wildly, trying to catch something, anything as he was irresistably pulled backwards until he was gone, vanished, with the noise of implosion sounding like a shattering pot.
And with his disappearance, the tentacles winked out of sight, releasing Yao and the guard.
Alana turned, to see Phaerys standing beside the tree, knife in hand, a shy smile hovering on her lips. Then the child was in her arms, hugging her, as she hugged back, eyes searching for any sign of harm to this, her daughter.
"Well," Yao said from behind her. "I hope this has taught you something, wind witch."
Her lips twitched in a very slight smile before she turned to face him. "That would be besides never to leave one's child in the care of a scatterbrained merchant."
"Alana, I swear . . . " he began, then broke off as he glimpsed the laughter mingled with gratitude in her pale grey eyes. He snorted and reached to ruffle Phaerys's hair.
"I suppose the trick," he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "is to make sure you stay near the merchant you've left the child in care of."
"I think the trick," Alana informed him. "Is not to try to underscore lessons when someone's already learned them. Particularly skinny, long nosed wind witches."
He smiled. "All right then. Let's go home."
Alana was sitting in Flint's, nursing a leather jack of ale and a
small shot glass of whiskey, when she spotted the child. It had been a
long trip up from Luirs Outpost, and she had been enjoying the swirls of
conversation and mild speculation about the latest sighting of Mukareb
flowing...
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