Farmers & Mercenaries (13 page)

An artisan’s hands must have labored a lifetime to create the intricately carved and decorated patterns covering that table.

Six equally beautiful chairs surrounded it. In one sat a wizened old man, dressed in a deep blue silken robe much like Sier Singe’s, except gold starbursts lined the edges of his sleeves and hem marking the old man a Master Shaper.

Not just a Master Shaper, Grand Master Grintan. Head Shaper here in Hild’alan!

Arderi swallowed in an attempt to wet his dry throat.

Upon the table rested an object that drew Arderi’s eye like a moth to a flame. It was a large, light-blue Crystal device, about the size of his chest. It looked like a giant mushroom that someone had turned upside down and placed on its cap. It pulsed with a steady rhythm. As Arderi approached, the pulsing grew in intensity.

The old man sitting at the table smiled when he saw this, and struggled to his feet. “Good, good. Welcome, young Mir’am Cor. I have been expecting you.” He gave the steady, wheezy laugh only the very old can give and not sound maniacal.

Arderi bowed his head. “Well wishes and well met, Master Shaper, sir… Sier!”

“Oh, aye. I am sure you are dually humbled and impressed to meet me.” Master Shaper Grintan shuffled over and patted the boy on the arm. He waved a hand toward Sier Singe. The bird faced man bowed and withdrew from the room, closing the door as he left. “Now, if we can dispense with the formalities, I am most anxious to get started.” The Shaper turned back to his chair. “Help an old man back to his seat, will you, lad?”

“Aye, Sier… sir.” Grasping the old man’s arm, Arderi walked beside the Grand Master as he hobbled to his chair.

“Hmp. Sier will do fine, lad, Sier will do fine.” The old man grunted as Arderi helped him to sit back down. Once settled, Grintan gestured to one of the remaining seats. “Please, move a chair closer and sit in front of me.”

Arderi did as instructed. Pulse racing, a sheen of sweat covered his palms. Looking over at the large Crystal sitting on the table, he noticed that it now pulsed in time with his heartbeat. With growing fascination, he watched as it beat in a steady rhythm.

“Now, my boy, do you know why you are here?”

Ripping his eyes from the strange device, Arderi returned his attention to the Master Shaper. “Aye, Sier. I have come to be Tested. To see if I have the ability to manipulate the Essence.” Arderi could not help the trepidation that corroded his voice.

The old Shaper smiled. “Aye, tis true. Let me ease some of your fears now, shall I?” He settled back into his chair. “You have no doubt heard many stories of what will happen to you. When I was a boy, I remember well the wild tales that my older siblings tortured me with—the pain and horror that would befall me when I took the Test.” His eyes focused on some far off place as he spoke. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Arderi. “Rest assured, my boy, these are all tall tales. I will begin by preparing you for the Test. During this time, you will feel some tingling, yet nothing unpleasant. Once you are ready, we shall use this device,”—he gestured to the Crystal—“called a Ka’ilyth, which literally translates from the Old tongue as test of power.” Leaning forward, he took Arderi’s hands into his in a kind, grandfatherly way. “Using this device, I will attempt to Meld the Essence through you. If successful, you will feel the power I am wielding pass through you as it flows to me. Do not be frightened by this, it will not harm you.”

“Sier?” Arderi waited until the old Shaper inclined his head. “What will happen if it is not successful?” Bile rose in his throat even as he said the words.

The old man smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. “Son, very, very few on this Plane are blessed with the ability to manipulate the Essence.” He patted the top of Arderi’s hand. “There is no shame in not possessing the gift. If I am unable to manipulate the Essence through you, you will feel nothing.”

“Yet, you do not usually give the Test yourself, do you, Sier?”

“Nix. I will not lie and say that we are not hopeful in you. Your brother, Alant, may turn out to be one of the strongest of our Order yet to live. That is a great honor for us here in Hild’alan. A second would be an even bigger blessing for us. Alas, as you saw in your other brother, Siln, the gift does not necessarily run in families.” The smile slipped from him and he leaned back, letting go of Arderi’s hands. “Now, if we are done with the questions, I would like to begin.”

Not trusting himself to speak, fear and panic once again threatening to overwhelm him, Arderi nodded.

The Master Shaper sat and stared at Arderi for several moments, and he soon realized the old man was not looking at him at all. Rather, he was looking through him. A wave of nervous anticipation swept through Arderi. He felt odd looking into the old man’s vacant eyes. Shifting his gaze back to the Crystal, he was soon lost in thought, drawn in by the device’s rhythmic pulsating. For almost half an aurn, he stared into the facets of the Crystal. Imagining that it was some type of deep, bluish colored water, he dove through it with his mind, each layer taking him deeper and deeper into its folds. He jerked away when he felt himself physically falling into the device, as if something reached out to pull his body into its depths. Sitting up straighter, he returned his attention to the Master Shaper who looked as if he had not moved at all.

He seems as if
he has fallen asleep with his eyes open!

A tingling sensation cascaded through Arderi’s body. It started with his hair—each strand feeling as if it stood on end—rippled through his scalp and down his neck, spread out to his shoulders, then cascaded all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

The old man’s eyes once again focused on Arderi. “We are now ready.” Grintan moved to the Crystal device. Reaching out, he placed both his hands, palms down, inside its bowl-like base. “Please place your hands in the Ka’ilyth as I am doing now.”

Arderi did as the Master Shaper instructed. The device was ice cold to his touch, and he fought the urge to jerk away.

“Now, relax. I am in control. Some find it easier when they close their eyes.”

Shutting his eyes, Arderi sat back and forced himself to calm down. He could feel the Ka’ilyth pulsing against his hands. Each pulse sent a radiation of cold shooting up his arms.

Within moments, it felt as if he had buried both his hands deep into a snow bank. Pain seeped into his mind, lacing through fingers, wrists, and forearms. Instinct took over, and he tried to snatch his hands from the device, yet found he could not. A gasp escaped his lips and his eyes flung open. The coldness became so biting it felt as if his flesh had caught fire. His face contorted into a grimace of agony.

Arderi almost forgot his own suffering once he saw the horrified look plastered on the old man’s face seated before him. Jagged bolts of red slashed through the blueness of the Crystal. Gritting his teeth, Arderi was appalled by the wail of despair that emanated from the lips of the Master Shaper.

The door crashed open and Sier Witlan Singe rushed in. “By all Twelve Gods!” The Shaper stood, seemingly frozen by the sight laid out in front of him.

Arderi had never felt pain like this before; it was as if his arms were being ground away, crushed into a pulpy mash. His sight dimmed and he knew he was losing consciousness. A bright red flash stabbed him in the eyes, and he was hurled backwards, crashing onto the floor as he toppled over the chair. Pain racked his whole body, forcing him to curl up into a tight ball.

All thought disappeared and blackness enveloped him.

T
he Bazaar was bereft of any inhabitants as the train of wagons rolled through. The echoing sound of iron-shod hooves on cobblestone streets rang out loudly in the chill of the pre-dawn morn. A feral, slat-ribbed dog some forty paces ahead, looked up at Clytus Rillion on his mount from a treasure of filth it pined over. Raising its hackles, the dog growled, baring its teeth in a vain attempt to protect its hard won food. Once it came to the realization that this was not going to deter the group of beasts heading its way, it dashed off into a side alley, disappearing into the dark shadows with its tail tucked between its legs.

The air was crisp and clear.

The air here is cleaner without the stench of all the people and animals that shall be packing the place within the aurn.

The permanent shops of the Bazaar, those built of stone or wood, stood silent and locked for the eve. Open area stalls, their canvas roofs rippling slightly in the waft of a breeze that managed to rise inside the great walls of Mocley, stood in dark silence. Clytus knew he was early and would have to wait on the supplies that Grilmire had ready for him at his warehouse in Gatetown. Still, this was fine. The anguish he felt back at his villa had spurned him to get the day going.

I do not grieve for myself. I grieve for the pain I cause those I love.

“Halt!” An old guard, a captain, by the golden tassel with a large knot perched upon his right shoulder, limped out into Clytus’ path, though the wagons were still several paces away from the main gates. His uniform, the standard yellow and blue of the Mocley Guard, had the appearance of having been slept in for much of the eve. His poleaxe—which looked more as if it carried him instead of him carrying it—made a clacking sound on the cobblestone street as he hobbled to the approaching wagons.

“Rilmoth?” Drawing rein a few paces short of the man, Clytus was surprised to see the old captain still wearing a city guard uniform. “I thought they would have retired you by now.” He dismounted and strode over with his hand out.

“Nix! Those old fools who run this city are never going to let me have any peace.” Rilmoth took the offered hand and shook it. “What brings the famed Clytus Rillion out at this Gods-forsaken aurn?”

“Heading out. I am on business for the Shaper’s Order. How is the Mis’am?” Clytus handed the old guard a flat, square Crystal object.

“Old and cranky, same as when she was twenty.” The old man gave a bark of a laugh, causing Clytus to grin and shake his head. “You know, it is still an aurn till the gates open?” He looked apologetic as he took the Crystal and placed it to his temple.

The old captain’s eyes lost focus for a moment and Clytus waited until he removed the Crystal from his head before speaking. “Aye, I figured I was a bit early. However,”—Clytus took the captains other hand and pressed a ta’narian into the old man’s palm—“I was hoping whoever was in charge might see fit to let me squeeze out early.”

The gold coin disappeared into a side pocket as Rilmoth turned and glanced at the guard shack. “Aye, I have one young whipper-snapper leftenant on duty who does like to follow the rules,”—he held up the Crystal object Clytus had given him—“yet your license here proves you are on Shaper’s duties. I think I can convince him it is in his best interest to let you pass.” He looked past Clytus toward the wagons. “You have enough supplies?”

“Nix, I have two more wagons waiting on me in Gatetown.”

Rilmoth grunted. “So much? You heading to Velvithia or some such?”

“Nix, old friend.” Clytus grasped the reins of Starborn and put a foot in the stirrup. Swinging into the saddle, he adjusted himself and looked down at the old man who had not moved, and instead simply stared up at him.

All I need is to sit here all morn and entertain some old soldier.

“I am heading up into the Nektine. Be gone for a few moons. The Shapers have me going after something they need.” He hoped his words would start the old captain to his task.

Taking the hint, or not wishing to talk up to a man ahorse, Rilmoth grunted and hobbled back to the shack.

Clytus shot a glance at his lead teamster, Trilim Grith, who grinned back at him. Shaking his head and laughing silently, Clytus raised a hand and motioned for the group to start moving. He maneuvered his brown destrier alongside the guard shack and watched as the four wagons drove past him and into the tunnel leading out of Mocley.

A younger guard, the golden tassel hanging from his right shoulder marking him the rank of leftenant, came out of the shack and scowled up at Clytus. He then dashed across the yard and into a door at the base of the barbican.

Captain Rilmoth stepped out of the guard shack next and held up Clytus’ Crystal license along with a wide grin. “He will not be any trouble. The gates will only be raised enough for you and yours to pass under, however, so be quick about it.”

“Aye, my thanks to you, Rilmoth.” Clytus reached down to the man and took his Crystal. “Give the Mis’am my best.”

“Aye, I will. And safe travels to you, as well.” The old man stood watching as Clytus spurred Starborn into a trot and disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.

A loud clank echoed through the darkness as Clytus entered. A squealing of metal on stone pierced his ears as the large center portcullis rose. In the dim light cast by the smattering of torches that remained lit even at this late aurn, he watched the massive bars of the gate slipping into the recess of a huge slot that cut across the top of the arched tunnel.

The wagons moved as soon as the grate gave them the clearance they needed. Before he exited the tunnel, Clytus heard the wail of the bars making their decent to return to their closed position. Gatetown materialized out of the gloom in front of him as he trotted out of the dim passageway. Looking down the road, he saw the faint glow of dawn spreading over the eastron horizon. Spurring his mount into a canter, he headed for the front of his small caravan.

Dawn was fully upon the land, and many of Gatetown’s residents roamed about by the time Clytus added the additional two wagons, each loaded with supplies, to his caravan. Clytus found himself pacing outside of Grilmire’s Gatetown warehouse, impatience getting the better of him.

“I have never seen you so, Master. If I may be so bold.”

Turning, Clytus was shocked to see Trilim Grith standing behind him.

I really have lost my edge if
I cannot hear an old man sneak up on me!

Reaching up, Clytus rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, Trilim. I made it no secret that I wish to be on the road early. Where are those damnable dayhires Grilmire said would be here?”

“I sent a boy out to fetch them when we arrived. It is still an aurn till we were meant to arrive. I cannot see how you can hold them accountable. It should not be long now.” Trilim patted his Master on the back and returned to the wagons.

Aye, in my current mood I would not want to be around me either, old friend.

Trilim Girth
was
getting old, Clytus realized. The man had been in his employ for well over two decades. Trilim served as stable master when they were home in Mocley, driver and camp cook while on the road. The man had been instrumental in teaching young Sindian how to ride, although during the last turn of the seasons the Young Master had not the strength for such activities.

The sight of a Shaper running up the road interrupted Clytus’ thoughts. A large pack smacking against his back, his deep blue silken robe flapping away as his feet made their hasty progress. No golden embroidery adorned the trim of his robe, marking him of lowly rank within the Order. A grin crept upon Clytus as he watched the Shaper.

It seems this one is new to the Order. Yet still, it is very undignified for a Shaper to hurry so.

The smile dropped from his lips when the Shaper came to a stop next to Trilim and the lead wagon. The young man stood there, bent over, sucking in air and waving franticly, trying to convey something to the driver. Shaking his head, Clytus walked over to them.

“Nix, Sier. Please, catch your breath. I am not understanding you.” Trilim reached out a hand to steady the young Shaper. He was rewarded for his offer with the pack from the Shaper’s back. Grunting when the unexpected weight was added to his outstretched hand, the old man’s arm was pulled down by the extra burden of the bag, crashing to the ground.

“Here now!” The young Shaper glared at the old man even though he still sucked in air. “Careful with that, man!” The boy was slim and his robes did nothing to hide that fact. Sandy brown hair and a plain face did little in the way of making him memorable. Clytus did not think the boy could have seen more than twenty-two winters.

“I do not think anyone in my employ needs to be hauling your bag, boy, Shaper though you may be.” Clytus reached over, snatched the satchel’s carrying strap from Trilim’ hand, and held it out for the young Shaper to take.

“They do if you are Clytus Rillion!” A sharp tone laced the words the Shaper shot back.

Clytus let the bag fall from his grasp to thud back to the ground. He cocked his head and smiled at the look of outrage that sprang to the young Sier’s face. “That I am. And you are?” Clytus asked the question without a trace of his smile in his voice.

“Jintrill Deln. I am a Shaper!” Jintrill drew himself up.

“Really? I just thought frilly blue robes were all the rage these days.” Clytus spun and stalked back to his horse. Footsteps staggered behind him as the young man tried to keep up with his brisk pace.

“Sir! Sir?” The boy’s voice lost some of its edge as Clytus walked away.

“I have had enough of the Council.” Clytus spoke over his shoulder. He refused to give this young man an inch. “Whatever advice you may have, or message from those dusty old goats who run your Order, I am not interested.”

“I have no message, sir. Rather, I am the message.”

This forced Clytus to stop mid-stride and turn on his pursuer. “What?”

Jintrill pulled up at the sudden halt of Clytus and took a step back to add some distance between them. “I have been ordered by the Council of Elders to accompany you.”

Great! Just great!

“Why you?” Clytus was happy that the growl in his tone caused Jintrill to flinch.

“Sir?”

Keeping the growl, Clytus enunciated each word as if he were speaking with a child. “Why did the Council send you?”

“I am afraid I do not have an answer for that.” By the way the young man wrung his hands together, Clytus knew the boy was sufficiently cowed.

Clytus rubbed his chin and sighed. A pang of guilt slouched in the back of his mind. “Did the wise and mighty Council even tell you where I am headed?”

“Aye, to the Nektine. Hunting a Drakon, I was told.” Jintrill glanced back over his shoulder. “Which I am not sure why anyone would—”

“Aye, hunting a Drakon. So I will ask again—Why you?” Noting the boy’s concern for his bag did nothing to save the fact that Clytus had lost all patience with this conversation.

“I am unaware of the reasons I was chosen, sir.”

“Go back to the Council and tell them I respectfully decline their offer of help.” Clytus turned and continued the trek to his horse.

“I was told you would not agree with having me along. Grand Elder Blanch wished me to remind you of your vow to do as the Council bids.”

A lump hardened inside Clytus’ chest as he stopped once more. He stood a long moment, clenching and unclenching his jaws. When his anger abated, he returned his stare to the young man in blue.

Felstar, I am regretting your council more and more!

“I am skilled in healing, if that helps.” The young Shaper seemed eager.

Clytus dropped his head and shook it. “So be it!” He looked up and pointed to the wagons. “The man at the first wagon is Mir’am Grith. Ask him where you can stow your bag. You can ride with him for now.” The young Sier nodded and left to see to his things. “Oiy! I do mean for you to stow your own gear. No one will cater to you on this journey,
Shaper
.”

Striding to Starborn, Clytus mounted and trotted over to the wagons. “Trilim.”

“Aye, Master.”

“I have had enough of this waiting around. I will ride out and check the road.” Clytus cast a glare at the Shaper who struggled to find a location for his pack in the back of the loaded wagon. “As soon as the dayhires arrive, get these wagons moving. I will meet you within the aurn.”

“Aye, Master. The message boy has already returned. All of the drivers should be here within moments. I will handle everything till we meet on the road.” The old man nodded once.

Nudging the sides of his large brown warhorse, Starborn trotted forward carrying Clytus east down the road that headed out of Gatetown and away from Mocley.