Farmers & Mercenaries (15 page)

“I have never chosen anything in my life. Even the freedom I have now, I had no say in. You are the one who chose this for me.”

“In this you are correct. Yet, I think it is time that you take the reins of your life now, yes?” Sarshia rose from her bench. “Duty calls to me, and I must leave Mocley and return to my home in Hath’oolan.”

The statement hit Klain in the chest like a hammer. “What is to become of me?”

“I have some suggestions, yet as to where you go from here, that is for you to decide, yes?”

Klain felt an unnatural sense of fear creep into him.

No!

Clinching his paws, he forced the feeling away.

I am
not
a slave anymore! I will
not f
ear the decisions I must make! I am my
own
master now!

Standing, paws clinched so tight his claws dug into his pads, he nodded to his host who had helped him overcome so much. “I welcome your council, Sarshia, yet you are correct. I must face any challenges head on. I will
not
fear my future!”

Smiling, Sarshia bowed her head toward him. “The Human whom I owe the debt to is named Rohann Vimith. He is a merchant in the trade of diamonds, and wished to speak with you about protecting his son. If you were to take employment with this man, you would relieve me of my obligation to him. Also, by doing me this favor, your debt to me will be considered paid in full.”

“And in doing this, I would not be obligated to stay with this Human?”

Nodding, Sarshia indicated that he was correct.

“Then I will meet with this Rohann. If his manner is to my liking, I will let him employ me.”

Bowing low, the Elmorr’Antien smiled. “That is all that one being can ask of another. I will arrange a meeting on the morrow, yes?” With that, Sarshia turned and glided into the back door of the villa.

Watching her go, Klain once again tried in vain to pick up any vibrations that her steps made upon the ground, and found he could detect nothing through the pads of his hindpaws.

I do not think I will ever be at ease around one of their kind.

A
rderi Cor woke with a start. He lay on something soft. A cool wet cloth covered his forehead. Sitting up and removing the rag from his head, he found that he occupied a small sleeping chamber. A tiny writing desk sat against the wall opposite the bed. A little stand with a washbasin on top took up the entire wall adjacent from the room’s only door. It reminded him of the place Alant had been during the private message he had shared with Arderi in the last Memory Crystal.

The door opened, and Sier Witlan Singe entered carrying a large bowl. “Ah, you are up. How do you feel?”

Taking a moments pause, Arderi realized he did not feel anything out of sorts. Even his headache from earlier this morn was gone. “I feel fine, Sier, sir. What happened? Why am I here?”

Sier Singe set the bowl on the desk—steam rose from the water inside as it sloshed about. “The Master Shaper is also well. A nasty bump on his head. Sier Quilart is tending to the wound.”

“The Master Shaper was hurt?” Arderi did not understand. “How?”

Pulling out the small stool from under the desk, the Shaper sat motionless for a long while, boring his eyes into Arderi’s before speaking. “Do you know what happened? Did you do something to interfere with the Test? Keep a true tongue with me, boy.”

“Nix, Sier! I do not know what you mean.” Arderi retreated further onto the bed, putting some distance between the two of them.

“Tell me what happened.” Witlan Singe’s tone was harsh and commanding. “I will know if you lie!”

Swallowing hard, stories of a Shaper’s power bubbled up inside Arderi’s head. He searched his memory—his fuzzy mind, stuffed with what felt like cotton, would not bring up the actual turn of events that had led him here. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head weakly. “Aye, Sier, sir. You sent me in to see the Master Shaper. We talked for a time. He told me what the Test would be like. He stared at me for about half an aurn until I felt a tingling. We put our hands on the large Crystal thing and then…”

Then what?

He racked his brain and could find no answers. “Then… then I woke up here.” He gestured feebly at the bed.

Sier Singe sat in silence. Finally, he stood. “Come. The Master Shaper wished to see you when you felt up to it. I think that time has arrived.” He strode out of the room.

Arderi followed the Shaper through the halls once more, this time taking no notice of all the grandiose paraphernalia that lined them. His mind raced as he struggled to remember what had happened. They ascended a long flight of steps that ended in a large waiting area. Plush chairs and small ornate tables lined the walls. Rich tapestries, elegant statues, and magnificent vases were scattered about to please the eye. Arderi saw none of it.

Witlan Singe turned and gestured to a couch. “Be seated. I will see if the Master Shaper is ready to see you.” Turning, he disappeared through a set of double doors.

Walking to the indicated seat, Arderi stood, arms crossed over his chest, fear and doubt threatening to overwhelm him. He stared at a tapestry without seeing what it held, looking over his shoulder when he heard the doors open again. Sier Singe waved him over and shuffled him inside the room.

Light spilled into the study from two tall windows set on either wall flanking the doors. More finery—statues, portraits, carvings and other artifacts—littered the place. A monstrous desk filled much of the center of the area, the top of it neatly organized with quills, parchment, and stacks of books and scrolls.

A single door behind the desk opened and Master Shaper Grintan stepped through. Arderi could not say that he was happy to see the old man. His blue robes, trimmed with their golden starbursts, trailed out behind him. A Shaper, whom Arderi had never before seen, helped the old Sier to a chair sitting behind the desk. Once situated, the Master Shaper waved the man away with a flip of his hand then turned his gaze upon Arderi. “Come, boy. Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Arderi glanced over at Sier Singe then did as he was told.

With a second wave of the hand, the Grand Master eyed Witlan Singe. “You may leave us as well Hon’nar.” Sier Singe bowed and retreated from the room, closing the doors as he left. The old man studied Arderi with such intensity that the boy was forced to avert his eyes. “I am told you are well after our… ordeal.”

“Aye, Sier, sir.”

“That is good. Tell me what you saw once we Melded with the Ka’ilyth.”

“Melded with it, Sier? I do not understand.” The image of the blue Crystal sucking Arderi into its folds sprang to his mind and gave him a queasy feeling in his gut.

The Grand Master smiled sagely. “Once you put your hands on the Ka’ilyth, what happened? Do you remember touching it?”

“Aye, Sier. I do remember putting my hands on… the Crystal device. It was cold, yet…” Squinting, Arderi shook his head and tried in vain to remember what happened next. “Yet, that is all. I only remember waking a few moments ago in a bedroom somewhere below.”

Master Grintan remained silently for a time. When he spoke, he sounded tired and old. “Cold, you say? That should not have been.” He combed his age spotted fingers through his scruffy white beard and mumbled to himself for a time, a puzzled look on his face. Finally, he returned his attention to Arderi. “I am also unable to recall any events past the start of the Melding.”

When it was apparent that the old man was not going to continue, Arderi cleared his throat. “If I may ask, Sier. What happened?”

The Sier slowly shook his head. “I am unsure. It seems that the Ka’ilyth somehow… backlashed. Sier Singe described to me a scene that I do not wholly understand.”

“What will happen now? Will I be Tested again, Sier?” Arderi did not like the thought of repeating the ordeal, yet knew it must be done.

“That is unnecessary.” The old Sier said the words absently. He seemed more interested in staring out the window than talking with Arderi.

“Unnecessary, Sier? I do not understand.”

“Hmm?” The old man sat up and looked at Arderi, seeming as if he suddenly remembered that the boy was there. “Suffice it to say, it seems that you have failed the Test.”

“Failed?” Arderi felt his heart tear in half. “Sier. You said the device, the Ka’ilyth, did not work. Mayhaps…”

“Nix, son. The one thing I clearly remember is that I was able to use it to Meld with you first, prior to the…” He waved a hand weakly about. “I am sorry, son. You do not have the gift. Only after I had seen this did the Ka’ilyth error in its operation. Now go. I am tired from the experience and need to retire.”

A numbness fell over Arderi. Without a word, he rose and turned for the door. He was aware of someone taking him by the arm and leading him, yet he took no notice of whom. Once outside the Magistra building, he had no direction to follow and simply wandered the streets.

When he found himself at the fielder’s gate, he took the opportunity to leave the stead. The weight of the surrounding buildings crushed what little sensibility he clung to. He felt dead. Empty. A hollow spot had welled inside his chest while he sat at the desk of the Master Shaper. It had grown ever since, and now threatened to fill him completely.

Once clear of the gates, he took off at a full run. He fled down the road past the animal pastures. Once clear of the fences, he veered from the path and into a freshly planted field. His feet sunk into the tilled earth as he ran. Field after field sped below him. He raced blindly to nowhere, hot tears streaming freely down his cheeks. His limbs burned and his chest pounded, yet he kept up his frantic pace. Finally, his legs gave way and he slammed hard into the ground. He lay there panting, muscles burning. Long after his stamina returned, the tears still fell. Feeling drained and empty, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the sky.

Alant told me he
felt
the power in me! How could I have failed!

With a loud animalistic roar, he screamed at the sky. “Why!” Nothing answered him. He rolled to his side as sobs racked his body once more. “Why?” The dirt soaked up his whimper.

Why?

A
lant Cor sat on the large canvas bag which held all of his worldly belongings—books and clothes for the most part—and rested his head on a wooden piling. The predawn light shown just enough to allow him to see the swarm of sailors loading goods and supplies onto a large, four-mast barquentine floating before him. A few of the men had the sun-tanned look that fielders and herders from his home stead had. Yet, the majority of the sailors had dark black skin that Alant found exotic looking. The vessel they worked was bound for the Isle of Elmorr’eth, and he hoped he would be leaving with it on the morning tide.

Alant stared out the narrow harbor mouth directly east of where he sat. The sun broke over the horizon, the distant ripples of the ocean causing the edges of the big yellow ball to shimmer and dance as it clawed its way into the sky. Small jagged dark spots—the masts of fishing boats that had left earlier that morn—were scattered about like grains of pepper. Sea waves lapped against the sides of the ships and boats tied up to the docks of Mocley’s harbor. Together, they created a cacophony of blurp-blup noises barely audible under the pounding of feet, groaning of rope, and yelling of men.

“It always fascinates me when I come down here.” Sier Sarlimac rested a hand upon his student’s shoulder. “It is so chaotic, one wonders how they get anything at all done.” He chuckled.

“Aye, Sier.” Standing, Alant faced his teacher. “You were able to book passage with the Captain, Sier?”

“Yes. The ship is named the
Mistbreeze Trader,
and you shall be sharing a room with its young cabin boy.” Sarlimac looked over his shoulder. “Ah, here comes Captain Garson now.”

“Sier, sir.” The Captain was a big, burly black-skinned man—well over two paces tall—with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. He was naked save for some loose fitting trousers that hung from his waist held in place by a thin rope that served as a belt. Large, gaudy necklaces covered much of his hairy chest, and lighter black scars laced their way out from under these. More than a few of the scars extended down his stomach to disappear under the waistband of his pants. Apart from a cutlass strapped to his left side, the sandals he wore completed his outfit. Even though the air was chilly this early in the morn, sweat rolled down the man’s face and chest. “Do say your farewells, if you please, Sier. I needs be getting the lad aboard now. We do cast off with the tide.” His thick accent was odd to Alant. Reaching down, the big man plucked up Alant’s bag from the dock, flung it effortlessly over a shoulder, and headed back to the plank that connected his ship to the dock.

“Yes, it is time at that.” Sarlimac smiled warmly at Alant. “You take care, my boy.”

“Aye, Sier, I shall make you proud.” When the old teacher made no move or any additional comment, Alant lowered his gaze and strode past him to follow the Captain.

“Alant, wait.” Sarlimac’s words came as Alant was reaching the plank. He turned and watched the old man approach. A mask of determination covered the Shaper’s visage. His teacher stood in front of him for long moments, his wrinkled face showing signs of a war raging behind his sharp blue eyes.

He is worried.

“Aye, Sier?” Alant kept any sign of impatience from his voice.

Sarlimac’s hand disappeared into the folds of his robe and a wave of resolve settled over him. Taking the boy by the arm, he pulled Alant away from the hustle and bustle of the crew, and down an offshoot pier where smaller fishing crafts sat moored in a neat row. Looking around the dock area, the Sier pulled his hand from beneath the folds of his dark blue robe. In his palm he cradled a small golden medallion. It was in the shape of a fiery sun—masterfully crafted—in the center of which rested a large red Crystal that held the flicker of a flame nestled deep within it. A thin silvery cord ran from a loop in its top and pooled over the Sier’s fingers. “You must not reveal anything I am about to tell you.” The old man’s eyes bore into Alant’s. “Do you understand?”

“Aye, Sier.” Alant’s heart raced almost as fast as his mind.

“What I am revealing to you has been told to very few Shapers—and only once they held the title of Master Shaper. The Council forbade me from sharing this with you, yet I feel it is time something was done.” Sarlimac gnawed on his lower lip and once again scanned the area. “The Elmorr’Antiens are not to be trusted… I think.”

Alant’s mouth dropped open as the shock of what the Sier said hit him full in the chest. “Sier, I do not—”

“Be quiet now. I have much to say.” The fatherly smile on the Sier’s face took all sting from the command. “I know it has been ingrained in you to revere the Elmorr’Antiens, and it is true that they are the most powerful with the Essence of any race here on the Plane of Talic’Nauth. Alas, heed me in my words.”

“Many a promising student has been invited to study on their island. One every few turns of the seasons since before I became a teacher here, some forty winters past. Few have returned from the training unscathed. Some have even perished.”

“How do they explain the deaths, Sier?” Alant did not like the direction this conversation was taking.

“Some few from accidents. We are led to believe that most are due to weakness—that their training methods can prove too strenuous for us mere Humans. I have no doubt their training is tough, and even here in Mocley we have had a few expire during our training. The Essence is no toy, as you well know. Yet, even those who do return seem no better trained than our students.” Sarlimac waved a hand in dismissal.

“What do those who return say of their stay, Sier?”

“That is the oddest point. I have questioned many, and they all tell strangely similar tales, as if they all experienced the exact same thing.” The old man looked down at his hand and ran a thumb over the amulet. “Which brings me to this. We call this amulet a Tarsith. It is from a time long past, and although we have used them for over a thousand turns of the seasons, we know little about them.”

The sunlight glinted off the red stone and drew Alant’s eyes back to the piece of jewelry. “Is it Essence enhanced, Sier?”

“Yes, that it is. Yet, of a method even our brightest Shapers are unable to fathom. I am afraid much knowledge has been lost from the past.”

“Sier, if they were not made by Shapers, where did they come from?”

“Oh, they were made by Shapers, of that I am certain. It is just more powerful than anything any Shaper alive here and now can create.”

Excitement rushing through him, Alant stared at the gold medallion. “So the Shapers who created that knew more than we know now?”

“No, it is not lack of knowledge that prevents us from creating items such as this. It is as if whoever created the Tarsith had access to a more powerful Essence than exists now.” Turning the Tarsith in his hand, the Sier allowed the sunlight to glint through the center stone. “Alas, the Tarsiths were made many thousands of winters before recorded history as we know it. A few score were recovered during an expedition to Sar’Xanthia by our Order long ago.”

“Sar’Xanthia? I have never heard of such a place, Sier.”

Sarlimac chuckled. “That is not surprising. Sar’Xanthia was destroyed eons ago and lies buried deep in some swamplands far to the south. We know little of this city, even less of the time it hails from. No one knows who built it, nor of the people who lived there, save they were Humans much like us. When Mocley was young, some fifteen hundred winters past, an expedition was sent to explore the lands of the south. Sar’Xanthia was discovered and many ancient and powerful artifacts were recovered. Among these treasures were the Tarsiths. Centuries passed before their use was uncovered.” The old man reached out, grasped Alant’s hand, and pressed the medallion into it, closing the boy’s fingers around the amulet.

“This is mine own personal Tarsith, and it will be the first time I have not had it around my neck since I was given it some twenty winters past. As I said, I was forbidden to give you one of your own.”

Alant stared at it in wonder. “What does it do?”

“It will protect you from some of the powers the Elmorr’Antiens possess.” Sarlimac shook his head when the boy tried to respond. “Listen, you must depart soon.” Again, the Sier glanced about the dock area. “The Elmorr’Antiens have a few powers they use for their own ends. They have a knack for knowing what someone is thinking, as well as the ability to control others by forcing an idea into their minds and making that person think it was theirs all along. With these abilities, the Elmorr’Antiens have caused us no end of trouble, albeit they use them subtlety and only sparingly.” He lifted Alant’s closed fist and held it between the two of them. “Yet, we know the Tarsith protects its wearer from both.”

Opening his fingers, Alant gazed upon the amulet. “Sier, how do the Elmorr’Antiens come by such power over the Essence that we Shapers cannot?”

“This is unknown to us. I am of the opinion that these powers are not Essence related, rather more of a natural ability of their race. There is an uneasy tension between Shapers and Elmorr’Antiens—friendly at the best of times.” Sarlimac smiled. “Alas, the answers to these questions are for men far wiser than you or I. All I wish for you is safety and prosperity. You have been a great student, and have given this old man new hope.” Releasing Alant’s arm, he flicked a finger from the necklace to the boy’s neck. “Put that on now, and do not remove it for any reason, not even when you bathe.”

Alant let the golden amulet drop from his hand to dangle from his fingers on its thread-thin silver chain, and held it up to eye level. He admired the way the sunlight glinted through the flames inside the large red gem for a moment before he looped the necklace over his head.

“Tuck it inside your shirt, quickly.” The old Sier’s face grew somber. “Neither show nor tell anyone of it! Never let any of the Elmorr’Antiens know of its existence. Do you understand? Yours is not the only life that could be forfeit if that fell into the wrong hands.”

The teacher placed both his hands upon Alant’s shoulders, a look of pride fought with sadness for dominance over his face. “You have been the finest boy I have had the opportunity to instruct in all my days. Keep your wits about you and come back safe.” Releasing Alant, the old man glided past. The Sier did not look back as he stepped onto the main dock. Soon he was lost from the boy’s vision, disappearing into the crowds that had materialized with the sun.

“Oiy!”

Alant jumped and jerked his head toward the foot of the small dock he stood on. The Captain stood at its base, hands on hips, glaring at him.

“Am I to carry you aboard as I did your bag?” He flung an arm over his shoulder. “The day be afoot and the tide… she be a leaving! Stay dockside if you do wish, we cast off now!” The big man spun around and headed for the gangplank.

Alant glanced once more in the direction his Sier had gone yet could gain no sight of the old man. He placed his hand to his breast and covered the Tarsith that hung beneath his shirt.

Maja’Kasta, I know I do not pray to you as often as I should. Still, watch after me, for my path leads to that which is unknown, and I am frightened.

Taking a deep breath, Alant exhaled. His eyes roved over the large ship in front of him. Nodding to himself, he started after the Captain.