Bulwark (42)

[Zadown]

Something was slightly off, an error in the world. The feeling in itself was extraordinary, given how little attachment he had to any one place these days, how he was far more used to adapting to enviroments than judging them to be wrong. It was not the faint hint of autumn in the air, the smell of rain and decaying leaves, or the curious looks the locals gave him. It was rarer for whatever locals there were to not to stare at him, and as long as they did not get belligerent he did not care.

 

Meeting a wandering wizard once or twice a year should not change her reputation much.

 

It did not rain very heavily, but a faint mist obscured the city. He noticed a few armored caravan guards, could not remember if it was business as usual here. The wrongness had woken up a vague anxiety inside him, something he did not notice before seeing Jankiize's tower dispelled it for a short moment.

 

There was only one flag flying above it, that of the House Vangaijuua. That brought a deep frown to the Dreamer's scarred face and he walked even faster than normal to the door, skipping his usual hesistation at the doorstep. He did not have to wait for long after he had knocked, but he did not recognize the young man in leather armor who opened a small hatch in the reinforced front door.

 

"Sir, the lady of the house is away and we cannot accomodate new customers. You'll have to try one of the other guard companies."

 

It sounded like a rehearsed litany, something he had said a dozen times before. If not momentarily captivated by the Dreamer's impressive map of scars, the guard might have slammed the hatch shut without waiting for a response. The planewalker's eyes flared yellow, jolting the guard out of his hourly-wages reverie.

 

"Then I demand t' speak with Marchello or Fionella Opulanti, doorkeeper. 'Tis not a request."

 

The storm gathering on the scarred face was far more impressive than the weak drizzle nature was throwing at Jagutt. Staring into that maelstorm and hearing mixture of hostility and authority in the planewalker's voice confused the guard to such extent he froze, the delay feeding the bright flames in the Dreamer's eyes.

 

"Um ..."

 

"Fine."

 

The Dreamer sidestepped into Astral, vanishing for a tiny fraction of a moment before he stepped out far too close to the hapless guard. Still frozen, it was an actual relief for him to be lifted up and slammed against the wall, the painful choice of what to do taken away.

 

"Where are they? Answer me!"

 

"Lady Jalar and Marchello are both guarding a caravan to Takthan, sir! Fionella is on the top floor, but ..."

 

Right then another guard appeared, drawn to the door by the noise.

 

"Hey! Set Loke down ... now ..."

 

The second guard's voice petered out in the face of the Dreamer's blazing gaze.

 

"What on a Prime has 'appened 'ere, m'lord?"

 

He glanced at Loke, who shrugged as well as he could from his uncomfortable position, then spread his empty hands in a peaceful gesture.

 

"You haven't been here since ... well ... therein lies a tale then, I suppose, sir. If you could just lower Loke, I could try to tell it, all peaceful like, yes?"

 

The Dreamer complied, this once.

 

*

 

The uneasy guards were visibly relieved when Fionella stood up and broke into a big grin at the sight of the Dreamer. It had been hard to decide whether the old, scarred man in out-of-place grey robes was insane or highborn, or perhaps both, but in the end the planewalker's unshakeable air of authority had won them over. And how could an ordinary guard pass judgement what sort of people the Witch of Jalar and her friends consorted with?

 

"Lord Dreamer! We had been wondering when you would have time to visit us! Your ... affairs that have delayed you are now satisfactorily concluded?"

 

A wan smile, a feeble shrug before the planewalker sat on the chair Fionella pointed out for him.

 

"Not quite, m'lady. But I've learnt t' believe th' multiversum can manage without me, every now an' then. How are things 'ere? Th' guards did not make much sense, as is their wont."

 

Fionella's welcoming smile faded out.

 

"Melenar is dead, m'lord."

 

The words were met with an expectant silence. Fionella hesistated, then continued.

 

"And Lady Jankiize could not retain his web of trades and contacts. I'm not sure how well you know the rest of House Jalar, but their relations with Jankiize are less than warm."

 

The Dreamer nodded.

 

"Thus th' guards?"

 

"They are actually not here to protect against any agents of House Jalar. It's more like they are part of what we do, now."

 

"A guard company ... an' yer involved as well?"

 

"Stories of what happened earlier when Thakelmians tried have circulated. I don't think it would have been possible otherwise, with so many different predjuices stacked against us. But now Jugatt and Thakelmia are in a sort of informal war, and we are one of the weapons employed. I hope you have taught my husband well enough - he is now out there with her, protecting a caravan through one of the areas of conflict."

 

He grinned - a humourless, feral twist of his mouth.

 

"He was far bett'r than his normally timid nature would suggest, ya. An' her ... as long as she wears her suit o' armor, no local can easily harm her. Ye've gotten along with my daughter, then?"

 

"I think I would not be too bold if I called her a friend."

 

"'Tis well."

 

The Dreamer's eyes flashed dazzling, silvery white for a short moment before dark blue clouds obscured them again.

 

"So ... yer content t' stay 'ere, ya? I can get a new patch o' books if ye've already read through the previous set."

 

"'I'm not sure if it is possible, but when we talked with Jankiize she told stories of permanent portals linking two Primes ... ?"

 

"Ye'd want a link to Chaman. Understandable, but despite it being a paradise from yer point o' view, I would never connect my ward's house t' that nation o' powerhungry maniacs. Permanent portals are meant t' have a permanent guard on both sides in addition t' several other security measures. Far beyond o' what I have time or interest in installin', I'm sorry. But I can send ye both back, should ye want t' terminate th' contract early."

 

"Oh no, no. I'm speaking for both of us when I say we'd rather stay, then. We aren't anywhere near of making the trip on our own though, so we do need you to send us back eventually."

 

He nodded, then looked around.

 

"How 's yer work proceedin'? Have th' little ones shown promise, or has their father's blood taken over?"

 

"Mendra has talent, yes. How strong is hard to say - we were talking about warding a room for teaching and for our own experiments, but none of us three is really good with anything as practical and permanent as engraving runes. And right now we are far too busy ... ah, listen to me prattle on about inconsequential things, I'm sorry."

 

The Dreamer grinned, then, and made a show of taking a more comfortable position on his chair.

 

"Yer th' one with limited lifespan, mortal. Tell me th' whole tale, ya."

[Zadown]

The Dreamer paused with his index finger pointing upwards, its tip sparkling with bright yellow fire. When he turned his gaze away from the runes he had already burned on the floor he could see half of a little girl's face peeking from the doorway. The fire winked out and he stood up from his kneeling position.

 

"Ya, Mendra?"

 

The response was muffled, Mendra facing downwards at the wall and mumbling.

 

"Come 'ere, li'tl' girl, an' greet yer uncle Dreamer properly, ya? Now, what brings ye 'ere, m'lady?"

 

"Hi, uncle."

 

"An'?"

 

The little girl, now mostly visible, swayed from side to side as if she had been a snake mesmerized by the planewalker's deep blue gaze.

 

"What are you doing, uncle?"

 

"Ah. This?"

 

A nod.

 

"'Tis a new room for ye an' the Opulantis t' practice. How's yer schoolin' comin' along? Can ye decipher any of what I've been writin' here, m'lady?"

 

Mendra took one short step forward, then stopped.

 

"Fion said not to read runes unless she says so."

 

Most people would have described the grin that sent the Dreamer's scars adrifting across his face as terrifying, but the little girl was immune to its effect and actually smiled back.

 

"'Tis good, learnin' things like this is all 'bout th' precautions. Now, however, I tell ye ye can try t' read them, ya?"

 

Mendra looked first up at the Dreamer's patient face, then at the confusing array of warding runes covering most of the nearby floor, her small face crunching up in concentration.

 

"It's ... it's a bit like a blanket. To keep the bogeymen away."

 

"Quite so, m'lady. Very good."

 

He grinned even wider and his right hand disappeared for a short moment, fishing the Void for something pretty and shiny for the young girl. When it reappeared it held a silver tiara with a ruby in the middle flanked by a series of dark semiprecious stones. After a short frown at its faint aura of enchantment, he placed it carefully on Mendra's slightly too small head.

 

"There ya go, o' Queen o' Knowledge. Wear 't proudly, m'lady."

 

Mendra giggled, pushed the tiara lower with both hands and ran off, almost colliding with Fionella before continuing her wild dash.

 

"Evenin', m'lady."

 

"That's quite a gift for such a vague answer."

 

She sounded more amiable than her words. The Dreamer's presence here had lifted her spirits - even though she could have tolerated being stuck here, she had not realized how homesick she had been before the weight of it had lifted from her. The nightmare of what had happened in the Burning Times tavern ages ago was a faint memory, the here-and-now Dreamer's placid manner and good humor making that memory seem slightly surreal. And while she did not worship power to the extent of some Chamanians, it was nevertheless impossible not to be suffused with a giddy awe at the presence of a Master of the Art. Hundreds or thousand years of knowledge, not veiled under the insanity of a decaying lich or the alien mind of a Death Guild vampire. Not human, granted, but still somebody you could actually talk with.

 

He shrugged.

 

"Gift that did not cost me more than a fleetin' moment o' searchin'. It's merely a pretty bauble, 's all."

 

"And that enchantment on it?"

 

"Of not any particular use for 'er for th' next ten, fifteen years. A bauble even then. Would ye think I'd hand 'er a dangerous artifact? A darkwood dagger t' play with, perhaps?"

 

"No, I suppose you would not. How is the warded room coming along?"

 

"Not my speciality, rune-engravin', either, but I've picked up th' basics 'ere and there. Even then, once it is ready it should hold 'gainst anythin' any of ye mortals can unleash on this Prime, easily. It might even withstand some o' my experiments, ya. That does not reduce th' risk t' ye to zero, though. If ye unleash a mana storm inside, or fail a summonin' spell ... well, I'll etch a circle in th' middle."

 

"We'll be careful, Lord Dreamer. We would have had to experiment sooner or later even if you would not have been able to do this for us, so we are grateful for your work."

 

A lopsided, almost embarassed grin.

 

"They call me th' worst planewalker smith in existence, an' I'm no better at inscribin' than smithin'. But perhaps th' worst o' the Immortals will do for mortals, neh?"

 

"We will take it, yes."

 

Her answering smile was genuine, warm.

[Zadown]

Sometimes conflicts could be taken care by money, or by excessive force. Sometimes such overt measures failed, and a more ... shadowy resolution would be called for. Thakelmia was big and rich city state, but not big enough to employ a full-time cadre of skilled workers for that sort of eventualities. So, they were not quite assassins, not officially.

 

Good enough, still. Good enough for this little naive haven.

 

Avarr had to suppress a grin. It felt exhilarating to be out there in the night for a real mission. A rare drug, this feeling of righteous danger, bravery for the home country. Oh, the locals would disagree and call them cowards and worse, but this is where courage was tested, not on the big fields of battle where you had safety in numbers. Especially this time - the Witch of Jalar! The stories they had heard, most false of course. There had been similiar stories about other, less known places, how they summoned djinns and dragons to do their bidding, maps marked with "Here be monsters". All shown to be false later on when they had established proper trading routes, of course. It was odd a story had sprung up so close, about the well-known town of Jugatt, but Avarr supposed it had something to do with saving face after the disastrous and short war. Now, a new war was brewing, and this time they would not lose, erasing this particular legend so the ignorant line soldiers would not lose their night's sleep over wraiths and demons.

 

How quaint. A sorceress's tower - she knows her marketing for sure.

 

It did not take long for him to bypass the lock on the door. With the same precise ease he had picked the lock, he cut the throat of the door guard. Avarr took out his specially made small bull's eye lantern and showed the go signal for the rest of the unit, then tiptoed deeper into the tower.

 

It's not as impressive from the inside. Trader trophies, colored glass windows and warm colors, I was expecting something ... different.

 

Avarr did not have time to register what he saw before his head exploded.

 

*

 

The wards are being crossed.

 

The Dreamer was transformed from a scribe burning runes into the warded room's floor to a nervous beast, his whole body tensing and eyes turning into yellow embers. Releasing a previously set spell, a series of emerald green globes of protection sprung into being around the house, protecting the sleeping girls in one room, their dreaming teacher in another. He had not really been prepared for this, the faint wards and sketchy spells of protection being ready more from a force of habit than the result of any real anxiety.

 

I have been stupid. I should have remembered what happened at the Tree of Life - fragile mortals trying to make their problems vanish by breaking each other.

 

A furious grimace split his face in two, the resulting look a visage of such fury even the little Jalar girls would not have laughed at it. The Dreamer's scars writhed in anticipation as he sank deeper into the immortal time, stalked out to meet the intruders with the grace of an angry tiger.

 

*

 

For a moment she could not understand what she saw, was stuck between dreams and reality. She was not used to waking up in the middle of the night, and even if she had been the green hue coloring everything she saw would have confused her. What surrounded her made more sense to her second sight - a powerful protective spell was surrounding her, transparent sigils of abjuration floating across the green bubble.

 

"Mhwhat? Lord Dreamer?"

 

She blinked once, tried to understand what was happening. There was nobody in her room, no unusual sounds, no burning pair of planewalker eyes staring at her. First sign the protective ward was not the only oddity this night was a sound she heard, like a rotten cabbage bursting apart, followed by a faint thud. Definitely not normal sounds, and she had no idea what had caused them. Only a growing sense of unease and the opinnion offered by her slowly waking mind that the Dreamer would not encease her in magical armor if nothing was wrong.

 

Fionella stood up and reached for her robes, blinking sleep away from her eyes.

 

*

 

They could not see Avarr but the orders had been clear before they had set out. Clear the place, make a statement, whether or not the Witch herself is there. Nobody paused when stepping over the dying guard, the squad spreading out to every direction. Even if there would be no real opposition here, they only had a little time. Jugatt was not an easy town to escape from, not with how and where it was built. Ansik pointed at a door for each of the killers, then took the rightmost door himself. Avarr always went right first - "when in doubt, attack; when in doubt how to attack, flank from right". That's what he always said, and actually did as well, believing more in keeping the initiative than being too timid, too careful. It had worked, so far.

 

Another corpse, not far in. He would have ignored it, but no weapon Avarr had would leave a target headless. He actually had time to frown, time to lift his gaze and see two yellow flames burning in the dark.

 

*

 

Another thud and her unease deepened, her heart thudding. She felt ridiculous for being afraid, that everything was alright and it was just a drunken servant fumbling with ale kegs or some such trivial thing, but even so the muttering voice mumbling "what if...?" in her mind did not leave her in peace. That voice possibly saved her life, made her whisper the words of a spell of concealment. Acute embarassment for overreacting, for a tiny moment, then acute fear as a stranger clad in dark clothes swung the door to the Opulanti bedroom wide open. The green light of the ward had vanished along with Fionella herself, and she could barely see anything, eyes not accustomed to the almost total darkness. The man had nothing to see.

 

But she could not control her nerves that well, not even after all the mental exercises they had been taught, not so soon after waking up, and she made a startled, frightened sound.

 

This close, the thud of a knife striking wooden wall was like thunder.

 

Even louder was the crunching sound as the Dreamer's fist struck the back of the assassin's head, throwing the hapless mortal on the ground, his skull deformed and broken. She knew the planewalker was on her side, but it was impossible not to quail at the sight of him as he was now: eyes burning, twisting scars writhing across a mask of ruined skin, a sense of immense speed infused into the long, trembling limbs of superhuman strength. Fionella let her spell lapse, re-appeared to took a step back and cowered, knowing she would not be hurt but instincts ordering her body.

 

"'Twas th' last o' them, m'lady. Are ye unhurt?"

 

She started to tremble uncontrollably, her teeth clattering as if she'd been hit by a stray blast of primal ice and sat down on the floor, to not to fall.

 

"I-I am'm al-all right, m'm'lord. W-what happe-ned?"

 

"Shh. Shhh, nothin' t' be afraid, any more."

 

Fionella breathed deeply in and muttered a few of the mantras they had been taught, wiped a single tear out of her eye and dragged herself out of her terror. When she managed to look upward, she could see the Dreamer's wrath had abated and that he now looked almost like a mortal, the dim light of a green mageflame barely showing the now-quiet scars, the planewalker's eyes too dark to see their color. It was easy to remember what had just happened by looking at the assaillant's corpse, though. A crumpled doll, still slightly twitching, head's unnatural shape telling her there was no chance for the man to live.

 

"Oh! The girls!?"

 

"Why do ye think I was 'ere almost too late, mmm? They are safe, an' still asleep."

 

His tone was gentle, but a hint of the earlier fury crept back to his face.

[Zadown]

"We 'ave been traitorously complacent, m'lady. Th' tower should 'ave had more protection, been more like a fortress."

 

She stood up and nodded, looked at the corpse lying on the floor with her thoughts racing.

 

"We can figure out issues of security in the morning. But what are we going to do with this ... with these? How many assassins were there?"

 

"Five, an' th' door guard is dead. His soul had left th' body when I got there, there was nothin' I would do at that point."

 

"Would?"

 

His face twisted, a grimace or a sneer, his anger boiling under the surface.

 

"Ya, would. He died a warrior, no debt between me an' him - he is entitl'd t' his peaceful afterlife without me sinkin' my sharp hooks into his soul t' drag it back to his broken body."

 

Fionella looked like she would argue the point, then let it be and gestured at the corpse. She sighed.

 

"I'm not sure what the locals would think if we just ... bring these out in the morning. They might be from Jugatt for all I know, killers do not usually care about who pays them."

 

"Gettin' rid o' dead organic matter is beyond simple, ya. I can remove that part of th' problem. But what about th' door guard? Him vanishin' might not be ... appropriate, neh?"

 

"No, he needs proper burial, whatever the locals do. Jankiize would be furious if we'd just make one of her hirelings disappear like that."

 

She was startled to notice that the corpse was already gone, only clue that the Dreamer had something to do with the matter a faint wisp of icy mist rising from his right hand before it too dissipated. A few tiny specks of darkening blood on the wooden floor and on her thick rug were all that remained of the dead man who had tried to kill her just a moment ago.

 

"'Tis her fortress, an' her laws. I do not like t' interfere with her travels an' affairs, but I doubt she'd chastise me should I seek her out t' bring th' news o' this. Or what do ye think, as a mortal an' her friend?"

 

His voice sounded odd when it was stripped of its usual pervasive tone of superiority, when he actually framed a genuine question. Like an uncertain god, or a flawed one. Fionella kept her face carefully neutral, realized as she did just how hard it was not to fear him. Fleeting thoughts, let to sink down away from sight, to be examined later.

 

"You'll look into the defences of this tower before going?"

 

"O' course. One celestial should be sufficient, once I 'ave fortified th' runes o' protection around this tower a bit."

 

"Celestial?"

 

"An angel, a heavenly warrior, deva, archon, whatever ye call them. We planewalkers may not be gods, but a loan'd soldier is as good as th' real thing, ya?"

 

His grin was not all that different from his grimace, except for the color of his eyes.

 

*

 

Seen from the space, this world looked like so many others: brown, blue and green covered with swirling white. He was not sure if it had a name, if the locals knew they were walking on a sphere instead of a flat pancake. Of course, not all humans in the multiversum who thought they were inhabiting a flat world were wrong, or who thought their cities were the center of the existence, or who marked the edges of their inaccurate maps with "Here Be Dragons". The Dreamer mused on the various theories of why the human race was so prominent in the multiversum - some planewalkers were of the opinion it was a matter of flawed perception, that there were countless worlds and planes with no humans but those were just not paid attention to. Others argued that there was an endless chain reaction, humans dreaming up gods who created worlds with humans who dreamed up more gods, that humanity was a disease spreading through the multitude of planes. And some, like himself, did not really care. It was convinient to be the same general shape, in both body and mind, as the locals. Rare were the planewalkers who spent any considerable time beyond the planes the two-legged plague had conquered or at least touched in some manner.

 

He did not dwell on the dry thoughts long. The Dreamer conjured a vision of Jankiize and concentrated on it with the force of his considerable will. A step through Astral ...

 

... and he was standing on clouds, the sky dark blue above and light blue below, the globe he had seen now a flat plane of green and brown below him. He smiled at the grand view, briefly, and took another step.

 

Usually, it was hard to find his vague targets, people he had seen once, perhaps, or not at all. Aiming at places only deciphered from the cryptic whispers of the cards or the bones, cities marked on smudged, elaborate maps not reflecting the true nature of land at all. He was used to appearing close by, high enough to possibly see where he was going if he was lucky, forced to try again more often than he'd care to admit. But he knew Jankiize well and his urgency was not normal, a need to see her pushing at his immortal patience.

 

He stepped out of the planar Astral right into a cooking fire.

 

"Oops."

 

The Dreamer's chagrin at his own clumsiness was brief, soon doused by the amusement he got from the looks of the caravan guards and Marchello. Fighting an urge to laugh at their amazement he stepped out of the fire. He made the effort to brush out any sparks landing on his grey robes even if they were more than fireproof, grinning slightly.

 

"Evenin', m'lords. I hope I'm not intrudin'."

 

"Um ... hey, Lord Dreamer. We ... weren't really expecting you."

 

He could not read the faces of the guards. Awe or fear, respect or suspicion, he was not sure, and usually did not even care. On Marchello's face there was something more welcoming, less apprehensive. The guards muttered something, one of them asking where he had appeared with a rhetoric tone, but he ignored them and focused his attention on the occultist.

 

"Now, where's she?"

 

"Is it really urgent? She's asleep ..."

 

Marchello's protesting voice faded when they all heard a movement from a nearby tent.

 

"Or not. Not sure how that woke her up, you made far less noise than we've been making."

 

The Dreamer shrugged.

 

"She knows th' impact of my wards pushin' through th' leylines. Ye might try t' learn it as well, m'lord. Could be useful, one o' these days."

 

"So it was you, Uncle."

 

Jankiize's head had appeared from the tent, tiredness apparent on her face. She yawned, brushed a hand over his face, shook herself a bit in effort to shake of the last weight of the dreams and then stepped outside, wearing a blanket over the inner paddings of her armor.

 

"What brings you here, Dreamer? It's not like you to track me down like this."

 

"Ya, it isn't. I come from yer tower."

 

That woke her up instantly like a bucket full of cold water, complete with the shock and the shivers. A growing wild look on his face softened when she studied the Dreamer's face.

 

"It's ... nothing really bad, is it? Your eyes are green."

 

He nodded briefly.

 

"Th' door guard was killed, but I took care o' th' assassins before they 'ad time t' do any more harm. I left a new door guard at place before comin' to see ye."

 

"Assassins!?"

 

Marchello and Jankiize both cried out at the same time, the guards muttering and exclaiming on the background.

 

"You saved ... everybody else?"

 

The Dreamer nodded again.

 

"'Twas fortunate I was there, ya. Fionella an' th' little ones are fine. I presume yer work has stirred up a hornet's nest, an' they were told t' show how displeased these ... "

 

Jankiize stepped forward and hugged the Dreamer briefly, surprising everybody one more time. Even through his robes, the planewalker radiated fierce heat, his scarred body hard and uneven. She did not seem to care. Before she released her gentle grip, she breathed out "thank you", then stepped back. His eyes brightened to white and he smiled back at his foster daughter.

 

"Yer welcome, Littl' Princess. I remov'd th' attackers, but Fionella said it'd be disrespectful t' dispose of yer guard in similiar fashion. An' I thought ye'd like t' know what happened, now and not later."

 

"Yes, definitely. Do you have time to go back or are you needed elsewhere? We can't break our contract and leave, even if we could leave the merchants on their own ..."

 

She glanced towards the other cooking fire. A number of merchants were staring at them with badly veiled curiosity, alarm on the faces of those whose hearing was good enough to make sense of what Jankiize was saying.

 

"I 'ave a few months t' spare, ya. I can leave now if ye want to."

 

"No, no such hurry if you already left a guard of your own there. Sit down, tell us how things are there."

 

"Very well, m'lady."

[Zadown]

"He's dead, then."

 

"Yes, uncle."

 

All the others had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them sitting at the low-burning campfire. Around them the forest had gone totally black, the faint noises the trees made in the wind the only reminder it was there at all. No stars or moons were visible on the cloudy sky.

 

"Ye could move t' some other plane."

 

"I could, yes. There's no reason to, though."

 

He lifted an eyebrown.

 

"Assassins?"

 

"Show me a place with humans where they all live in heavenly harmony and I'll move there."

 

"'Tis true. Still, ye could start anew, ya?"

 

"I like it here. It's no Great Tree, but the weather's not too bad, food is better than in some other places I've had to live, there's no glass storms ... and the little ones have some friends, despite my reputation. I can't just teleport around the multiversum every time something bad happens."

 

The Dreamer tossed a small stick on the hungry embers and the flames leaped higher for a moment.

 

"Ye 'aven't ask'd me t' ..."

 

"No. And I won't. You've told me what it is like ... and how peaceful it can be, for the dead. Besides, that'd be the last straw, maybe."

 

"They wouldn't tolerate resurrection?"

 

"Who knows. Or maybe they'd think I'd be able to bring their loved ones back, too ... by gods, that sounds so callous! I do miss him, like there was a hole in me ..."

 

She shivered, suppressing a shudder, and reached forward to soak more of the fire's warmth saying nothing. They just sat there silent for a long time.

 

"... it's actually the worst part, that I could ask you to bring him back."

 

"Ye could. I wouldn't do it, ya."

 

"Not even for me? Not if I'd throw you out of my life if you refused?"

 

"Never."

 

His eyes shone with dark blue, the color infusing every part of the visible eyes like somebody had stuck sapphires into his eyesockets. She shivered again staring at them, could not decipher what they and his faint smile together meant. His tone had not been playful, however, and a sudden relief surged through her.

 

"Never?"

 

"Never, m'lady."

 

"Why did you ask then if the locals would tolerate it or not?"

 

"I was merely curious of where their limit lays, ya. If yer stayin' here, I'd better not ruin yer reputation any more than necessary ... an' before ye ask, no, I did not mean t' step out of a fire."

 

She looked incredulous.

 

"You ... missed?"

 

"Naw, I was too accurate, ya. Any more an' I would've appear'd inside th' tent."

 

"Hah! I would've tried to stab you with Winter's Kiss if you'd done that, uncle. Some of the guards have been eyeing me, witch or not - given I'm the only woman here maybe not very surprising."

 

"One o' the downsides of yer spells o' youth, m'lady. Perhaps they'd stop if ye told them how old ye really are."

 

"Says a man a hundred times older than me. I'm sure if I had your scars, it would work too."

 

A silence.

 

"Ah, actually ... ye might be surprised, ya."

 

The Dreamer grinned and threw another stick into the fire.

[Zadown]

It was morning. Sun sent a scattering of lances streaming through the forest's shadow, the moisture left by the night slowly giving up and vanishing. Jankiize yawned, feeling tired but cold, saw from the position of the sun it was too late to get any more sleep. She scratched at her dirty hair in irritation. A bath would have been heavenly, or even a proper breakfast. Neither would happen here on the trail, she thought, then frowned slightly.

 

Maybe ...

 

She wrapped up in her blanket and crawled out of her tent. Dreamer had promised to stand guard but she could not see him with her first glance. Only when she glanced over at the merchant's part of the camp she spotted him, talking with them. An unexpected sight, but she had learned not to be surprised by too many things he did any more. Her breath steamed in the cold morning air.

 

"Hey, uncle!"

 

He turned towards her, though she knew he had been aware of her the moment she stepped outside. She could have sensed him as well had she been awake enough to concentrate. His scarred face seemed more animate than usual, his eyes bright green. A good sign. She beckoned the Dreamer to come closer, amused for a fleeting moment at the idea of having such control over so powerful a creature.

 

"Mornin', Princess"

 

She switched to Classic Chaman, not feeling like sharing their conversation with the mundane people of the camp.

 

"Remember that practice room you could create in the Astral?"

 

"Ya, o' course."

 

"Would it be possible for you to create a bath in there?"

 

"'Tis quite a conundrum actually, m'lady. Air, water an' fire ... hmm."

 

His eyes narrowed and changed like ocean's waves crashing over a lush forest, first turquoise, then blue and last the deep, dark color of Astral. His body froze, forgotten, as his mind expanded to probe and examine the problem from every direction at once. She had seen him spend days like that, immersed into his own thoughts.

 

"If it's a bother you can forget it, uncle. I was just wondering, that's all."

 

The Dreamer blinked, once, and dragged his awarness out of the reverie. He shrugged.

 

"It's not really that hard, ya. Just not something I had tried before. May I?"

 

He offered his hand, a light smile playing on his face, his eyes lightening to cerulean. Jankiize took the hand and the world vanished from around them, in one dizzying moment turning into the swirling chaos of the planar Astral before the Dreamer conjured the basics of a room. Before her eyes a wall rose to split the room in two, a crude door appearing next. She was not used to these surroundings, but still she could sense the complex magics the Dreamer was manipulating, the sheer weight of the laws of physics he was bending to his will. He did not look amused now. His face was set in a neutral mask of concentration, his fingers twitching and drawing tiny runes into the stale, artificial air.

 

I should've realized its not that easy. He was complaining already about the strain of maintaining a mere cube with air in it, and this goes far beyond that. But I can't ask him to stop now, either.

 

He froze in the middle of a gesture.

 

"How hot?"

 

"... what?"

 

"How hot do ye want yer bath, m'lady?"

 

"Oh. Your body temperature or so, I guess."

 

A few last nervous-looking twitches and he was done, nodding first and then pointing at the door.

 

"Yer bath, Princess."

 

*

 

"Mmm ... there really are some benefits for having you around, uncle."

 

"What, besides my ability t' destroy whole armies?"

 

"Yes. There's usually no army to destroy, but I can always use a good breakfast."

 

She bit again into the pastry, a look of bliss on her clean face. She did not ask where all the food was from - it did not seem local, but it was good, warm and fresh. After a short hesistation the guards had joined them, unable to resist the enticing aroma of cooling pastries. Even the merchants were now sitting around the same fire, eating the pastries and talking softly with each other. Jankiize could not remember the last time the Dreamer had actually brought people together like this. A warm feeling only partially related to the delicious food spread through her. One of the guards looked at the scarred planewalker, gathered his courage and asked a question she had been wondering about as well.

 

"You riding with us today, Lord Dreamer? There's room on the carts, or you could loan my horse if you want."

 

He glanced at her and she shrugged, a barely noticeable gesture.

 

"I suppose I can keep ye out o' trouble for this one day, at least. An' well provision'd, ya."

 

"Just in case we run into an army?"

 

"Ya, m'lady. Just in case that 'appens."

[Zadown]

"It's been a week now, uncle. Weren't you supposed to go back to oversee the defenses of the tower before we can go back? We are almost out of the worst bandit area too, doubt we'll get attacked any more."

 

"Hmm?"

 

The planewalker glanced at Jankiize who was sitting next to him on the wagon, a distracted look on his face. Something gleamed in his eyes as he turned before they changed into sickly, swirling blue. He was not concentrating on what she said, not even with a fraction of his sizeable mind.

 

"Uncle? What is it?"

 

"Th' cards weren't clear, I've 'ad trouble interpretin' them lately. This morning's divination was slightly more forthcomin', ya. We might 'ave company, today."

 

"And you haven't said a word."

 

"Th' omens were ambiguous, t' say th' least. Do ye 'ave any idea how many futures I see at any one time? Would ye want every one o' th' thousand warnings, m'lady?"

 

The false blue cleared from his eyes, leaving behind fiery yellow. He was only partly paying attention to the conversation, his now narrowed eyes scanning the forest's edge. Her voice got lower and she forced herself to look forward.

 

"Should I alert the guards?"

 

"No."

 

She felt it, then. Thin strands of magic extended from the seemingly inert planewalker, weaving a defensive net all around the caravan. Air shimmered faintly here and there as the Dreamer drained in more mana, laylines flickering in and out of Jankiize's second sight. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. The forest all around them that had just a moment before looked beautiful seemed now foreboding and dangerous, every trembling leaf a possible sign of enemies, every tree a potential cover for archers. Her voice dropped down to a mere whisper.

 

"You sure they will attack a caravan this well guarded?"

 

There was no nervousness on the Dreamer's face. His mouth twisted to a momentary grimace or sneer.

 

"They are committed already. I don't think they'll retreat now. And I don't thi..."

 

Some unseen sign marked the opening of the assault. A swarm of angry, buzzing crossbow bolts soared out of the forest, their shapes making them wail as they flew. As they hit the Dreamer's spell of protection, they made a sound like metal striking glass. At the same time, before even the first bandit had charged from the cover towards them, the planewalker sprung upwards to land on top of the wagon. Jankiize was slightly slower, jumping down instead of up. She drew her sword and yelled "Get ready!" to her guards, a familiar panic blooming inside that was only barely constrained by her absolute faith in her armor. She had said before that she was no killer despite having had fought many times by now, often even commanding troops, and she would claim that to be true still. Fear pulsed behind her eyes and terror tried to turn her feet to lead but she somehow managed to keep that fearful civilian apart from the woman who yelled more orders and brandished a magical blade.

 

You are the Lady of Bronze, the Grail Keeper! You have faced the Steam Army and the anger of the Kalash! A group of bandits ... oh.

 

Already, the number of bolts their enemy had shot had been more than expected from a band of outlaws. As the enemy rushed from their cover, the true numbers of what they were against came apparent. A single glance was enough to note down their uniform, well-cared for swords, the determination on their scarred faces and the strict discipline they showed.

 

These are no bandits!

 

At the same moment she realized that, she felt a surge of magic tug at the earth below their feet. With a resounding crack, a noise that would have been staggering on its own right, a horrendous array of sharp stone spears smashed at the center of the attackers with such force two soldiers were sent careening upwards. Most of those struck were speared multiple times and stayed put, turning from living men to twitching, dying scarecrows in a blink of the eye. The few survivors screamed in abject agony, the noise loud enough to conquer the echoes of the explosion of stone.

 

The left and right flank of the attack did not survive unscatched either. The unnatural blow that had so easily decimated their force stopped even the best of the men, breaking the morale of others like a dry twig. For a moment, nobody was sure what to do. When Jankiize looked on top of the wagon, she saw the Dreamer gesticulating with motions so wide and wild they were either pure showmanship or meant that he would unleash truly destructive magic next. He noticed her gaze, winked and lifted both of his hands in a gesture of conjuration. In answer to his call, sand and earth poured upwards in an accelerating, shrieking wind, wreathing the planewalker in a light brown tornado.

 

This is a sound I'll never forget - the wail of a Hulkiljael. Now let's see if any of these are veterans of that battle as well ...

 

True enough, either because of the growing wail or because of how their attack had smashed against incomprehensible forces without any effect, the Thakelmians broke and ran. A few half-hearted crossbow bolts from Jankiize's guards followed them, and the Dreamer lashed out with the wind he was controlling, but no further carnage ensued. As the last of the attackers capable of running vanished from sight, the planewalker snapped his fingers. The wind died leaving behind an expectant silence only punctuated by the cries of the wounded and the dying. The Dreamer shrugged at the people staring at him and leaped down from his podium, his face twisting in slow anger.

 

"... and I don't think they are bandits, ya. I think I just lost my patience with this."

 

*

 

"Ye sure ye don't want me t' question them? I 'ave some methods I've been waitin' t' be able to test."

 

"Absolutely sure. To be frank, I don't like the look on your face right now, uncle. We sustained no casualties, and the attack was not a personal affront to insult you, no matter how much you like to think you are the center of the known multiversum."

 

The Dreamer did not answer, but turned to look at the few Thakelmians prisoners who had survived the short fight without being able to join the rout. None of them dared to meet his smoldering gaze. The weather was still very nice, warm for autumn, and birds which had been scared into silence by the loud noises of battle were singing again deeper in the forest.

 

"Ye really think this is it, m'lady? What is yer estimate of what would've 'appened had I not been 'ere?"

 

It was her turn to fall silent and watch the same prisoners. The planewalker had actually deigned to heal them in an angry, off-hand manner, so there were no wounded left, only hale prisoners and dead soldiers. When she spoke after a while her voice was so quiet it was meant for the Dreamer's ears only.

 

"... the caravan would have been virtually destroyed, with most of my guard dead or wounded. We would have won in the bloody end - if nobody else, I would have finished the fight with Marchello, assuming he would have not taken a bolt through him. But it would have been a costly victory."

 

"Ya, 'tis an accurate estimation o' what'd happen'd. An' still ye act unconcerned."

 

They both turned to look at each other. The Dreamer's eyes, the mirror to his swirling, chaotic and immortal soul were black with a hint of burgeoning red somewhere in the depths of that cold night. His scars were etched into a mask of contained fury, twitching and turning every time the thin line of his mouth twisted into a sneer. Jankiize looked sad and tired and disappointed, her shoulders slumped, her armor incongruous on her like she had picked the wrong clothes to wear in the morning.

 

"What am I supposed to say!? 'Yes, go ahead and torture them for information'? Would that make you happy, uncle? What would it solve?"

 

She was too loud this time, or perhaps past caring that the prisoners heard her. Their faces showed alarm and determination and fear, emotions mirrored differently in the faces of Jankiize's guard.

 

"I wouldn't go as far as t' say that'd make me happy, but maybe a divination usin' their guts would be more accurate than my cards. We've talk'd o' wars before, an' yer fully aware that without initiative there's no victory."

 

"You really think they'd give relevant information to these grunts."

 

"Ye really think I need relevant information t' see patterns in chaos, ya? I'd be able t' use whatever they'd tell me."

 

"Well, they are my prisoners of war now and we are not going to hand them over to you so you can dissect them at your leisure! Do you have any idea of how this conflict would escalate if you did that?"

 

He shrugged and took one step sideways, vanishing without a trace and leaving her to yell at empty air.

 

"Go, then! Very mature of you to vanish like that when you are losing the argument!"

 

Her sigh of frustration sounded almost like a sob.

[Zadown]

Epilogue

 

"... you are only just coming back from west? Then you didn't hear yet what happened in Thakelmia - not a good place to go, right now, unless you are selling food and tents."

 

"Why's that? Earthquake struck them or what?"

 

A hooded figure turned its head slightly in an unmistakeable show of interest at what the two merchants sitting in the next booth were talking about. Neither of them were paying much attention to their surroudings, however, the older getting ready to tell his big story, the younger eating and drinking like somebody who had spent a few weeks too many on trail rations.

 

"Earthquake would have been just, maybe, with how they have been filled with hubris lately ... but no, this was worse."

 

"Mmm. What's worse than a big earthquake? A huge flood?"

 

"No, no. There's no floods in autumn, you lummox. It was war!"

 

This made both the younger merchant and the hooded figure pause, even more interested. The young man took a long draught of beer and then set the tankard down, frowning.

 

"War, Gelter? But there's no powers big enough to challenge them within a marching distance, especially this late in year. Maybe the Empire of Foess could do that, but ..."

 

"But they have good relations with each other, yes. You do have some brains in that big head of yours, Aeger. It wasn't the Foessians, no. It was ... Jugatt!"

 

"Haha! Now you are just spinning a tale, old man. Jugatt maybe able to protect themselves, with how easy their town is to defend, but to attack? They don't even have a proper army!"

 

The hooded figure slumped down as if in sudden pain. The loud voices of the two merchants made others to glance at them, some turning back to their food when they heard what it was about, having head the news already. Others had sceptic or attentive looks on their faces, some of them openly listening to the exchange now.

 

"Again right - it wasn't a proper army. It was an army of hellspawns, conjured by that Witch of Jalar! They destroyed the whole city, killing everybody and going as far as to destroy the walls and houses, leaving not two stones on top of each other."

 

"Right you are. While we are it, I have a flying horse to sell you."

 

"Go on then, take your load of exquisite furniture and mirrors all the way to Thakelmia, if you can find any room on the river boats that carry building materials. Don't come crying to me when your journey's wasted."

 

Something in Gelter's air of absolute certainity gave the younger man a pause. The noise of conversation in the tavern washed all around them, with nobody laughing at the older man so far.

 

"Wait - you really mean that? Thakelmia is ... gone?"

 

He looked around, seeing a number of nods and a few shrugs but no jeering patrons, no vehement denials.

 

"Not quite gone, Aeger. They just struck, destroyed as much as they could and went away back to the Hell they had been summoned from. There's still a town of sorts there, but the last thing they need is your load of baroque junk. You'll have to take those elsewhere, friend."

 

"Hells damn it! If you were a rival, I'd still think you'd be fooling me."

 

Aeger sighed and turned his attention back to his food and drink, eating now with far less gusto. In the next booth over the hooded person was staring into a dark corner, immersed in thoughts. A young man in merchant's travel clothes set two plates of food clumsily down on the table in the booth, startling her. She withdrew her hand from the hilt of her sword, looking slightly embarassed as the man lowered down two tankards next to the plates. He sat down, speaking in a language only they two knew in this whole tavern full of exotic travellers.

 

"Looks like you were right to insist on subterfuge, Jan. I'm not sure what would happen if they'd figure out who we are but I doubt it'd be anything good."

 

She hissed in frustration, then tugged her hood back a bit to make eating easier and lifted a spoonfull of the meat stew. Instead of putting it in her mouth, she paused it in midair as her hand started to tremble. By the time she had set it back on the plate, she was shaking from silent tears.

 

"You have .. any idea how many people live..d in Thakelmia, Marc?"

 

He shook his head and picked his spoon, but just looked at Jankiize's general direction without making any further motions to eat.

 

"Over thirty thousand .. mortals."

 

There was barbed venom in the last word.

 

*

 

Moonlight streamed through the tall, majestetic trees to create ornate patterns of light and dark shadows on everything. Their edges were softened by the ambient glow of the various stars dotting the cloudless sky, most of them white but some larger ones glowing red, blue or green. A sense of almost supernatural peace suffused everything, making the Dreamer grasp the stone parapet more gently than necessary. Far below the elven gardens spread out to every direction from the white tower, a mixture of wildness and order that did not seem to prefer either philosophy in the end. He spied fruit trees, a thin stream that connected two ponds, stone benches cleverly hid so they did not detract from the overall view, a hundred other details. He had not asked about the history of this place, but everything he saw made him sure no violence had touched this haven in several mortal generations. Breathing in deeply he spent a moment immersing himself in the mixture of heady fragrancies wafting from below only slight diluted by his distant vantage point, then he sighed the air he did not need out of his lungs and turned around.

 

"You have an exquisite garden, sister."

 

"I am glad you like it, Wodzan. Not all immortals can appriciate the beauty in tranquility any more, and many who can do not walk the planes."

 

Faaye smiled. She looked at home here, or as close to home as anybody could without elven features. The long dress she wore looked simple at first glance, but under more careful scrutiny revealed itself to be made out of countless different hues of green. Her movements invoked the effect of a forest floor with sun moving over the canopy and casting a pattern of constantly changing shadows, the dress also rustling in a manner of leaves caught in a gentle spring breeze. The soft gloom of the night hid every mark of her long age and left her looking like a young maiden, at least until she spoke careful words laden with the weight of centuries of experience or until she turned her ruined eye towards the observer.

 

The Dreamer's grey robes were as simple as they seemed even if the shifting lighting tried to conceal the fact. Not even the faint moonlight could erase his scars or the grey in his medium-length hair, the disorder of his uneven beard and moustache. He had brought no weapons here, wore no jewelry, the reflecting pools of his silvery eyes his only ornament.

 

He turned to gaze back at the garden but let his attention drift away from its silent beauty. She walked to where he stood, her bare feet making no sound on the stone. Faaye stopped next to him to see where he was looking at. When she spoke her tone was soft, careful.

 

"Have you finished being the King of Ants, for now?"

 

"Yes. For now."

 

He did not seem offended, more as if he was relieved, like some hidden anger was draining out of him by her presence, her words a healing knife to puncture the pustule.

 

"Nothing good will ever follow from that hobby of yours, brother. I am not saying this out of malice or of judgement, but out of experience. Any change you forge down there in the mud you could do thousand-fold when working for Balance, running the Lost Paths."

 

"And is that the Arbitrator of Balance speaking, hmm?"

 

She laughed, even that sound more elven here, like crystals tinkling against each other.

 

"I am me, brother. Even if my face has been cleft in two I still have less masks and their differences are less striking than of those you wear."

 

He looked like he would say something, for a moment, before just nodding towards the garden, as if to some thought of his own.