Kathy sat on the wooden bench out front of the Royal Guard barracks, waiting for Daggeuro to come back with Byron. She had on her usual jeans and a gray tee shirt, both enchanted by her magic to be durable as chain mail but as flexible as cloth. Her axe stood ready at her hip, bow and quiver on her back, Tigger safely waiting this trip out with Selena. She wouldn't know what to do if something happened to him.
When Daggeuro appeared down the street with Byron, Kathy's heart lurched. She couldn't deny her pull toward the other Awakened, who, freshly shaven with just his mustache and goatee in evidence, both neatly trimmed, and wearing a black bomber jacket with metal clasps on the cuffs, piqued her physical interest. The measured, relaxed way in which he carried himself spoke of confidence, also a plus for her. Yet when they drew near, she caught the scent of deodorant overpowered by a musky, sweaty smell coming from him. Not a deal breaker, but man, he needs body spray.
"Well, we're all here," Daggeuro declared. "When we get to Ryalt, we're likely going to see a lot of posters, fliers, and pollsters. Election season is on, and I received word this morning that councilman Stahg returned yesterday afternoon to do his campaigning. He's a cretin, as are his people. If they try to bother you, brush them off. With force, if necessary," he said with a snarl.
"Not a fan, I take it," Byron said.
"Never was. I'm a monarchist through and through. I'm all for nominating a new King if the time arrives and Ovin no longer wishes to rule, but democracy is innately corrupt in my opinion."
"Wait, nominate a King," Byron asked.
"Our governing structure in Amermidst is a democratic monarchy," Daggeuro said. "The King rules until he dies or abdicates, at which time we elect a new ruler. Each province elects a councilman to sit on the High Council, which does most of the legislative footwork, all of which requires the King's approval. If the High Council wishes to pass a new law or repeal an old one, they must get him to sign off on it."
"What if he denies it?"
"Then it is stricken down, unless it receives unanimous passage and the support of both the Lord of the Watch and the Rangers High Commander." Byron shook his head, flabbergasted. "That has happened only three times during King Ovin's rule. He is a fair-minded man. Usually, he will agree with the Council's decisions."
"Aren't you Lord of the Watch," Byron asked.
"I am."
"So, how many times were you part of that override?"
"Twice," Daggeuro said. Kathy rose from the bench, hitching up her enchanted backpack, enjoying this little learning moment. "The second and third, obviously. I was not yet Lord of the Watch the first time. Of course, I hadn't even been born then." He rechecked his gear belt and nodded. "Enough politics. Let's get going." He led Kathy and Byron into the Royal Guard barracks, the entrance chamber narrow, pinched, opening up after twenty feet into a broad, empty room. A guard stood on either side of the entry arch into this widened area, two kennin of the Golden Retriever type armed to the teeth and wearing obsidian armor.
A wide archway to the left opened on stairs leading down into the basement, their footfalls echoing loudly as they descended. At the bottom of the steps was a vault door, guarded by two elephant-men, each dressed in flowing green robes, staffs with golden rings on their tops in hand.
"Sir Daggeuro," said the guard on the left. "A pleasure to see you again."
"Sir Hebor, Sir Telni," he said, nodding to each in turn. "We come for Ryalt."
"Of course," said Hebor. "We were instructed already. The door awaits you." Hebor reached over and pulled the vault door open, shoving it until Telhi had to step aside out of the way. Daggeuro led the humans into a large, circular chamber, the walls lined with simple wooden doors. Over each door hung a placard, declaring where it would come out. Inside the room, standing in the center, was a frail-looking old man with long, braided gray hair down his back, patchwork robes of blue hues, and weathered, ruddy skin on his face and hands.
Kathy tapped Daggeuro on the shoulder. "Um, who's that?"
"Tsen Chuk," Daggeuro said quietly over his shoulder. "He guards these Ether doors from this side, warding off threats and turning away those who come by accident."
"I can feel a hell of a lot of power coming off of him," she said. "He looks like some kind of Native American shaman."
"Looks can be deceiving, especially for his kind," Daggeuro said. "He's a blue dragon." More loudly, addressing Tsen, he said, "Hail, old guardian, and well met!"
"Hail indeed, Sir Daggeuro," said Tsen, his voice ancient and leathery. "Ovin's messenger said you're heading to Ryalt. Chasing Stahg, are you?"
"If only it were that simple," said Daggeuro, walking forward. Kathy and Byron followed suit, until the dragon, in his human guise, made a troubled face and held one hand up in a warding gesture. "What's wrong?"
"Him," said Tsen, his voice suddenly booming, rattling the floor under their feet as he jabbed a finger at Byron. "He is not of this Plane. What is he doing here?"
"I am aware of his nature," Daggeuro said confidently. "He is under my command." The dragon waved on Daggeuro, who held back a hand to stay the humans. He and Tsen spoke quietly, their voices too soft for Kathy to hear twenty yards away. She leaned over and patted Byron on the shoulder.
"It's okay," she offered. He looked down, sighed. There was a sadness in his eyes as he turned them to her.
"No it's not," he said. "We've barely gotten started, and I'm already causing problems. I don't fit in," he said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with a Bic and inhaled, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Story of my life." Kathy rubbed his back between the straps of his backpack for a moment. "Thanks, though."
Daggeuro returned to them, Tsen scowling at his back. "We can proceed. When we come back through, though, you cannot come first, Byron. Tsen Chuk will attack you if you do."
"Did he say why?"
"He has been to the world where you were Awakened," Daggeuro said. "He trusts nothing that comes from there. He will always mark you as a threat."
"Wonderful," Byron said, scoffing. "Well, lead the way, Ahab. We got us a white whale to harpoon." Kathy snickered, and Daggeuro looked back and forth between them, clearly confused.
"Was that one of your references, Kathy?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it," she said. As Daggeuro turned and led the way, she gave Byron a light jab on the arm. "Not bad."
"I try." The kennin High Knight stopped at the door marked 'Ryalt', opened it, and led them into a narrow wooden hallway. The door clapped shut behind them, mist filling the corridor. Power hummed through their bones, until he opened the door at the opposite end and stepped out into a musty room filled with bookshelves, each one covered in dusty tomes.
"Where are we," Kathy asked, looking around. The Ether door shut behind them softly on its own.
"Prawley's Books," Daggeuro said, guiding them to another door. "Closed for seven years now, but it used to do a brisk business." They left the back room, walking out into a dusty storefront with emptied shelves in abundance. Spiderwebs clung to multiple surfaces, and Kathy squeaked as she spotted a fat, yellow arachnid scuttling along the cashier's counter. Daggeuro scooped the spider up and held it aloft, staring at it contemplatively. It curled up into a little ball and trembled there.
"Pock spider," he said, showing it to his companions. "Their venom brings on fatigue and drowsiness. In anything bigger than a dog it's mostly harmless. They're cowardly little things," he said, rolling it back onto the counter, where it sprang open and scurried away. He headed to the front door and they all stepped outside.
Ryalt reminded Kathy almost immediately of the quaint little towns featured in shows from the 40's and 50's, all clapboard homes and old-fashioned stores. Ryalt was at first glance a Pleasantville, USA kind of place.
"How very 'Leave It To Beaver'," Byron quipped, looking up and down the street.
"Where's all the people, though," Kathy asked. "I don't see anyone."
"Ryalt's populace mostly works in the mines nearby," Daggeuro said. "Alsem province is where we get most of our copper and bronze. Come on."
"Where are we going," Byron asked.
"Local Watch house. They'll be our primary contact. Before I forget," he said, bringing his gear bag around and rummaging inside a moment. He came back up with two sleeve patches of white stripes, four stacked atop each other with a '1' over them. "Byron, put these on your sleeves." He then reached in again and brought out two small golden bar pins for Kathy. "Affix these to your cloak lapels. The Watchmen all know me, but you two will have to wear your ranks openly to be recognized."
Byron and Kathy put on their signifiers and followed Daggeuro down the dusty street. At an intersection, they swerved around a clutch of goblins dressed in black combat leathers, their weapons tied down and looks of suspicion heavy upon the trio. Kathy recognized their clan from the gear they wore; they were Hurik Clan goblins.
"Um, Dag," Kathy said, pointing back at the Hurik goblins.
"Leave them be," Daggeuro said. "They are part of an alliance at war with the Gaedling Goblin and his loyalist clans. Racial civil wars are not the concern of the kingdom until such time as other civilians or properties are brought to harm." Byron whipped out his little notebook and jotted down a few quick notes.
"But I thought King Ovin considered the Gaedling a friend of the court," said Kathy. "Doesn't that mean anything?"
"In this case? A shoulder to cry on and nothing more," Daggeuro said sharply, still walking. "Let it alone, Kathy." She put up her hands in an 'o-kaaay' posture and whistled low. Byron chuckled, writing his notes, then tucked the notepad away. After another twenty minutes of walking, turning here and there onto cozy side streets and avenues, passing by several elven wanderers, they arrived at a sturdy brick building, a two-story affair ringed by neatly groomed grass and a barn in back for mounts.
"This is us," Daggeuro said, facing the humans. "Now, a few things to know. Firstly, we've gotten lucky not to come across fliers or lawn signs yet, gods be praised. Secondly, Alsem province hosts a dense elf populace, with minotaurs and lizardmen coming far behind. They are the three most prominent races here. Stahg is one of perhaps twenty fellins in the entire region. But the people here vote for him based on his political platform."
"And what's that," Byron asked, armed again with his notepad.
"Extremely conservative. He carried seventy-three percent of the vote ten years ago. His challenger this time around is also fairly conservative, a Watch lieutenant named Warren, an elven man. He used to be a Ranger years ago. The elves here aren't keen on humes, so be ready for some hesitation from the locals."
"How do they feel about you," Byron asked.
"Let's just say I don't like visiting the region," Daggeuro said flatly. "Come on." He led them inside, and the entry room alone stopped Kathy in her tracks. It looked like the front room of a backwoods county police station, an open squad room with a check-in desk and five others in the rest of the room. Watch officers sat at two of the desks, both elves. The woman manning the check-in desk was also an elf. These Watchmen were not dressed in the full kit combat armor Kathy had grown accustomed to seeing in Celia. They wore instead simple khaki uniforms akin to county or state police in her world.
The woman, a sergeant, gasped at the sight of Daggeuro. "L-L-Lord Daggeuro," she stammered loudly. The other two officers looked up and gaped at the trio. "We, we didn't hear you were coming," the sergeant said.
"Lieutenant Warren would have received a missive yesterday about it," Daggeuro said. "Is he here?"
"He's at station three today, sir," she replied. "We have link mirrors now, if you want me to tell him you're here." She sat down and pulled open a drawer, pulling out a small, square mirror in a gilt gold frame. Kathy could see milky white fog in the glass, but no reflection. "Kevin got them for us from a merchant passing through a month back," she said, beaming with pride. Daggeuro didn't look at all impressed.
Byron flipped into a fresh page in his notepad and jotted something down, showing it to Kathy subtly. She looked down, read his scrawl: 'Podunk cop v. G-Man going on here,' it said. She covered his mouth and turned aside, smiling at him and nodding.
"Go ahead and do that, sergeant Johnson," Daggeuro said, reading her nameplate on her uniform shirt. "We'll be up in his office." Daggeuro signaled for Kathy and Byron to follow him, leading them to a stairwell and up to the second floor. More desks and three Watchmen were here, two elves and a minotaur, all eating breakfast in disposable cartons. A lone office stood past them, window shuttered, door closed. As they passed the confused officers, Daggeuro reached one hand back to Byron. "Key," he said.
Byron pulled out his deck of cards, rifled through them, and drew out a blank one. On it he wrote 'office key', snapping his wrist. The card flashed, transformed into an iron key, which Daggeuro took and unlocked the office with. Kathy smelled campfire ashes on Byron's hand as he waved her in ahead of him, behind the kennin High Knight.
Kathy took in the lieutenant's office, which was relatively spartan in decoration. There was a fine walnut desk, polished to a high shine and piled with forms and clutter. A bronze name plate showed out to the two guest chairs, 'Lt. Kevin Warren' in blocky print. A book shelf stood behind the desk, lined with several dozen black bound tomes. On the third shelf down, though, were two weapons, an old, rusted dagger and a short-handled warhammer.
Daggeuro stooped down to grab the warhammer and said, "Kathy, catch." He tossed it underhand, and out of instinct, she flailed her hands out and caught it. Instantly her mind blanked, her inner vision spiralling back through the foggy tunnel of time. She stood in a rain-drenched woodland, watching a bulky elven man in furs swinging the same warhammer at the head of some strange apparition. It looked like a tattered black travelling cloak with gray, bone-like arms extending out of the sleeves. It was flung aside from the blow, and three more darted through the trees at the elf.
She knew he was a Ranger, a corporal only. Five of his comrades lay dead around him, two more bear-men fighting alongside him to push the specters back. His attacks were choppy, unskilled. He was a brute whose strength alone kept him in a fight. Yet he threw himself in the path of the specters each time they neared his comrades, who began chanting spells of repulsion to defeat the creatures. Warren was gashes several times before the bear-men completed their joint spell, turning the ghostly specters into so much ash in the rain, washed away.
She came back to the present and dropped the warhammer squarely on Byron's foot. He hollered and jumped back, hopping on one foot. "Christ Almighty, Kathy," he groaned. "What was that?"
"Part of her talent," said Daggeuro, taking Warren's seat, propping his metal boots up on the desk. "She can scry any weapon and use it with the same skill as its prior wielders. What did you see?"
"Well, the lieutenant isn't much of a skill fighter," she said, wobbling until she found one of the guest chairs with Byron's help. She slumped a little, head pounding. "But he's brave."
"Yes, he is," Daggeuro said. "A solid Ranger. But he tired of being in the outers. Transferred to the Watch at even rank, got posted here after a one-year stint in Celia. He's from this very town."
"Is he the commanding officer here," Byron asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, he'll love seeing you in his chair." As if on cue, the office door flew open then, and in strode a broad, powerfully-built elven man in a khaki uniform, his drill sergeant's hat still on his head. He at first came in glowering; as soon as his eyes fell on Daggeuro, however, Kathy saw his face collapse into nigh-mortal fear. Byron, leaning against the shuttered window to Warren's right, smiled and said, "Well howdy, sheriff Andy!"
Senta had known that Lonek would be displeased, but the blonot calmed down surprisingly fast after his initial screaming and cursing. The gotrin assassin's task was simple; find Leroy Ferter, wherever he was, and kill him. Ideally, Lonek wanted him dead before he could convince anyone that he had something important to tell them.
The real trouble presented itself in where Ferter had gone. He was an Awakened human, one whose talents leaned to water magic. But like several Awakened throughout the Ether, he possessed a unique power of his own- the ability to break any seal or binding with a single touch. Lonek had reached out to him and offered him good money in exchange for a simple task. All he had to do was go with an escort to a certain cave, and break two chains wrapping a man to a tree.
Ferter had done as asked, and when The Chained One awakened, he'd bugged out immediately, using an artifact to transport himself instantly back to the capital, to Lonek's office. Lonek had gone berserk at the intrusion and tried to kill him, but the blonot's own magic had been no match for Ferter's defensive spells. The human escaped into hiding.
Now Senta had to travel through a kingdom where humans were not only accepted, but largely treated with respect and admiration. In Renchak, humes were usually driven out of towns and cities into the wilds, where specters or disgruntled brownshirts could easily pick them off.
His arrival in Shlawip, a village three days north of Celia, had not been by chance. Using contacts among the street-bound poor in Renchak's capital, he'd been directed to an Ether door cleverly tucked in the ruins of a decrepit carriage factory. It came out in Shlawip, onto the roof of a small apothecary shop.
From there he had gone to a local hotel. He hadn't stopped for rest since the previous morning, and was in dire need of rest. Amermidst would prove challenging to search for his target in if Ferter kept moving. Likely he wouldn't, though. Cowards like Ferter always assumed that after a certain amount of running, they were safe.
"That is where you are wrong," Senta said before he drifted off to sleep.
The caretaker of the Ranger Memorial, the broad fields fenced off to inter fallen Rangers who passed in the line of service, was himself a veteran of that noble breed. An aging fuxbau, or fox-man, his fur had finished turning silver some twelve years earlier, when he retired and took up this post. "One last duty to my brothers," he often said when folks asked him why he'd volunteered for the job. "They were my family."
Koruth Insley slowly trod from marker to marker with his bucket of shell paste, filling in cracks and pockmarks here and there, using his chisel to rework names and dates and epitaphs. He took pride in his work. Nobody could claim the cemetery was in disrepair on his watch.
He'd come to know the terrain of these hilly fields like the back of his hand, so when a set of five hazy gray trees just appeared in his line of sight where none should have been, he knew something was amiss. "What in Ovin's name is this, now," he asked. Koruth hadn't survived close to two-hundred years of service in the Rangers by being foolish; he jogged over to his toolshed and grabbed his farsight glass and his platinum spear. He may have been old, but using wind magic to lighten the spear in his hands did the trick just fine.
Using the farsight glass, he looked at the trees, magnified to seem a few feet away. On the central tree stood a figure, lashed by chains to the trunk. The chains began unwinding as he watched, anchored from tree-to-man by edged links. Eight chains bound him loosely to the trunk, but the black-robed figure walked almost thirty yards out, the chains extended as far as they would go.
Koruth felt a swell of magical power rush past him from all sides. The robed man waved his arms around in circular motions, gathering all of that energy to himself in a coalescing orb of black energy suspended in the air before him. Finally it stopped, and he clapped two shriveled, skeletal hands together. The orb of power flattened and exploded in a ring through the graveyard, brushing past the fuxbau, making his entire body tremble. He dropped the farsight glass, clutching his gut.
When he looked up moments later, he discovered to his horror scores of small movements throughout the fields. "Necromancer," he rasped, hitching up his spear. This creature, whoever or whatever he was, was trying to raise Koruth's fallen brothers as its own mindless servants, a profanity he would not allow.
With a fierce battle cry he rushed forward some twenty yards, gathering wind power to his hand. He hurled the spear from fifty yards away, watching with savage satisfaction as the weapon slammed into the necromancer, driving him back almost to the tree he was bound to. Koruth jumped and shouted victoriously, but his elation didn't last; the first revenants were climbing up out of their graves.
"No," he whispered. When necromancers died, their servants among the undead were supposed to perish, yet these kept coming. As Koruth used his wind magic to try and summon back his weapon, he saw the robed figure grab onto the spear shaft, yanking the weapon free. It tossed the spear up into the branches of one of the other trees, which then vanished.
Koruth turned to run, and found the vanished tree before him. Branches holding his spear swung down, stabbing him through the chest, pinning him to the soil. He lay dying, listening to the groan of his fallen comrades around him as they rose up once more, to be pressed into service.