39

“Azios, hold up!” San called, but the boy was already gone.

“Fool, boy,” Pavano muttered.

The pair rushed off after the boy, pushing through the crowds and getting glares and curses tossed their way. San pushed out of the crowd, nearly stumbling as he left the stream of people moving down the street.

Pavano was nowhere to be seen and a slight panic bubbled up, but San pushed it away. A mental map of the city and areas he had traversed formed in his mind. He knew how to get back to the apartment from the Market and he was sure Pavano would be safe on his own.

San peered above the heads of the people, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Azios. The attempt was futile, but it did help himself orientate where he was. San rushed off down the street and ducked through an alleyway that Pavano and he had crossed through before. The city of White Tower wasn’t a vast place.

It was large, but it was also very dense, nothing like the sprawling cities of the western USA. Everything important was behind the towering walls with twenty to thirty thousand people living within its safety. There were miles and miles of roads and streets to walk down, but he walked briskly San figured he could get across the city in less than an hour.

Silence filled the street as San exited the alleyway. He paused at the sudden lack of noise, looking up and down the empty street. The draw of the arrival of the Baron seemed to have pulled everyone toward the gates. San hurried down the street, spotting landmarks that showed him he was going the right direction.

He turned down a side street and skidded to a stop.

The street ended and an open field extended before him. It was as if a great knife had cut away a portion of the city and replaced with with nature. San stopped at the edge, the rough stone underfoot and before him the sight of a perfect summer day.

Grass grew tall and a soft wind rustled leaves in oak and birch trees, the sounds of birds and insects filled the air. San felt the warm breeze against his cheeks and without thinking stepped forward. The grass brushed around the calves of his robes, the ground was soft under his boots, and San felt a complete sense of calm.

He looked behind him and saw the empty street he had been walking on and saw the cold wintery day, the clouds streaking across the sky and a bitter wind blowing. The warmth of this strange patch of nature called to San and he continued forward.

A great obelisk sat in the center of the field. It towered over San, possibly forty or fifty feet high and ten feet across at the base. San was drawn to the black rose that gleamed like obsidian, but upon its surface were white carvings of strange symbols that seemed to move and shift as he looked at it. It was the same written language that was in the Mage Chief’s Tome, he realized.

He heard a chanting song and San walked around the obelisk, finding an older man sitting in the shade of the stone. The man was dressed in only a leather loin cloth, his dark skin tattooed heavily with strange symbols that seemed far too clear and bright to be ink. Like the obelisk and the tome, the lines, swirls, and strange shapes glowed across his skin, seemingly to pulse with the beat of his heart.

His eyes were bright green and his face creased and leathery, like a man who spent his entire life outdoors. The hair on his head was the reddish color of the Tribals and braided into long thin strands that hung down his back.

The old man paused what he was doing. San noted a leather cloth on the man’s lap covered in fine black chips of rock or glass. The man was holding a smooth rock in one hand and what looked to be a chunk of obsidian in the other.

“How do, Sanjay?” the man asked.

“Good, I suppose.” San looked around, no longer seeing the street that he had entered from. All around him was the forest and the tall grass and the obelisk.

“Not scared? Not confused?” the man asked.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange things since arriving into this world,” San replied. What was this man? Another powerful being, something like Winter’s Lament?

“Ah, the Brewer who carries the weapon of war,” the man said, smiling. His teeth were yellowed and cracked. “The man from another world.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” San asked, feeling slightly annoyed. His head was clearing and he realized the stupidity of walking into whatever this place was. Yet he could still feel the lingering need to approach the obelisk. The thought that his mind was being played with set him on edge.

“Yes, there is many things you can do for me,” the man replied, returning to his work. He struck the smooth stone against the obsidian and a flake was removed. He worked for a few moments, while San stood there being ignored.

“Where are we?” San asked.

“We are where you are,” the man replied. He jerked his head, using it to point into the eastern direction.

San peered to the east and saw a towering ivory obelisk rising above the treetops. Where this obelisk he stood by was black, the other was massively tall and white. San stared at it for a moment, seeing the same strange writing upon its surface, but this time in black.

It was the White Tower, he realized. The tower that named the city.

“Is this the past?’ San asked.

“Past, future, present, they don’t matter,” the man said. “But yeah, this is how this land looked seven hundred years ago.”

“The Old Kingdom?” San asked.

The man scoffed. “The Mage Kingdom,” the man said. “Great men and women wielding great power used to rule this land. They created impressive things and were poised to bring forth a golden age across the world.”

“And the Empire destroyed that?”

“Aye, god fearing fools that they are.”

“God fearing,” San replied. “Who are you? You know my name.”

“I’m just a Stoneman, Sanjay. Nothing more. The veil between worlds is growing thin and I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

“Fuss?” San asked.

“Your soul blazes strongly, Sanjay. It is the beacon that many are drawn to, many fear, and many others seek to snuff out.”

“I’ve been told,” San replied.

“Ah, you smell of her.”

“Winter’s Lament,” San clarified.

“Yes, her. Selflessness is rarely the motivation of anyone or anything,” the Stoneman said. “No one does anything for nothing.”

San was silent, waiting for the man to elaborate. Winter’s Lament was not his friend or companion, and San understood she was doing what she did for her own reasons. He didn’t question them and figured she would tell him in time.

The Stoneman didn’t speak, instead continuing to chip away at the obsidian. San watched as the chunk of black rock began to take shape into an eight inch long tapered blade. When he was done the man took the point of the obsidian blade and pierced the center of his hand with it.

Crimson blood poured from the wound and, as San watched, it was absorbed by the blade itself. San stepped back, an ill feeling emanating from the blade.

“I offer you a trade,” the man said.

“What kind of trade?” San asked.

“You have the ebony gem,” he said. “I wish to have it, in exchange you can have this blade.”

The man lay the blade on the grass, the green foliage began to wither and wilt, losing its color and then finally turing to dust. A bare patch of earth surrounded the ebony weapon.

“What is that blade?” San asked.

“Whatever you wish dead, it shall make it so,” the man said.

“Who are you?” San asked.

“I am the Stoneman, Sanjay.”

“That means nothing to me,” San replied. “Elaborate.”

“No.”

They stood there in silence.

“I’m not going to trade for the knife,” San said. “I don’t know what the black gem does, but it’s not right. It’s… it feels evil.”

The man flashed his yellow cracked teeth. “Evil, good, they are all foolish concepts, Sanjay. Survival is all that matters. Shaping the world is what matters. Morality is foolishness.”

“I don’t know who or what you are,” San said. “You might be some kind of powerful Mage or a diety, but the fact that you say morality is foolishness doesn’t make me want to have anything to do with you. I’m sorry, but I’m refusing this trade you’re offering. I would like to return to White Tower, if you may.”

“You’re already there,” the man said. “I could leave you here, for the rest of your life.”

San looked around, at the tall trees and the warm summer air.

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” he replied.

The man laughed and rose to his feet. He barely reached San’s chest, but that didn’t diminish the power that emanated from him. The bright green eyes burned into his own.

“Hold onto that grief in your soul, Sanjay. Cling to it and don’t let it subside. Misery is your salvation.” The man picked up the knife and threw it into the trees. A loud thud sounded and San watched as a distant tree began to wilt and die. The man crossed the field and vanished into the woods.

“San?” a voice asked.

“Mary?” San turned and saw Endaha standing near him. Azios, Pavano, and Cassa were all at her side, along with little Kovass wrapped in a blanket and carried by Azios.

San blinked and saw that he was standing in the middle of an empty street.

“Are you okay, lad?” Pavano asked.

“I just…” San shook his head. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“Come on, the Baron’s almost to the gates!” Azios said excitedly. Endaha and Pavano watched San as they proceeded back down the streets.

***

The crowds were jostling, but with San’s size and height, he guided Pavano and the others to a spot that they could all see from. The good viewing spots weren’t first come first served, instead they were whomever could push whomever out of the way to occupy the spot. San would have been terribly sorry for what he was doing, shoving smaller people out of the way, but this wasn’t Earth and he really did want to see the arrival of the Baron.

San carried Cassa, as the young girl was being bounced around by the crowd. He set her on his shoulders and she screamed in delight and some fear as she towered over the crowds, with a clear view of everything that lay before them. San saw that he wasn’t the only one doing so for young children, as many adults carried their children on their shoulders, pointing out as the Levy and Guards began marching down the wide Market Street.

The first group of soldiers were men and women in full plate armor, from head to toe they were covered in brilliantly buffed steel armor. They carried rifles at their shoulders and bandoliers of blackpowder across their chests. San watched them, they marched with steely determination and didn’t seem to be effected by the cheering and screaming of the crowds.

“Those are the Leveled troops,” Pavano was telling Azios. “They’re the Baron’s Sword, although these days they mostly use rifles and hand cannons. No one else can carry as much ammunition and those big guns like they can.”

San scanned the soldiers and saw what Pavano was talking about. On the backs of a few of the soldiers were strapped what San could only call a miniature cannon, a swivel gun that he had seen in pirate movies. Along with the rifles and cannons, the soldiers also carried a variety of swords, daggers, and other weapons that made them look like walking armories.

They passed by San and there others, their eyes focused purely ahead of them. Behind the Swords came the Guards, normal men and women, but in the Barons’ colors and not covered from head to toe in armor. They seemed to be less ready for battle and more relaxed, their cuirasses loose and most of their armor removed. They carried their packs and waved to the people lining the street.

Behind them came the Levy, the citizen army of the Barony. As he had seen in the Exonaris Komai, they were armed and geared in what they could find or buy before being shipped out. Most wore brigandines, some even had cuirasses, and they carried long spears that almost were like pikes. They marched in a ragged manner, less professional and more just weary soldier ready for a drink and a sleep.

“I don’t see Brother,” Azios said anxiously.

“He’ll be there, somewhere,” Endaha said, her voice also anxious.

San scanned the troops as they marched by, but behind the sallet helmets and hats, he could barely make out a face, let alone a person he had never met. The soldiers marched by and behind them came the camp followers, herd animals, gear, and wagons. San watched the soldiers vanish down the street.

“That’s all of the troops?” he asked. He hadn’t kept count, but that seemed less than three hundred men, twenty Leveled and fifty Guards.

“Seems a bit short,” Pavano said, a worried expression on his face. “They don’t usually parade the wounded or sick in front of everyone. Sickness is usually what kills most men.”

“Brother wasn’t among them,” Azios said. “Nearly a thousand soldiers left in the spring.”

Pavano glanced down the street, the crowds were beginning to disperse and there was a somber air about it as they all realized how few soldiers had passed by. San could feel the tension and worry in the air. Many were rushing toward the Keep, where the barracks and Guards were located. If there was anywhere they could get information on the wounded or dead, that would be the place.

“We should go to the Keep,” Elgava said. She looked a bit worried too. “My brother left with the Baron. He should have come back with him.”

They all agreed and joined the crowds that were streaming toward the Keep. San watched as the White Tower cops began to appear alongside the streets, batons and armor on. He could feel the tension in the air, a spark could light it all up.

“Get the fuck back!” a guard was shouting at the entrance of the richer neighborhood. He was backed by a dozen Guards, who all looked ready to draw their swords. “Get the fuck back. No one crosses through.”

“Where is my daughter!” a man shouted.

“What has happened to the rest of the soldiers!” another cried.

The shouting grew louder and the Guards’ grips tightened on their swords. There was a rattle of armor as more soldiers rushed toward the entrance, fanning out behind the Guards and bolstering their numbers. San turned behind him to see that the cops had also gathered up all their number and were marching toward the crowds, ready to bust heads to disperse the crowds.

“Hold up!” a voice boomed.

Havatair pushed his way through the Guards and glared at the lone guard with his sword out.

“You know who I am,” Havatair said. “I come with news of our brave soldiers. Of the one thousand two hundred that left this spring, only five hundred return.” The crowd reeled back from that news, but the shock was soon replaced by outrage. “Hold up! Five hundred have returned, but five hundred remain in Sentari for the winter. The Sentari will feed and keep them until spring arrives and then we shall see what the Suvanna do.”

“What about the rest!” someone shouted.

“Dead.” Havatair said flatly. “There will be list and a crier to give the news tomorrow morning in the Market. There are many that are sick and there are many still injured. But our boys gave those Suvanna and Nox fucks a battering they’ll not forget soon.”

A ragged cheer rose at the exclamation.

“Many of our boys and girls have given the greatest service they can to the Barony,” Havatair shouted. “We shall give them all the rites and prayers that will see them off into the next world. Senta’s priestesses are helping the wounded and the other Cults are doing what they can. Disperse, people. There is little you can do here and tomorrow the news of who lives and who does not shall be given.”

The crowd silenced as worry and fear gnawed at them. San glanced to Endaha and Azios who were nervously shifting in the cold. Was Kovass among the dead, sick, or left in Sentari, had he returned? Would he have rushed back to the komai, only to find it abandoned and half destroyed? Never knowing what happened to his family?

San pushed his way forward, he pushed past the guard with the sword, who belatedly realized what was happening.

“Stop,” the guard squawked.

“San,” Havatair said as he approached. “He’s a friend, leave off.”

The guard gave another squawk and then sheathed his sword.

“Havatair, sir,” San said. Havatair chuckled at that. “I wonder if you have any information of Kovass Exonaris.”

“Ah, the komai.” Havatair grunted and snapped his fingers. A thin woman carrying papers and scrolls appeared. “Komai, Exonaris, Kovass. Should be a platoon leader if this is his first war.” He told the woman.

She expertly dug through the scrolls, pulling one out and then scanning it. “He’s in Sentari. Not wounded. Promoted to company leader. The notes say he wants his wife and brother to receive all his back pay and prize money.”

“Thank you so much,” San said, feeling a weight of relief.

“Guess you can’t go wooing that young lass, then,” Havatair said, his eyes glancing toward Endaha and the others who were being held back by the guards.

“The komai had to be abandoned, I just didn’t want him to try and go there to find out what’s happened,” San said.

“Right, right, sure, lad,” Havatair boomed with laughter. “Now, I must go.” His face sobered and looked drawn. “The Baron has been wounded. You have Power, lad. Do you have anything that can help him?”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with him,” San said. “I have a Sanitize Power, it kills bacteria and such.”

The big man shook his head. “I don’t know what that is,” he said. He looked to a Guard. “Bring him along.” The Guard nodded; he and several others moved to box San in as Havatair began stomping back toward the keep.

“Hold on,” San said, but was shoved with the large shield one of the Guards carried.

“Move it, Adventurer,” the man said.

“He’s alive!” San shouted to Endaha. She heard him and nodded, her expression not changing.

***

“Sanjay?” Densa said as he was shoved into the hall.

Light was streaming in from large windows set in alcoves near the ceiling, the air smelled of flowers, and it was actually warm in the hall. San adjusted his mussed robes and grinned as he spotted the Head Healer.

“Lady Densa,” he said.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“Havatair,” he replied.

Densa nodded as if that explained everything. “He’s gathering anyone who has a Power that could be used to help the Baron,” she said.

“What is wrong with the Baron?” San asked.

“War,” Densa replied. “He has lived a long life of battle and raids, he glorified the sword and the spear, and now it is his undoing.”

“So he got stabbed?” San asked.

“He was injured in battle against the Nox. The great victory I told you of, more than a week ago. A Leveled Nox killed his warhorse and the fall shattered his leg. It has become infected.”

San held back the wince. “They did not amputate?” he asked.

Densa raised an eyebrow. “No. The healer who had gone with the Baron said he could save the leg, he was a fool.”

With the Power some people had, San was surprised that someone of the Barons’ station could be injured so. He would have expected all the Cults and those in charge to move heaven and earth to see him healed.

“You’re the head healer, right?” San said.

Densa gave a rueful chuckle. “I am looked down upon by the Baron,” she said. “I am not a woman of politics or subterfuge. I work to heal any and all, my loyalty lies with Senta, not the Baron.”

“So he doesn’t trust and like you?” San asked.

“To put it bluntly, Sanjay,” she replied.

San paused, a trickle of realization finally hitting him. “Uh,” he began, “Where did you learn my name?”

“What?” Densa was caught off guard for a moment.

“There are only three people who knew my ‘real’ name before I ever gave it to them. You are one of those three. The first time I met you several days ago, you knew my name without me ever telling you it.”

“Surely, you must have given it to me,” she said, a look of nervousness flashing across her face.

“No. Unless I’m introducing myself, most people just call me San. The other two who have known my name is Sanjay without my introducing myself are-“

A door crashed open and a stream of cursing erupted from a tall, lean man as he entered the hall. San’s words died in his mouth as the man dragged another man in yellow and white robes behind him. He threw the man to the floor, where the bounced, rolled, and curled up in a ball.

“Fool!’ the man shouted. “Your incompetence is killing the Baron. That is treason!”

The man grabbed a spear from one of the Guards and raised it, the gleaming blade pointed at the man on the floor.

“Stop!” Densa roared. San flinched as her voice boomed across the room. The tall man’s eyes snapped up and focused upon her and then San. “That is a Priest of Senta. Your blade shall not touch him. Any wrongdoing on his part will be seen to by the Senta Cult.”

“Densa,” he said, tossing aside the spear. It clattered loudly to the stone floor. “What wretch allowed you to enter the Keep while my father lays dying? Have you come to dance upon his cooling corpse?”

There was a murmur among the gathered people, some moving away from Densa and making it clear they were trying not to associate themselves with her.

“Heir Esomir, I bring my knowledge and wisdom to help those in need. The issues your father, the Baron, and I have are inconsequential. The safety and well being of the people of the Sol Suvanis Barony is all that matters to me, and your father’s recovery is key to that.”

The man, Esomir Sol Suvanis, glared at Densa. “Were you the one who taught this fool?” he demanded.

Densa looked cooly down at the man still on the floor. Fear had kept him from getting up and he lay there, peeking through his hands as his fate was decided.

“No. I was trained in Voltar, m’lord. I gained my status as Head Healer for a reason. One your father knew and respected, before we had our falling out.”

The man snorted and looked back down at the priest.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he said to the man. “If I see you again, I’ll tie you to a tree and let you die like a tree fucker criminal.”

The man staggered to his feet and rushed out of the hall.

“Lady Densa,” Esomir said, his voice courtly and carrying. “I implore you to see my father and rend what services you can.”

“It is my honor, Lord Sol Suvanis,” Densa replied. She stepped forward, stopped, and looked at San. “Come.”