Chapter 16: Shattered Glass

I met Noam after nightfall at his request. He was waiting for me at a table by the tavern’s door, sipping tea from a little green cup. I’d spent the better part of the evening attempting to garner Vidal’s attention to no avail. María Christina’s assertion had rather obviously upset him and I don’t blame him for that. I’d likely have upset myself too were I in his position.

“Good evening Jacobi. Join me, please?” He lifted his cup and used it to lead my gaze to the seat across from him, which I approached and occupied. He declined thereafter to speak until a minute had passed, at which point I heard another descending the stairway to join us. Turning, I saw that it was Vidal looking as sombre as ever.

“Thank you for coming, Vidal. I hope that you can understand my intentions in inviting you are to bridge the disconnect between your youth and post, and my scepticism.” Noam said once Vidal had taken a seat beside me.

“Bridge?” He asked in a hurt tone of voice. “I don’t even–I don’t know what’s going on, or why my job is up for grabs.” His brows knitted and facial features tightened as he finished speaking, expressing in no uncertain terms a prepared anger.

“I realise I may have been somewhat hasty in my assessment and declaration of concern about your usefulness, and the lack of precedence for such appointments.” Noam lifted a hand in my direction, keeping it steady in the air for a few seconds into his next statement. “I should have been more trusting of this Elder’s judgement. To let lingering thoughts settle into the dust, I propose that you accompany me and Jacobi on an excursion into Veha’s Keep.”

“I–um…” Vidal sighed heartily and scratched the side of his head before sinking into his chair. “…I think I see where you’re coming from, Noam. Just uh… tell me what you want me to do. Also, Jack, I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

I reached over and put a hand on Vidal’s right shoulder, squeezing twice in an affirmation of my acceptance of his apology. “It’s alright, Vidal. I want to stress that I have no intentions of letting you get dethroned. We’ll address María Christina when or if her suggestion actualises into a problem.”

“Thank you Jack.” His eyes darted down for a moment, which accompanied a soft spoken “Awh man.” that suggested to me some unspoken thoughts. However, I didn’t want to press the issue, but rather sought to revel in a revival of his appreciation of me.

“Well, gentlemen.” Noam reclaimed control over the conversation, punctuating his hands-on-the-reigns, so to speak, by tapping the base of his cup on its accompanying saucier. “Allow me to articulate the plan. I spoke with Lucho and his crows, acquiring eyes on the Keep and its grounds. In their overhead flight, we took note of an unusually high number of soldiers around the west wing and its courtyard. A mix of men in colours like the Ducal guard and men who we think are Adorjan’s own grunts are among their number.

“Most importantly, however, we saw a steady stream of goods being transferred via small convoys in and out of that wing. They’re using a modified, enlarged entrance into the undercity via a nearby tower disconnected from the larger Keep complex. This leads me to believe that Adorjan may be using the Keep itself as a base of operations, or as a storage facility for goods of a quality above that which can be trusted with lesser men.

“At the peak of night, when the convoy reaches its slowest point, we’ll scale the outer wall and make haste for the Keep. There, I fully intend for us to locate the Lord and dispatch him. Then, time permitting, we should attempt to locate and have a gander at their stockpile. Respective of what it contains, it may be in our interest to pilfer or destroy it. Any questions?”

“Just one.” Vidal said. “If the courtyard between the wall and the Keep is loaded with guards, wouldn’t it be better to slay them before we break in?”

“I think that’s risky, for observational reasons.” I said, replying on behalf of Noam who seemed disinterested in answering. “We can’t guarantee that someone in the Keep won’t see the bodies, or that there won’t be a changing of the guard, or so on and so forth.”

Vidal nodded in understanding, and pushed back his chair to kick up his feet on the table, yawning. “Two hours.” He said. “I’m going to take a cat nap.” And so he drifted off, somewhat rapidly, into a snoring dreamstate.

I scoffed, a bit, at the crudeness of his behaviour. However, Noam seemed still distracted or content in his sheer lowness, and so approved of it in passivity. Speaking up, Noam uttered in a whisper. “He could do with a sojourn to Yhortor. Training under an Archon or Councillor there. Reading the scriptures and the book of rules. Don’t you think, Jacobi?”

“I think I can trust him to do what’s right under pressure, and I think he’ll learn as he goes along. When this is all over, it will be his decision to take such a venture. However, leaving a wartorn post-conflict Veha again without stable leadership would undo the work we’d have done.” I soundly replied.

“The tenants of old cannot be forgotten. However, practicality reigns, and his education can always come to him. You could hail Yhortor.” Noam suggested.

“I could hail them, yes. So too could I educate him myself. You know what I am, where I’m from, and all that technicality. Noam, I’m more curious about you than you I, considering your ability to rifle through my thoughts and memories. No one here or, to my knowledge, in Yhortor possesses such a powerful natural aptitude.”

“You know by my reference where I’m from, Jacobi.” Noam replied matter-of-factly, pausing only to finish the last of his tea. “And we know by Adorjan’s that María’s story about the holy city is false or a lie. I think it’s far more plausible that our common enemy was enlightened in or around Yhortor’s outer banks and villages, where the decrepit lie dormant in caves and raise traitors in dank depths.”

“You…” I was a bit taken aback at his accusation of the hidden disloyalty of the tributaries surrounding my home. “…you really think it’s that bad? They all still revere us, and come to us to pray and give gifts. In fact, those fresh arrivals who are forced through temporal trials would be far less likely to make it into our ranks without the aid of the villagers.”

“I have seen it, and I know the degree to which it has been rooted. Down through the roots of stone I feel the world turning, and reach through its core and heart to sense that merry place we adore. I know, Jacobi, that it remains as so, as I have described.” Noam’s eerie phrasing discomforted me and set alight thoughts of tension and anxiety where previously existed a kind of tranquillity. It was that peaceful sensation one experiences in a place of rest and safety about which one knows no dark thoughts. Now gone, I could only scream internally at the potential peril of the Council’s ignorance.

“Don’t fret so much, Jacobi. Think on it.” Noam stood and departed for the bar to acquire more tea. His prophetic statement eased a few ounces of the rigidity plaguing my psyche, releasing some stress and allowing me to ponder with belief the time in which this obfuscated evil has been in a status quo. It was unlikely to change in the time that I’ve been away, therefore I shouldn’t make a heady mess of it.

I sat up and let myself fall into a weak meditation as Noam went on drinking, and we sat there together for the next two hours. Breaking his cup-to-lips-to-saucier routine, Noam glanced left out the nearby windows and huffed, signalling to me that it was time. I tapped Vidal twice on the shoulder to wake him, and then stood to make for the door.

Together, the three of us ascended the side of the Silver Fawn to reach the rooftop. Once there, Noam instructed that we’d be “Avoiding the streets from here on out.”, recalling the increase in muscle nearer the Keep, making later ascension more risky. Whilst easy going for me and Noam, we had to slow down our pace for Vidal who struggled for the better part of our journey to keep up.

Vidal was, however, appreciative and seemingly self-amused, which I was pleased to see, relieving any potential for a resurgence of discord between him and us. He took a moment to stop and pant, catching up with his straining muscles and minor exhaustion, when Noam had us pause our locomotion on the roof of a residential townhouse. Noam led me over to the edge, where he leaned in and directed my attention to the nearby low walls of the Keep.

“We need to cross the street and move around the right side. Then, we’ll be just about beside the courtyard we need to cross. Watch out for those arblasts.”

My eyes tightened and willed the disorienting hazy darkness of the night to take flight, illuminating in a clarifying way the form and function of a few individual men in towers and on scaffolding along the walls. They held tight, clutching readily, their distance weapons. Two I noticed expressly seemed to be itching for a kill.

“I think they’re ancy. Too much ease, or is it discontentment with the turmoil following Adorjan’s attack at the festival?” I asked.

Noam replied readily. “They’re just killers. Brigands and blood-thieves. Monsters and madmen. Whether or not some thing that’s happened has influenced them is irrelevant in light of their inborn and learned bloodlust. It supersedes the state of affairs in which they act.”

“Are you confident in our ability to make it past their agile eyes? If they’re so prepared to seek out another’s destruction, I fear they’ll notice our crossing this empty space and fire.” My hands shook as I spoke. Recalling memories of Santiago’s fall, I was feeling suddenly and unexpectedly unprepared to face off against Adorjan’s crossbowmen. To still the moments of my wrists and digits, I pressed them against my outer thighs, and knelt down. Noam, whether because he noticed my unease or came to a similar, fearful conclusion, stepped back and brought Vidal over to me.

“To make this jump as seamless as possible, I’m going to cloak us.” Noam said, placing one hand on my arm and another on Vidal’s. In mere moments, serpentine streams of sable smog flew out from behind Noam and encircled us. In under six seconds we were completely encased in black, and then a great worldly sensation washed over me.

I felt light on my feet and wispy, as if I were swimming underwater without the ocean’s pressure. Like being carried by a thing far larger and stronger, I was as if weightless and free. Yet, disappointedly, as soon as it came and came to my realisation it vanished, and that disappearance was accompanied by the fading smog and returning reality.

Glancing about, I saw that we had crossed the street and landed on the roof of some house or business opposite of where we’d just been. “Cloaking?” I asked Noam. “It felt like we flew.”

“That’d be because we flew, Jacobi.” Noam said as he stood up and began immediately pressing on. “No time to waste, gentlemen.”

Scrambling, Vidal and I stood and chased after him. I sensed that we were both caught in a bit of a short lived haze. It was certainly fleeting, but nonetheless impeded our ability to adequately keep up, forcing Noam to occasionally stop and wait for us to get close enough to see where he’d run to next.

After about five minutes of following the curvature of the roofline, which followed the streets below, we arrived at an outcropping on an old historical building. It allowed us to get a few metres closer to the wall than any other nearby structure, making a jump onto the wall viable.

“Wait…” Noam softly said, motioning vaguely at two spear-wielding Ducal guards wandering toward the gate. “Now.” He said as soon as they passed over the threshold of a tower buttressing the right side of the front gate, leading by propelling himself along the wooden outcropping to its edge where he jumped full force over to the wall.

Vidal and I followed after, breaking into a run as soon as our boots touched the stone. Noam led us to the right, around the bend near to the second gate–that which he’d referenced as being the convoy’s spot. Just before the archway, Noam turned left and hopped over the edge of the wall, sliding down into the courtyard.

We landed in a patch of tall grass beside a trio of stables, boxes, and barrels. Noam shunted himself forward, wrapping his right arm around a soldier’s neck, whose back had been turned but whose attention had been alerted by our fall, pulling him back into the grass before snapping it. “Nice and easy, now, gentlemen.” Noam advised as he kept low and crouched forward, toward the open middle of the courtyard along a trail of shadow in between flickering pockets of light.

On our left and right approximately equal spreads of guardsmen dotted the enclosure. I think I counted eleven or twelve in total, amongst the division equality between those dressed like the Ducal knights, in plate and colours, and those dressed like thugs, in black and leathers.

Just as Noam had surmised, the gate was sealed and no carts stood in sight, parked or rolling. As well the stables were without steeds and hands, empty of all but a quiet night’s shade and piles of hay. Once we arrived at the beaten, muddy path we turned about left and made way for the Keep itself. A large set of doors, boosted in its resistance to siege by steel, lie between us and the halls therein, with windows on both left and right barred on the first and second storeys.

“What do you suggest?” Vidal whispered just loud enough for the two of us to hear him. We pondered together for a few moments before Noam eventually answered, pointing out the third set of windows that lie unprotected by iron. Two windows on the wall of the series of twelve resided above tight balconies and stood taller than the rest–doorways.

“I’m content to stick with the left.” I said, nudging Noam to fix his attention on the left windowed door. Without speaking, his movements suggested agreement, and he proceeded to lead us to the wall where we, one by one, scaled it. Upon reaching the third story we clutched a lip in the stone and shimmed over to the window. There, Noam pulled himself up and very gently placed his hand, with fingers splayed, against the glass.

In a moment, a short lived high-pitched sound emanated from his fingertips and radiated against the glass. Glancing about, Vidal and I both noted the remaining calm of the Lord’s protectors, evidently unaware of Noam’s casting. Over the course of the following ten seconds, the glass disassembled itself into thousands of tiny shards and then floated, as if by telekinesis, back to lie upon the ground in a pattern resembling a break.

Then, Noam reached through and opened the door, allowing us to climb through and into what looked like a war room. A long central table boasted colourful maps marked with little flags, chess pieces, and notations drawn on in charcoal. A few scattered chairs had been pushed up against the walls, wrapping tables, plants, and sculptures. Veha and Great Kaerda’s banners lined the walls with obvious emphasis, both in size and placement, on the greater kingdom.

“Well, well, well…” Muttered Noam in a painfully chiche way, prompting me to shudder and turn away from him, inspecting the only door out of the room whilst his eyes peeled over the depictions with Vidal at his side. I ran my hand along the edge and landed ultimately on the handle. Just before I could turn it, however, it began to turn itself. Surprised, I jumped back and sharply inhaled, simultaneously hearing my companions turn on queue.

A tall, broad shouldered, jet haired, amber skinned man entered. He stood with a sense of pride, draped in black on black on black, pulled together with a grey and white striped ascot. In spite of our trespass, he seemed anything but displeased. Rather, it was as if a sporting sense carried itself on his heels, and made the air jittery with expecting glee.

“Jack.” He said, lowering a finger on me. “Vidal.” He proceeded to make the same directing gesture. “And an unknown, but evidently potent, spider. Welcome to the west wing.” He let his right hand fall and subsequently rise along with his left, carrying on the tips of his digits a spatially distorting wave of colour that literally tore the room in half. From its inception on the floor at his feet, it cascaded forward and drew the four of us into a wonderland of living colour and giant flora.

We landed in a loose circle in a field of vibrant greens, all manner of greens, all shades of greens, so distinct in its multitude that I found it near to disorienting to look at it for too long. So as to prevent my collapse, I had to steady myself on Vidal, nearly knocking him over in the process, and lock my gaze onto our opponent, allowing the surrounding chaos to become a collective blur.

“Focus, focus!” Noam commanded, drawing air as if it were a sword. Much to my surprise, as he did so a sword materialised into thin air. First came the hilt, a dark earthy red, and then the blade, subtly curved like a katana and made of a shining, silvery metal that he, by virtue of its size, had to hold with two hands. “No mercy!”