Yay!! Thanks for voting 95-2 for me! And thanks for the reviews and ratings! (especially lulol and deathless.smile for advanced reviews)

Blurb here-Spoiler :

So yeah, because blurbs distract, I'll put them in spoiler from now, unless they're important (like maps)

Special thanks to reviewers. And a big thanks to Chiisu and Resonantice for pointing out flaws in my fic. I have edited the last 2 chaps.

@cadambank congrats, you got me to release early.

@lulol I hope this chap gives you an external view (but remember, no view is unbiased)

@SomeForestedArea you're asking the right questions. But I'm going to give you answers yet (muehehe!)

Because some one asked how I plan my story, I'm going to brag about it. This story is has some fixed points which I know, the rest is just winging it. I plan 2-5 scenarios between these points and choose one. This will seem really funny later because it fits the plot well.

Example. fixed point was Diana taking Boris along. Whether Boris won/lost/didn't fight the duel, Diana would still take him but the reasons and the result would differ, a lot. Thanks for reading.

19-1. City of Glass I - Elves and exiles

The sun was not yet at its zenith when the caravan rolled towards Bizeon. Four wagons flanked on each side by remounts mounted by guards, less than half the remnants of what had ridden from Velur. Some merchants retired at Barrelfarm earlier, with nothing of theirs left to sell in Bizeon. By the look on their faces, the guards lost a pretty penny in return. Halkone wore his frown so deep that it stretched a shadow across his bearded cheeks and raised the scar upon his brow. He sent a ripple through the reins of their horse, a black stallion, and nudged it left across the rocky land to the Merithyll bridge that touched the southern gates of Bizeon.

Seated behind Halkone, Boris gaped at the massive walls ahead. His eyes skirted the full length of the city, almost as big as Orin and doubly beautiful. Slanted walls rounded the curve of the river in solid stone, twice as thick at the bottom. Flags fluttered vibrant colors above guarded watchtowers.

As they joined a growing influx of curious watchers and wearied visitors, Boris noticed Halkone was not alone in his discontent. The crowd before the gates bristled with disgruntled voices.

People huddled together for warmth in the icy breeze and buzzed with whispers and grunts. Eager people in curious pleated robes of violet or yellow, weary people in turbans and loose hanging coats, singing people in striped robes and wooden sandals, and sour people in cloaks and armor. They jerked and jostled, eager to leave the sluggish queue that meandered into the city one man at a time.

Carts and wagons occupied another queue to the right, the drivers shouting at pedestrians to move aside. Fewer left while more joined the unending line with each advancing step. Four distinct roads converged at the bridge upon Thiraine and each brought visitors. Sullen at the long wait, Boris cocked his head about and rubbed his belly, peering from the city gates ahead to the stony bridge behind.

Lines of porters hauled carts across the bridge. Below it, the banks of Thiraine swelled with barges and sailormen. Gangplanks reverberated under heavy boots and wheels. The wind swirled up in a tingling chill and brought smells of a dozen kinds. Condiments and fresh fruits, farms and flowers, damp books and raw fishes, and sweaty boots and smelly clothes.

Boris sniffed his cloak and frowned. He needed a bath. Soon. The throng brushed against his feet as Halkone clucked at the horse, and a scowling man shoved his foot away. The wagons ahead turned a little and Boris caught a glimpse of the city beyond. Rooftops slanted up in the distance, a dim mosaic of reds, greens, blues and yellows mingled with chimneys and towers.

Another wagon blocked his view and Boris leaned out, his bandaged hands clutching Halkone’s sides, to gaze farther. Halkone grumbled and Boris gaped. Gleaming domes in white and green dwarfed the grandeur of the walls. A sleek spire rose at the peak, winding and translucent, a spear of ice almost, that crafted slivers of rainbow in soft, memorable patterns under the sun.

“Holy!” Boris exclaimed.

“Oh, I assure you that,” Halkone started. “This city is so holy you’ll think you’re vermin beneath your gods. Now will you settle down or should I throw you off the bridge into Thiraine, and let its waters wash you holier.”

Boris straightened himself on the horse with a huff, muttering as he knuckled an aching back and sore neck. At least the saddle wasn’t enchanted. Still, riding a horse would never be on his list of things to experience again.

“What is that? That spire,” Boris whispered.

Halkone waved an exasperated gesture at the checkpoint ahead. A dozen armored guards stood blocking the queue, their hands on spears and halberds. Massive wooden doors stood open behind them and a hint of iron grills behind showed the portcullis.

The guards appeared more threatening here. Narrowing his eyes, Boris made out stony faces harsher than the winter cold. Violet or yellow streaked across their armor in broad lines and a sharper scrutiny revealed an emblem.

The guards in violet wore a dragon pierced by four swords on their left breast and flaunted polished halberds. The yellow ones sported a chalice wrapped in vines on their right breasts while armed with spears and shields. Boris grimaced. Halberds and Shields stood watch at the gates of Bizeon.

“We’re about to pass through the eyes of madmen,” Halkone whispered. “And there’s thrice as many as usually stand guard here. Eager. All of them. You behave like that and they’ll have you in for all manner of reasons.”

One of the Halberds stared hard at Boris. Startled, Boris huddled up, pulled his hood tight and lowered his head, eyes fixed on the square blocks of floor that bore discolored fringes of winter-worn grass. Given who they were bringing along, he did not want trouble.

“None of that either,” Halkone grumbled. “Keep your head straight and your eyes dull. Try to look stupid, they like that,” he waved his neck at Boris, “and you seem pretty good at that too.”

Their horse and the first wagon came to a stop by the barricade of wood and a Halberd stepped forward. “Hurry up you scoundrels,” he ordered. “I don’t have all day.”

The head merchant scuttled forward from his carriage with his belly swinging and Boris caught a glimpse of Diana, relaxed, gesturing at him. Frowning, he took a deep breath and forced his spine erect, trying to not to look at anything, especially the guards.

The merchant halted with a heave and smiled at the first Halberd, a man with thick mustache and heavy brows. “Glory be to Thiracus and those who uphold His name,” the merchant parroted, then turned to the Shields farther back. “Praise be to Irilea and those who uphold Her mercy.”

“You’re late this time, Osvay,” the Halberd frowned, “too late,” he glanced at the wagons, “and carrying trouble, perhaps. I hear of dark shadows in the Needlewoods.”

“Pardon this humble believer. As always, I come seeking the safety of Thiracus.” Osvay bowed and held out an amulet of Thiracus. The wrought metal gleamed gold with four blades that stabbed a black dragon and twirled in the wind from its golden chain, almost alive. Osvay passed it on with a nimble hand, wrapping it upon a deftly concealed gold crown.

With a snort, the Halberd received the amulet, examined, then returned it. The crown was gone, a glint of gold added to his pockets without a hint of smile. “And?” he grated, his mustache flaring, “Is this the extent of your faith?”

Osvay hesitated and the Shield behind twirled her spear with hungry eyes. “I hear of pagans in Needlewoods,” she smiled. “Are your sure you’re not carrying any?”

Twitching, Osvay scrabbled around the hidden pockets of his embroidered coat and produced two more gold coins, the Crown of Cumaria embossed upon each. Hesitation cramped his hands but he let the gold slide into the rough palms of the Halberd. This time the man in violet smiled—a faint twist of his lips that vanished fast—and hissed words at his companion. The woman moved to inspect the caravan.

After a flimsy search of the wagons, the Shield noticed Diana and froze. “There’s an elf here,” she shouted over the crowd with her spear raised. Osvay twitched again and the mustached Halberd glared, then scooted towards Diana.

“Ah,” he recognized with a sneer, “the highborn heathen. Back into the light? I fear it won’t do much for your tainted heart.”

“If you are here to stop me,” Diana answered, looking down at the templar, “then I suggest you hurry. Or leave otherwise.” Her soft voice felt like a blizzard and her will laid an icy edge against the Halberd, far worse than the winter breeze. Boris shuddered.

The Halberd scowled, hands shivering, and clenched his jaw in hatred. “Count your days, elf. Thiracus will not save the faithless. Not when the Doom Foretold comes. Not even Irilea will spare her mercy for your lot.”

Diana stayed silent and he stamped back with his weapon scraping the stone. “Better heed your company, Osvay. We do not favor tainted hearts,” he warned then waved at his companion, “Let them go! And you lot,” he screamed at the crowd behind, “Keep quiet or I will hurl you all out this instant!”

The crowd ebbed and the caravan started towards the boulevard ahead with a squeak of wheels and a clatter of hooves. Stalls encroached the borders here, with an assortment of items spread out under colorful awnings, and hawkers lauded their wares with enthusiasm. Rows of trees sprang about the edges. Their pointed shoots were all but bare and the few remaining leaves looked ready to abandon the warm sun and embrace the muddy ground below.

A gust ruffled a patch of faded green and some leaves fell, joining the litter beside the roots. Water gushed in distant sparkles faintly visible between the buildings, perhaps a stream that joined Thiraine.

Advancing, the caravan came to a slow stop by the first roadside inn. Boris dismounted, fetched his knapsack and bundle, then accompanied the other guards to receive his pay. A crabby Osvay sat inside his wagon, wiping his face though it bore no sweat. He doled out each guard’s pay with haste, mumbling his words. Boris was the last.

“Ah, the elfling,” Osvay began then pursed his lips shut. The merchant poured out twelve silvers and Boris shoved the stinging metal into his pouch. Halkone snorted at the amount. “The rest is paid for Scythian,” Osvay grumbled, “I am an honest man. Not like… like some others.”

“Books and necessities,” Boris explained when Halkone eyed him, rubbing the arrows packed in his quiver. Halkone guffawed.

“Books?” the scythian choked, “…books,” then shook his head. “You won’t survive long like that.” He slapped Boris’s back. “Come find me at the guilds if you need work.” Boris buckled under the weight of his blow then whirled around to retort, but Halkone turned away and Kale followed him with a faint nod at Boris. Together they faded into the crowd.

Boris shrugged. No one else spared him a glance. ‘Two more would have if that had not happened.’ A shudder ran up his arms. Gabe and Wylf were dead. Shirking from that thought, Boris swallowed and scrubbed his hands on his cloak. He was about to leave when Diana appeared.

“Find the Cylian Embassy if you land in trouble. And practice your basics, I will find you when we need to leave,” she told him then proceeded to engage Osvay in conversation. Boris heard something about horses and money when Diana turned and frowned. “Stop dallying around and find yourself a place to stay,” she ordered, “You’re not staying at the embassy even if you beg.”

Huffing, Boris drew a cold breath against his fluttering hood and strapped it tight across his chin. He scooted towards the end of the wagon, looking for Thea while he frisked his pockets in search of Estin’s letter. Suddenly the wagons started again. ‘Wait, don’t tell me she left?’ Boris scrambled then skidded to a stop at the sight of Elaine. Thea stood close behind.

“I should have known,” he sighed. “We need to find your uncle Thea,” a touch of envy dipped into his voice as he went for her, “You can’t just cling to Elaine all the time.”

With a flinch, Thea sprang away and huddled behind Elaine. The color of dark wood loomed in her listless eyes. Silent, they dug into Boris.

Boris licked his lips and pulled his hood tighter, trying to hide his face. He gave another vigorous scrub to his hands and smelled them. ‘No blood,’ he assured himself, ‘They’re not bloodied,’ and pulled out Estin’s letter. “Your uncle, remember?” He waved the scroll before Thea. “Uncle Rowan? Spotty nose? Bald head?”

Thea clutched the hem of Elaine’s woolen overcoat in reply. “She comes,” her voice shivered, “she comes.”

“Of course.” Elaine pulled Thea’s bundles from the girl and slung them along with her own. The sight of her hauling three separate bundles made Boris frown. Struggling with his own knapsack, he flung a hand to grab Thea’s bundle but Elaine pulled it away.

“You don’t need to—” Boris protested.

“I will,” Elaine interrupted. She snatched the letter from Boris and stuffed it inside her robes. Elaine clasped Thea’s wrist and pulled her along. Defeated, Boris followed two spans behind, stealing glances at the city around.

People drifted by in close groups of two or three. A group of children brushed past him hooting and yelling, and Boris traced their strides to the line of shops ahead. Cobblers and tinners laid out their tools on mats, with grocers shouting their prices over carts and stalls. Stone-walled shops flaunted polished signs at their entrances and displayed wares and weapons, all decorated, upon counters and walls.

They cut off into a street to their left, following Estin’s horribly scribbled map and Elaine’s sense of familiarity. Thea often opened her mouth to gesture but never spoke, sending furtive glances at Boris as she stuck to Elaine. A second turn to their left found them in a peaceful street and they stopped beside a blue-roofed house with a shop to its side. It lay between where the markets ended and the residences begun. “/Potions P/” the sign read.

“I think this is the place.” Boris looked up and down the house. A coat of whitewash smeared the bricks and the windows stood shut against the winter cold. Blue canvas hung from a balcony above the shop entrance, swelling and dying with the gusts of wind. The shop window hid the insides behind dusty curtains.

“What next?” Boris asked and Elaine rapped at door three times, each sharper than a previous one.

“It is open,” a loud voice answered. “Come on in!”

Elaine pushed the door in with a soft creak and the trio stepped in. “/Potions” was an old shop from the looks of it. Stocky beams held up a stony roof dull with age and wooden shelves outfitted the hollows that made the whole shop appear much larger, and perhaps it was. A look of order occupied the front half of the shop, with phials, pouches and jars all sitting in discretely labeled spaces.

The air smelled curious, a mix of burnt grass and bitter leaves among faint traces of others. Boris sniffed the trail to the far side of the room, unkempt and stuffed with a pile of random tools from scrolls to spoons, spilling out of draped crevices. Half a shadow stirred and Boris almost jumped.

A stocky man emerged, his face flat except for a spotted nose that he rubbed vigorously. “Yes?” he said, dropping a pouch into the pile behind him. He bent over the counter, and his narrowed eyes widened at Elaine. “Irilea bless us, to think that—

His voice choked. The man’s gaze caught Thea squirming beside Elaine and he swallowed, then stormed out of the counter and bypassed Elaine in a hurry. Shivering, he caught Thea’s shoulders and pulled her close.

Boris made out a faint twitch of relief in Thea’s eyes before her uncle hugged her and swung from side to side. “Irilea bless you,” his voice was hoarse, “Irilea bless you.”

At long last, the man parted and bowed at Elaine. “I cannot thank you enough. I cannot. I- you have my gratitude.” He grasped Thea’s arm and made her bow the same. “I am ashamed to have involved you in such petty matters.”

“You’re Rowan Nervant, correct?” Elaine asked.

“Yes, yes… I’m her uncle. I heard what happened. I couldn’t- I wasn’t- Irilea bless you Maiden of Light, bless you a thousand times over and over.”

“You can thank him for the trouble,” Elaine pointed out Boris. “And that priest Estin.” She dug into her robes and held out Estin’s letter. “This was for you.”

Rowan took the letter with another bow and laid it onto the counter. His gaze fell on Boris now. “A young lad,” he traced the bandages on Boris’s left hand, “been through rough. Difficult, I know. I was once- I don’t want to remember. Irilea bless you for everything. And Estin, that gold-hearted fool.”

“It’s alright,” Boris responded with a nod and his knapsacks slid off his shoulders. Swerving, he jerked and pulled them back. They felt heavier now, but he felt lighter. There was a faint smile on his lips too, he realized. Weariness made its way to his content mind and he yawned. “I should leave now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh no,” Rowan glanced up from the letter and shook his hands, “please stay. I’ll call up my wife, can’t let guests go back empty-handed. Just a moment.” Rowan folded his letter while Boris hunched his shoulders a little. “Ah, you are tired. Of course, of course,” he ran glances at Elaine, “bash me, I forgot. I have some places to rest,” his voice was uncertain. “If, if you don’t mind of course. Not the best beds but they’re warm. And some tea,” he frisked through the jars behind and pushed one out on the counter. From the way he faced Elaine, expectant and jittery, Boris formed the impression he was afraid to offend her.

“Good tea,” Rowan tried to smile but his cracked lips made it seem like a scowl. “A good rest will do the boy well, same for you Thea,” he drew the girl in and patted her head. “Don’t worry anymore. No one will harm you here. No one.”

Boris hesitated a moment. He glanced at Elaine and she shrugged. Then he took in Thea and she shrunk, tugging her uncle’s sleeves. Boris swallowed and looked away. “I really should leave. It’s important,” he told Rowan. “I have a lot to do.”

“Right now?” Rowan sounded dejected and apprehensive at the same time.

“It’s important,” Boris repeated, his throat dry, and scrubbed the itching scar on his left arm. ‘What did I expect? A medal? Not after what I did.’

“I understand,” Rowan said. “Important, of course, bash me I forget my place.”

With several more gestures and words of gratitude, Rowan let Elaine and Boris go, but not before handing them each a pouch of herbs. They were great for exhaustion, he said. Washed away fatigue and helped rejuvenate the body.

Back outside, Boris stroked the pouch while following Elaine out. He skimmed the lanes for inns but a corner of his sight always occupied Elaine’s back. She would go her own way now. He needed to say goodbye and look for a place to stay and some work. His steps wavered a little but Elaine kept true to their path until they reached the boulevard again.

There, the din increased and Boris lost his chance. Elaine merged into the crowd without a word, while Boris sighed and started towards the line of inns opposite her path. How difficult was it to say goodbyes? Why did he always skimp on such matters? Boris lowered his head and trudged on. He’d get some rest and think upon it later.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Startled, Boris whirled around to the familiar voice. He held his smile. “I thought you left.”

“I thought I asked you to follow me,” Elaine answered.

“I have to look for a place to stay,” Boris peered between her and the inns to his left, “or Diana will burn me and I will freeze to death.”

Elaine arched a brow. “And where do you think I am taking you?”

“Oh no,” he hesitated, “I wouldn’t want to trouble you anymore.”

With a shake of her head, Elaine sighed. “I would be more troubled by you freezing to death. You’ve earned what, twenty, thirty silvers? How long do you think it’ll last you in a city as grand as this? It's as costly as the capital.”

Realization hit Boris and he clenched his coin pouch, then jerked away from the sting of metal coins. Elaine frowned as he rubbed his hands for warmth. “I’ll take up work,” he ran a glance through the shops up the street. “It’ll be alright, I’m sure.”

A wagon hustled past and Elaine nudged Boris away to the edge of the street by his shoulder, against the rough bole of a tree. Cold gust whipped a few leaves into fall and Elaine clutched her woolens while she leaned in to inspect his hands. Boris hid them and she twitched. “The Legion’s Keep has warm beds and food, practice grounds for training and of course, a library. You could live there for a while. Better than scouring the city for a pittance of pay and sleeping in barns at night.”

“Why?” Boris asked, reluctant to remove her arm is from his shoulder.

“Why what?” Elaine brushed the leaves off his cloak and straightened her back. At her full, she stood a hand taller than him. It gave her an air of authority when she wanted, and a feel of being distant otherwise. Boris disliked that.

“What do you want me for?” he asked, struggling with the weight of his knapsack.

“To help you.” Elaine adjusted the strap at his shoulders and tied it into a firm knot beneath his arm. “Unless you’re staying with Diana.” She pulled the knot tighter and Boris shrunk away, loosening it for relief.

“Well I’m not,” he shrugged at her tight voice. He wanted to accompany her and he did not like it. He wanted to do things by himself, without having to abandon her. 'I'm trying to depend on her,' he shook his head. “Leeching off you feels… wrong. I can support myself Elaine.”

“Sure you can.” Elaine smirked. “Are you coming or not?” There was something about her smile that often irked him. Even natural, it felt incomplete. He wished he could complete it, then tossed the thought out.

“Do I have to work in return?” Boris diverted the question.

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’d-” A thousand thoughts ran through his head. He focused on one. 'Home! I need to go home.' “I’d like some time to think maybe.”

“You'll have plenty at the Legion Keep. With food and bed.”

“That sounds too good.” He wouldn't need to worry about a place to stay. He could focus on studying glyphs. They had a library too. It was more than he could ask for. Unless there was a catch.

“There's no twist here,” Elaine said before Boris could get those words out. “Are you coming or not?”

“I hope Diana does not frown upon this.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“I’ll take it up,” Boris decided and smiled back. “Thank you.”

“Let's hurry then.” Elaine cut through the crowd with confidence, leading him on.

------------------------

A frown touched her lips as Diana skirted the marketplace. She cast a doubtful gaze towards the distant dome of the embassy and traced it back, through the vibrant mansions, across the Shattered-Sword Inn, to the shops around her.

People milled around in the warmth of winter's sun. They sized up fruits and groceries, haggled over warmer clothes, browsed the finer wares, and bought a little something sometimes—a woolen scarf, a basket of tubers, a new pair of boots or a set of shining glassware. They did not seem startled at all.

With a soft sway of her head, Diana crossed the Inn into the central square. Two temples faced the Shattered Sword Inn on each side here, their buff stones hewn from the quarries of Ley and adorned with strips of inscribed marble.

An imposing statue of Thiracus occupied the centre of the square, upon a black pedestal nearly fifteen feet high and much wider. His huge bronze axe rested upon broad, stony shoulders and a ruby-crusted crown settled on his wide forehead. A humbler sculpture of Irilea loomed beside him, holding a chalice that seemed to overflow. Their glass-lined eyes gleamed alive in the day.

Yet the pedestal was wider still, and part of it could have held another god in all his glory. Halberds and Shields guarded the perimeter there, their eyes vigilant and weapons ready. Beside them, the pedestal broke into steps that ended in a wooden platform with gibbets, pillories, ropes, chains and pillars.

Diana swept a vague glance through fresh corpses hanging from the gibbets. Naked bodies riddled with welts, bruises and gashes. They swayed like broken dolls in the wind. And dark, squalid blood oozed out of them, forming droplets that trickled down splintered toenails. The sewers would drain it all into the labyrinth eastward.

The screams lingered. Decades of grief and angst clung to the air, frozen in time, worsening her headache. A seething Halberd swore at Diana and she moved on, ignoring his ridicule. This was no time to reflect upon the beliefs of humans.

Like dwarves, humans added images to their gods. Created gods out of stone and metal and worshipped their own creations. Most elves would balk at the idea. However amusing as it was, every being had a right to its own faith. Something most humans had yet to fathom. In time, they would.

Diana cut into the streets to her west and up the wide slabs of stairs that parted the residential quarters into halves and curved away from the Lord's mansion. She crossed a small bridge upon the Meandering Spring, sparing no look at canoes drifting through, and reached the footsteps of the embassy. She frowned.

No people crossed the streets behind and the marble steps wobbled in queasy silence. Diana climbed up, the sunlight seeming to shy away from her, and reached the redwood doors fitting snugly into the white walls.

For a moment her fingers treaded the intricate carvings of the door, a representation of double dragons entwined with a hint of silver and a pattern of bold red silkshade. It was a gift from the late king of Cumaria, a sign of conciliation. A miracle by no small efforts. Diana smiled. Her hands then slid across the stained glass panels to stop at the moon-mix orb, just below the doorbell.

The orb pulsed with wards too strong. Stifling a crease of her brow, Diana fed her will to the orb and unfurled the wards around her. The steps stopped wobbling and sunlight sneaked past the opened doors, casting her shadow on spotless marble floorings.

Diana shut the door behind her, letting the wards regain, and stepped into the antechamber. Plastered white walls greeted her. Their octagonal symmetry lent itself to patterned windowpanes, ending in two curved staircases that reached the gallery. A banner hung from the beams supporting the gallery, flapping the emblem with six swords in a wheel and eight wings around. Below it was the reception where Jorrel sat, his navy blue robes ruffling as he shoved away a stack of records inside the oak desk and hurried towards her.

Jorrel grabbed her knapsack and bowed fluently, without any reverence. “May the light hail your return with grace and the wind embrace your burdens.” His voice was smooth, and his shorter span matched his rounded face but clashed against his acidic manners.

“May the night defer your fears and the earth affirm your strength,” Diana replied customarily. “Jorrel, what in serpent’s skin is going on?” she cut to the point, enquiring about the wards.

Jorrel almost snorted, pointing her to a large couch with a table beside it. Diana took a seat and beckoned him. He searched a moment, bringing out a bottle of Shilan with two glasses.

“We received a gift of Shilan recently, if you'd want.” He paused, gauging Diana's prickly mood, and nodded. “Yes, you will like it,” he assured her and filled a glass. Shilan smelled like milk and looked deceivingly similar, if not for the tiny particles of refined pristle and their faint effervescence. It tickled the tongue and left a milder, lingering sweetness behind.

Diana tasted the drink with satisfaction and relaxed. She was not tired, but some things required patience. “So then,” she asked Jorrel, “First, where are the others?”

“I took some liberty in granting them a leave. I do not believe in tyranny after all. And Tiella is out on business, she took the remainder with her.”

Diana nodded, took another gulp and exhaled. “I don't think I have had a headache since the tragedy of Dunsig.”

“You forget the Sumarian war, my lady. Though I'd venture it wasn't a headache to you, you were the headache to all of it,” Jorrel added with such politeness that it would put an Aldaan to shame.

“Jorrel,” Diana warned with a terse tone and proceeded to chug her drink empty.

“My apologies. Would it be more to your liking if I enquired the cause of your worry or should I perhaps explain the circumstances that have been brewing of late and let you lead me on?” he asked in his charming voice.

“You can start with your explanation and drop that tone before you do it. I don't like being irritated when I already am.” Diana slapped her glass before him. Sunlight filled her glass with colors and cast a rainbow on the polished table below. She rotated the glass once, clockwise, shifting the rainbow opposite.

“As you say then,” Jorrel twisted his tone, making it sharp and cohesive. He filled Diana's glass and continued, “Their king has given Orders free reign, because of the reports that the Cult of Solomon has turned dangerous. And so the purge, or whatever they call it, has begun again. You should have noticed.”

Diana nodded. “It has become a hassle,” she complained before pausing to drink.

“It has, obviously,” Jorrel agreed while he poured a glass for himself. He held it to the light in inspection but the drink did not sparkle, only fizzled at its surface. “As far as I am concerned, these morons can kill each other all they want any number of times. Sadly, the templars are not known for tolerance and I think there is a small chance they may turn their blades this way. We too are pagans in their eyes, after all.” He shrugged as if this was a tiresome discussion.

“So you cast stronger wards on the Embassy?” Diana sighed. “That wasn't a smart move, Jorrel. I can feel these wards half way across the city. It only makes us stand out. And you know how their High Lord will take to us once he knows.”

“What could I do?” Jorrel replied. “Misdirection or concealment wouldn't work. There would be a furor if the Elven embassy suddenly seems to disappear. I put them up for defense and distortion. It takes a lot to make them effective you know, don't expect me to save your ass and wipe it clean too.”

“Yes I don't,” Diana answered, “so you will lessen the wards and I will see what can be done instead.”

“Now wait a minute,” Jorrel started, putting down the glass without a taste. Standing, he bent over the table till his eyes were level with hers and frowned one of his usual frowns. His nose swelled a little while his ears twitched. “Why do you think I was forced to do all this? You abandon your post to go frolic in the capital and I have to deal with all the grunt work your father sends this way. I don't think servants are meant for this, do you?”

“You are not a servant, Jorrel,” Diana disagreed. “That is not how this works. I took you in as a proxy; you are far too qualified to be a servant.”

Jorrel raised his head and shook it. “Don't say that. The Eldership would have nightmares if they heard you.”

Diana grinned. “That would be a sight to see. Now I need time to think, so you go remove those wards.” She turned her empty glass counterclockwise, out of habit, and started to leave.

“I’m afraid I can't do that,” Jorrel repeated after taking a whisk of the drink himself. “My first concern is to keep the embassy, and you,” he pointed his glass at her, “out of trouble. I'd rather not see the templars die at your hands. We don't need another war. There's already one coming.”

“I am not here to fight. I am leaving for Cylia very soon. I'll see to the templars and the Orders without violence.”

Jorrel almost spat his drink before forcing it back down his throat while coughing. “You are leaving? Again?” He raised his ears. “My lady, your father doesn't want you back yet. He sent you here for a purpose, I think, and I am sure it wasn't so you could go back and set Kurd to flames or make the Ka’taar boil red in winter. I think you should rethink your decision, as a dignitary of Cylia and as an Elder's daughter, before you start your usual disobedience.”

“What do you think my father sent me here for?” Diana questioned. She walked back towards him in annoyance, urging him to ask so she could unload a part of her headache on his incredulous face.

“It's not my position to know,” Jorrel replied curtly. He picked up the empty glasses and receded, walking towards the basin.

“The summoning ceremony for heroes went wrong,” Diana continued.

“I would reckon it did,” Jorrel opined while grabbing a pitcher of water. “Guess they never learnt how to count the years? The millennial cycle jumps from odd to odd Scifers. There’s another year before their long cherished alignment occurs.”

Diana paused and blinked. “….Why didn’t you…” she swallowed her question.

“Why didn’t you ask? Oh, right,” Jorrel widened his eyes and lowered his pointed ears, “you were too busy enjoying your escapades.”

“You always know how to add thorns to my thoughts, Jorrel,” Diana conceded with crossed arms. Jorrel smirked.

“I have a good mentor. The Inazi spit curses upon her name and the Ka’taar vomit blood.”

“Forget it. I will tell you what went wrong.”

“I don't think you should.”

“I don't mind,” Diana said, “In fact, I think you should know. Ary'ann predicted it, my father feared it, the Eldership dreaded it. They didn't really know what would occur but they knew it would. Do you know what happened?” She took a brief while to inspect the keystones across the room. Her will swept out in tendrils, brushing each ward in query. They were intact and secure. Satisfied, she waited for Jorrel’s answer.

“I. Don't. Want. To. Know,” Jorrel refused in clear, spaced speech. He had enough on his mind and most of it was not even his responsibility.

“Four people were summoned. Four, not three. Very few know this, and no one knows why.” Diana ignored his words the same way she always did, pulling him into her own pace as if he were an opponent.

“And you do,” Jorrel grumbled as he washed the glasses clean. “This is going exactly the way I don't want it… Is it really bad?” He was in. Not that he had a choice here.

For a moment, Diana stood silent. Then, when she spoke, her voice was whisper of the autumn wind, rustling across Jorrel’s ears as it died. “They fear the Trueborn will not come.”

Jorrel gawked, jaw swinging for lack of words and arms rigid like stone. Those words were harrowing. Aside from the Eldership, not even the Elkeen should have known of this.

“You are a fool, Diana,” he whispered back, abandoning all pretext of respect for reproach. “This is not something to speak of, no matter how much you trust someone. The wind has ears and the earth has eyes.”

“You will want to know.”

“Why?” he asked, his ears twitching again.

“Because you will be accompanying us back, me and the fourth one.”

Jorrel jerked. He fiddled with the glasses in confusion, unsure whether or not to throw one of them at Diana. He decided it would be a shame to lose a fine glass over her and placed them back on the rack. “Come again, please?”

“You heard me.” Diana slumped back into the couch. “The fourth one,” she revealed, “he is an interesting boy. Give it some time and I think you will like him.”

“Huh? You are bringing him along just like that? Forgive me, Your Craziness, but the Elders don't like surprises. I am having no part in this. Go set the Sila'Druuk aflame for all I care!” Jorrel wiped his hands clean and raised them in surrender.

“You will have to come,” Diana disagreed with a wave of her hand. “I need a guide I can trust and a man who can keep an eye on the kid when I can't.”

Placing the bottle back into its shelf, Jorrel slouched to a reluctant seat against her carrying a serving of dry fruits. “And how exactly, are you going to get him past the border? Hide him under your clothes?” he asked.

“That won't be needed. He is my disciple, he goes wherever I go.” Diana swiped a few cashews and almonds off with a blur of her hand. There was no hint of doubt or concern upon her face.

“Great!” Jorrel offered with a twitching smile, “Why don't you go ahead and marry him while you're at it? Let's see your father have a fit. And let's get exiled while we do so.” He tried to keep the cynicism in his voice but his will was already rippling out, a dull, serrated edge that pressed against Diana's keen mind.

Diana sliced that will apart and poked his mind.

“No. Just no,” he shook his head and scratched the golden emblem upon his coat, “Don’t try to coerce me. I don’t want to go. I want to quit. A Gilden mine would serve me better than this. Send your own damned explanations to your father.”

“You can quit later, Jorrel. You should come. I am taking the kid through the sands of Kurd, to Ilmaar. Ary'ann must see him. Ary'ann must know what has happened. Trust me, this is for the best.”

“Did the Eldest tell you so?” he asked, suspicion flaming his sand-brown eyes.

“He will, once he sees the kid,” Diana replied. She stared him with confidence, waiting for agreement.

“By the Sages,” Jorrel held his head. His will rumbled low across the room, grating at Diana before collapsing. “You do realize the Elders of Ilmaar would sooner allow a pig into their beds than allow the boy to meet the Eldest? Are you doing this on your own?” he spoke with a growing sense of unease.

“I will have to,” Diana said, “if you don't accompany me. But I know you will.” She smiled like a predator. That was how it always looked to Jorrel. Like the maws of death had opened and one could not help but fall in. He would always question his sanity afterwards. But as an employed servant, Jorrel had a duty. Hell, he would accompany her to hell, and maybe kick her in while at it.

“This is the last time I swear,” Jorrel surrendered, “Unless your father has me executed, I am leaving after this. Mercy of dragons, everything is a mess already.”

“Everything?” Diana raised her green eyes in a sharp gesture. “Is it the pixars?”

“No, well, it's not just the pixars. No, things are changing Diana. And I am not sure what you will make of them.” Jorrel looked between her and the reception, his memory going through unsavory topics.

“Then tell me,” Diana demanded, “now is as good a time as any.”

“You have just returned,” Jorrel refused. He noticed the plate had gone empty and picked it up. “You go rest. I will cook us something and then we will talk.”

“Alright,” Diana accepted, stretching her limbs and rising up. “I will be in my room. Don’t take too long though.” She climbed up the stairs while Jorrel entered the corridor behind the reception, making his way to the kitchen.

About an hour later, Jorrel entered Diana’s room with plates full of steaming buns and a sack of documents hanging by his shoulder.

_____________

Notes-

1- City of Glass is an old epithet for Bizeon, almost as old as the Kingdom. Bizeon pioneered glassmaking in earliest days and continues to have some very good glassworkers.

2- "millenial cycle jumps from odd to odd scifers"- refer chap 14 verses.

Celestial alignments vary with season (and a little with location). There are supposed to be five annual/seasonal celestial alignments. 2 in summer, 1 autumn, 1 in winter and 1 in spring. (A sixth is rumored to exist but not known well)

Centennial cycle- The annual alignments are strongest every ~141 years

Millennial cycle- Every 12th centennial cycle (1692 yrs) is supposed to represent the strongest off all centennial cycles. Last millennial cycle occurred ~scifer 25

Terran alignments vary with location only. There are said to be 8 terran alignments (elven knowledge). Shadows of Sik is one of those.

I guess that clarifies things. If you have any more questions just ask.

Let me also clarify a few things from earlier chaps,

c14- Ray decides not to involve Boris when he says they're better off without him. It's the same decision Boris makes in c18

c14- when Diana talks about Wintersins she is indirectly telling Boris that some qualities are not noticed until the world turns harsh (wintersins are perennial but only noticed in winter)

c18- Diana did not trade with Cleya for horses/supplies. She traded with Cleya for "silence". Cleya will not inform anyone of her (or by extension Boris's involvement with the incident) This means news about Boris is kept secret and the King/counsels will not raise more doubts. Elaine has done the same. Her report to the King about Cultists in Laur never mentioned Diana/Boris.

c17-18. Thea crawled out of her recess because she noticed Elaine was alive. Thea sung the winter's lullaby after meeting up with the Hellhound, her father's pet. I'm sorry I couldn't show that.

Lastly, this chapter was long and needs some edits to smooth it over. I might do that sometime. But the events won't change (only description/dialogues maybe.) Boris will appear next chap.

___________________

Sorry something glitched and made it weird. Corrected the double post. ^^