Mortals & Deities (15 page)

As Arderi nodded, he felt the power rush into him. Cold is not how he would have described the sensation. A freezing numbness cascaded from his face and head, to his shoulders, chest and arms in quick succession. Gasping in pain, he grabbed onto Larith’s hands to pry them from his head. The man’s strong grip held firm, however. Then, the feeling receded. Slipping a hand to the back of his head, he tried to rub out a knot he felt at the base of his skull. His fingers found nothing, so he lowered his arm.

“Continue to practice what I have shown you. Much of your skill will come naturally over time if you use it each day.” Larith walked to the base of the stairs and pulled out a small bag from his pouch. Opening it, he swirled two fingers inside, looking for something. Within moments, he pulled out a small red Crystal. “Come, step into the Quay’ka’gana.”

Arderi, not thrilled to comply, shifted his gaze from the large red Crystal to Larith, then back again. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he stepped up onto the center of the platform.

When he reached for his sword, Larith shook his head. “If you unwrap the hilt of your sword, Brother, you will find yourself back in Bin’Satsu.” At the puzzled look from Arderi, he continued. “Each Ka’gana stone can be tuned to only one destination. The one in Dorochi’s hilt is tuned for Bin’Satsu. You can use it at any Sending Stone and it will always send you there.” He held up the red Crystal he had fished out of his pouch, displaying it between his fingers. “This one is tuned to Mocley. Bring it back when you return, for I do not have many to spare.” With that, he tossed the Mocley-tuned Ka’gana stone to Arderi.

Fear lanced through Arderi, and not from the pressure he felt building around his body once he snatched the Crystal from the air. “Wait! How will I find my way out of the Undercity?” He grimaced as his arm bent back.

“You will not have to, Brother. The arrival platform in Mocley is inside the Rillion Villa. You will be safe once you arrive there.”

Pain racked Arderi, forcing him to the floor.

Larith looked at him laying on the floor in pain with a look of pity. “If you find this Mah’Sukai, Brother, do not hesitate. Kill him, or he will most certainly kill you.”

Arderi’s scream blocked out anything else Larith might have said. His vision narrowed, and the cave was crushed out of existence.

The continued jostling of people began to grate on Alant Cor as he shuffled his way along with the multitudes waiting to enter the city of Mocley. Fielders, for the most part—or more accurately, farmers, as these men and women worked their own land and did not live in a stead—with the odd merchant thrown in. Alant looked around, trying to watch everyone without appearing to show interest in anyone.

It was early in the morn and Alant was not only well rested and fed, he was nice and clean thanks to the inn he had stayed at in Gatetown last eve. His Ma may not be from the city, yet she was correct in the value of ta’narians here.

It cost almost a quarter of one for last nights stay alone!

It was worth it, however. The amount of dirt and grime that had accumulated on him in the near two-tenday walk from Hild’alan surprised him. Still, he would have to be more frugal choosing where he stayed or his coin would be gone before the tenday was out.

He wrinkled his nose at the man standing in front of him. The man wore a coat worn through in spots and the cuff of his pants had frayed. Grime covered every piece of his exposed skin.

I may be clean, yet not everyone is!

Guarders meandered around the area, one and all dressed alike in yellow and blue tabards adorned with a talon clutching a wheat stalk—the symbol of Mocley—worn over a mail hauberk. Most carried poleaxes with yellow and blue streamers tied just below the blades of the weapon. The few without poleaxes wore knots of rank on their shoulders. Everything appeared normal except the line of people waiting to enter the city. This struck Alant as odd. From what Alant could remember, the main gates of the city were open to foot traffic and the guards normally did not stop anyone from entering. This time when he approached, a guarder directed him to file in with the others if he wanted admittance. So here he stood, creeping forward for near half an aurn behind a smelly man. Though he was almost next.

The man in front of him stepped up to a guarder captain who eyed him with exaggerated interest. “Well now. Name and business?”

The man reached up, pulled the poorly cut leather cap from his balding head, and started wringing it in his hands. “Names Ranthin Gar. Why all the questions?”

The captain smiled and jotted down the name on a piece of parchment he held on a thin wooden slab. “My thanks to you, Ranthin. And your business inside the walls of Mocley?”

The dirty man glanced side to side before he slammed his cap back on his head. “My business is my own! Mocley is still a free city, is it not?” With a harrumph, he stepped past the captain, then stopped short when two other guarders with poleaxes moved to block his way. “What is the meaning of this? I have done nothing wrong!”

One of the new guarders looked the disheveled man up and down. “Mayhaps nothing you have been caught for.” The other guard chuckled.

The man sputtered and stammered, though, before he said anything, the captain stepped up next to him. “Look…” He glanced down at what he had written. “…Ranthin. This is nothing against you. We have been told to keep on the lookout for a certain person trying to enter the city. Someone the Proctor wants very badly. As you do not fit this man’s description, why do you not go ahead and answer the question and be on your way, huh?” Reaching down with his free hand, the guarder shifted his sword in its scabbard. “Or, if you prefer, you can be on your way out of the city.”

The disheveled man glanced from the two guarders blocking his way to the one taking down names like a mouse trapped between cats. The smelly man pulled his cap off and wrung it in his hands once more. “I…I need to visit the Bazaar. Looking for a gift for my wife.” He got excited, as if he had just figured out something. “It is her naming day on the morrow!” A big smile split his grimy face.

The captain sighed and shook his head. “See, not so hard. Off with you.”

Neither of the two guards who blocked the man’s way made a move. One even raised his free hand in a gesture of disbelief. The captain just waved a hand. “Let him pass. He is not the one we are looking for.”

Alant had watched the entire exchange with interest, though none of what was said made any impact on him until the guarder captain turned from the smelly man and headed back toward the line of people.

They are not looking for just anyone…they are looking for me!

Terror gripped him and all Alant could think to do was run. Unfortunately, his body would not comply. An awareness fell on him of just how many guarders there were surrounding the area. Where just a few moments ago it seemed like only a handful, now it felt as if there were dozens. And each one appeared to be staring directly at him. Sweat slicked his palms and a wave of nausea hit his stomach. Had he already eaten firstmeal, he knew it would have spewed from him right then and there.

The captain stopped in front of him. “Name and business?”

Alant’s mouth went dry as his mind raced for a response that would not end with him arrested…or dead. “Alant Cor. I am headed to the Chandril’elian.” His heart froze. He could not believe he just blurted that out.

Without so much as a pause, the guarder captain scribbled something onto his parchment and stepped past Alant to the next in line. “Name and business?”

It took several moments for Alant to realize he had not moved, and that he held his breath as well. Glancing around, he could not tell if any of the guarders he thought were watching him, were in fact, watching him. Or, if they were just looking at the crowd as a whole. When the person standing behind him, a middle-aged woman carrying a basket of red apples, brushed past him, he nearly came out of his skin. This, at least, served to spur him into action, and he followed on her heels as she entered the massive tunnel leading into the city proper.

Even at this early aurn, crowds filled the Bazaar. Sellers hawking their wares, while everything from animals to carts, wagons to sedan chairs, weaved through the sea of bodies that milled about the area. No different from the dozens of times Alant had come here while an Initiate at the Chandril’elian. It did not take him long to slip into the flow of the crowd and work his way to the first inner gate that led to the Palintium.

Almost a turn of the seasons had passed since he had laid eyes on the wondrous building. However, in his haste, he paid no more than a cursory glance at its tall spires and large statues of the Twelve Gods of Man. Although, a large alabaster statue of Saphanthia reminded him of his encounter with the zealot in the woods.

I have not figured out yet how that woman knew so much. The one thing I am sure of, is that she was insane!

Walking next to Amphitheater Park brought back fond memories of the plays he attended with the other Initiates on the rare occasions they were allowed free time. This early in the morn the park sat deserted. Cutting to the right and away from the main gate of the Chandril’elian, Alant wound his way through the narrow streets created by the buildings housing most of the people who worked at the school. He did not know why the main gate was never used. In the near two turns of the seasons he lived at the school, they had never been opened.

Approaching the side gate, what he saw puzzled him.

Why are there so many Hobbswords milling about?

He could not remember any time in which there was more than one guard manning the gate at any given time. Three of them turned as he approach.

Nothing to fear. You already know they are not looking for you.

Walking up to them, he stopped out of arms reach just to be safe. “My name is Alant Cor and I am here…to…see…” After he spoke his name, hands flew to hilts and every Hobbsword in the area turned to face him. Taking a step back, he raised both hands out in front of him. “Hold up, now. I just need to speak to one of the Siers. I do not want any trouble.”

An older Hobbsword stepped forward, the starbursts on his collar indicating he was a ranked officer. “If you are Alant Cor as you say, I am afraid you have already walked into trouble, lad.” He hitched his sword belt and pointed to a few of the other men. “However, if you come along with us quiet like, I think we can avoid any unpleasantness.”

Alant’s mind raced. How could he have gotten through the main gates if they were looking for him? For that matter, how would news of what he had done in Hild’alan have reached Mocley ahead of him?

The merchant train that passed me. They must have carried a message about me from the Shapers in Hild’alan! Still, why did the guarders at the main gate not stop me?

Boots scuffed behind him and he realized that now was not the time to let his mind wonder about things other than his current predicament. Without warning, he lunged toward the officer, breaking right past him as the man took a step back to reach for his dagger. Alant ran in the only direction he was sure there were no armed guards—at the wall that surrounded the Chandril’elian. Veering to the side just enough not to slam into the wall itself, he ran faster than he ever remembered running. Fear of men with swords wanting to take him against his will became a great motivator. Once he dared glance over his shoulder, he found that almost a dozen men pursued him. The fact that they wore chainmail shirts and plate shoulder and neck guards, not to mention the swords most held in their hands, caused them to fall many paces behind, however.

Even though it had been some time since Alant had been in the city, this was the one area of town still fresh in his mind. One thing stuck out clear in his mind about this area—he was running directly into a dead end. If he continued into this back section, he would be trapped. Cutting down a side alley, he doubled back and headed in the general direction of Amphitheater Park once more.

Leaving the area next to the Chandril’elian, he continued down side streets and alleyways until, with a look over his shoulder, he noticed he had lost his pursuers. He jogged down an alley that led to one of the gates to Old Town. When the gate neared, he pulled up his hood and slipped in with a group of workmen. The guards, not looking for anyone other than the common ruffian, let Alant pass without incident. From Gate Town, he continued on into the Warehouse District, where he lost himself among the multitudes of shops and other buildings. He became one of tens of hundreds in brown shirts and pants, many of whom wore their own cloaks with the hoods pulled up to protect their faces from the cold wind that blew in off the harbor.

He continued to zigzag his way through the city until he was sure no one pursued him any longer. Glancing around, he realized he was hopelessly lost as well. By the time the sun reached its zenith, his stomach reminded him that he had skipped firstmeal. To his right, he saw an inn that did not look particularly run down. Heading over to it, he pulled his hood off and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Whether it was with a caravan or some other method, the Shapers in Hild’alan had sent word of what he had done. He did not like the idea that people were hunting him. He had done nothing wrong! It was not fair. After all he had been through—all of it being outside of his control—he did not deserve this!

I cannot believe I am this close to getting some answers, and I am to be denied!

He was certain the answers he sought lay with his old instructor. He also knew, however, that he was not free to enter the Chandril’elian.

I will have to find another way to speak to Sier Sarlimac.