Obsidian Gate - Chapter Ten

* As promised, here's Chapter Ten and happy reading to all. Edits made and ready to go. *

Chapter Ten
Aftermath

~ Earth ~

It was as silent as a tomb. In the aftermath of the deafening explosion, not a single thing moved. Then, finally, motion returned, as Danthias pulled himself up slowly. The elf shook his head slightly, then glanced over to see that Marissa was moving to help some of the patrons that had been injured when the bar blew. Luckily, it was a weekday and few people had been anywhere near the blast. Marissa was bleeding a bit from a wound that appeared to be high up on her leg but didn’t seem overly concerned with it, no doubt allowing her healing ability to do its work. Danthias, noting her casual air, decided she must not be badly hurt and began to assess what other damage had taken place.
Dan felt the ringing in his ears already beginning to recede, as he took in everything around him. Alexandra was tucked safely next to him. Dan had leapt frantically to cover her body with his own and the elf wasn’t regretting that protective instinct one bit, despite the bruises he was sure to have from the impact. His face was contorted in concern, as he reached over and touched the woman’s face, reaching down and feeling for her pulse. To his relief, it was strong and steady. At the elf’s tentative touch, Alex’s midnight blue eyes fluttered open and she reached her hand towards her forehead, groaning, as she struggled to sit up.
“Easy,” Dan said, halting her progress and gently lowering her back down, refusing to let the woman outside the protective shelter of his arms, “Are you alright?”
“Ah’m fine,” Alex said, rubbing the center of her forehead a little, “Mah head jus’ hurts a little’s all.”
When the woman attempted to get up again, Dan restrained her again gently.
“Relax. You could have a mild concussion. Just stay here for a few minutes until help arrives. I think they’ll be here soon.”
Sirens had begun in the distance, as if in response to Dan’s words, and the elf thanked all the gods he knew that someone had been swift to respond. He felt Alex’s heart jump several beats in reaction to his nearness, heard her breath catch in her throat, and smelled her desire, a momentary flash of heat on the wind, sharp and clean as a knife. Then, she was pushing herself to her feet, despite Dan’s renewed protests, with a firmness that stunned the elf. There was a haunted look on the woman’s lovely face that Danthias could not fathom and it hurt Dan to see it there, like a thousand needles piercing his heart. Instinctively, the lycan reached to comfort Alex but, despite his protests, she quickly disengaged from him and fled towards the back of the building to assess the damage and search for more wounded. Dan sensed she was running from more than just concern for other people and was left to ponder what could have gotten into her. In the end, it was a futile effort. The elf watched Alexandra go and felt sad, confused, and lost, though he had no idea why.
All in all, the group was very lucky. Few people had been injured at all and the building was mostly intact. Miraculously, the Sirens’ office and the expensive neon sign that Charlie had spent so much money on were both completely unharmed. The very back of the nightclub had escaped any serious damage and the building itself was still mostly intact but the front was littered with glass and debris, torn open, nothing more than a gaping hole, most of it blasted apart. The beautiful bar itself was almost entirely gone, along with most of its precious stock, as well as the surrounding tables and booths, pieces of which littered the rest of the club.
The blaring sirens were close now. Danthias could see the flashing red and blue lights that signified the police were on their way and he turned to make certain that Sarah and Charlie were okay. Sarah was over by where Charlie had landed, gently touching his forehead. Sarah herself seemed to have come through with a miniscule scratch on her cheek that would not even scar and Dan knew she was searching with her telepathy to see how badly wounded Charlie was. The elf was instantly worried at the man's appearance. Charlie had landed hard and badly, twisted onto his side where he had been thrown into a large grouping of chairs. These had collapsed under the force of his landing and were laying in splinters all around him. Charlie’s arm was twisted up at a severe angle above his head and he was not moving.
“I think he is alive but I can not find a pulse,” Sarah said, but when Dan and Al made a move to join her, worried looks on their faces, the telepath shooed them away, saying, “Make certain there are no other injured and I will attend to him.”
Dan and Al moved back, giving Sarah some room as she began CPR on Charlie, checking every so often for his pulse. Her eyes were full of concern but she did not let her inner panic affect her reactions. She remained calm and collected, forcing the bartender to breathe and keeping him intact, while Danthias and Alexandra paced restlessly around the bar. The sirens finally stopped and what seemed like an endless stream of people entered the bar. Landen and O’Brian were the first, having made the scene within ten minutes of the bomb. O’Brian immediately tried to rush to Charlie’s side and aid his old friend, but the EMT’s that he and Landen had summoned as soon as the call went over the radio beat them to the punch, moving Sarah out of the way so they could treat Charlie’s wounds.
O’Brian, running a frustrated hand through his dark hair headed over to where Dan, Al, Marissa, and Sarah were gathered. It was tough avoiding the inevitable too large crowd of people that had swarmed the place but the Detective parted the crowd with a flash of the grim look on his face. Landen wasn't far behind, concern written on every feature and all trace of his usual teasing gone.
“Are you all okay?” O'Brian asked immediately.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Alex replied, “How’s everyone else?”
“The damn EMT’s aren’t talkin’ right now but I guess they’ll spill when they’re done doin’ their job,” O’Brian said, tense, “What the Hell happened?”
“It was a molotov cocktail,” Sarah said, “Someone tossed it through the window closest to the bar.”
"Molotovs don't explode like that," O'Brian mused out loud, "Must've thrown something else at the same time."
“Did you see anyone?” Landen asked.
“No, we were all talking,” Sarah replied, sighing in frustration, “Trying to figure out the best way to help Danthias here get home.”
O’Brian glanced over Dan’s direction.
“You catch a whiff of anybody?”
“Truthfully, no. I knew something was wrong when I heard the bottle fly at the window but that’s about all the warning we got.”
“That’s just weird,” Landen commented, “I thought you guys were supposed to have awesome sniffers.”
“Most lycans do,” Marissa replied, arms crossed, as she frowned in thought, “The fact we didn’t know they were comin’ until it was too late means they probably covered up their scent somehow.”
“Makes me wonder who the real target of this little lesson was,” Dan said, though, in truth, he was only teasing. He knew exactly who this little demonstration had been aimed at.
As the group pondered the situation, one of the EMT’s came by, rolling Charlie gently past on a gurney. The man looked pale and shaken but was awake, alive, and alert. Immediately the entire group moved, as if to converge on the gurney but the EMT, a woman who looked like she knew her job and knew it well, put out a hand to stop them.
“Mr. Hutton is going to be just fine,” she said crisply, “We managed to revive him but his face and chest are pretty tore up from glass shards. He took a nasty knock on the head, he has a couple of deep cuts that’re going to need stitches, and his left arm’s severely sprained. He’s in a bit of pain right now and I have him somewhat sedated. We’re taking him to Saint Michael’s. If one of you officers would care to ride along, I’m sure we can arrange for you to question him, as soon as he’s in a condition to entertain company, but right now, he is not going to be able to tell you anything.”
O’Brian swore gently, then nodded.
“What about his things, his business, healing expenses?” Danthias inquired.
“Mr. Hutton assured us he has every insurance under the sun,” the woman replied, kindly, “He should be well taken care of and everything that was lost here can be replaced when he’s well.”
“Anyone else injured?” Landen asked, glancing around.
“Nothing more than a few cuts and bruises,” the woman replied, “Now, if you gentlemen’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get Mr. Hutton here to the hospital. Whoever’s coming needs to come now.”
O’Brian glanced over at Landen.
“I’ll go. You stay an’ take whatever statements anyone’ll give,” he said, “I’ll get Charlie’s statement when he wakes up an’ help you with the paperwork later.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Landen nodded, running his hands through his hair in a tired, frustrated gesture, “Jus’ take care o’ him, alright?”
O’Brian nodded and was already making his way through the crowd when Alexandra turned to follow.
“Hermana,” she said to Sarah, “Ah need you an’ Marissa t’get in touch wit’ everybody. Ah’m gonna go wit’ Charlie an’ make sure no one comes after him at de hospital. You get Dan here t’Linn an’ Jenny’s stat an’ see if Marissa’ll stick around t’keep an’ eye on things an’ help with some o’ de clean up.”
“It will not be a problem,” Sarah replied, as Marissa, who was standing nearby, just nodded.
Danthias wanted to go with Alex, as she piled into the ambulance with Charlie, but she stopped him gently with a hand.
“It’s alright, sugah,” she said, “Charlie an’ I’re jus’ goin’ for a ride. Marissa’s gonna stay here an’ watch over de place f’Charlie but Ah need y’all t’go wit’ Sarah. She’s gonna take y’all t’meet up wit’ some more o’ our team. We need t’get you home. It ain’t safe f’y’all here. Now leave Charlie t’me an’ the rest t’the cops. It’s ‘dere job.”
Before Danthias could even give Alexandra a look showing her how much he trusted cops or even protest, she was gone, that same sad, lost expression on her face that had so touched and hurt Dan before. He had no idea what the healer woman had meant by insurance or what exactly the Sirens had set up when he hadn’t been paying attention but he knew that Charlie was hurt, his livelihood threatened, and Alexandra was sad and worried. The worst part was that he couldn’t escape the sensation, no matter how vague and absurd, that all three were somehow, at least in some small part, his fault. There was also nothing he could do about any of them right now and that was what hurt the most of all. Danthias could only hope and pray everyone knew what they were doing and go along with them.
As he turned, he saw that there were several other people sitting with the EMT’s and police that had stayed behind. They were cut, scared, and shaken, but otherwise fine. There had been no deaths and, for that, all were grateful. The whole scene had shaken Dan badly for some reason that he just could not explain. Rushing up the stairs, Dan quickly donned his armor and gathered up his haversack, where he had stashed his bow and other weapons. After the discussion he had had with Alex about weapons in this world, he had no desire to be caught unarmed but also wanted to keep a low profile. No sense in getting arrested again for illegal possession of weapons. He finally came to stand in front of Sarah, utterly bemused, bewildered, befuddled, and a bit hurt inside.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked gently, the look on Alex’s face haunting him, “What’s going on?”
Sarah was watching where her sister had been a moment before, a look on her face that said she knew something was wrong and was worried. Dan knew in an instant that she had sensed what Danthias had as well and that she was anxious about it too. The elf watched her hide the expression from him, literally wipe it off her face, as she turned to him, and that scared Dan even more.
“Do not be ridiculous, Danthias,” she said gently, “You have done nothing wrong but the situation has become a bit more complicated and there is no time to explain here. We will have to talk as we go along. Follow me.”
“Are we going in one of those automobile things?” Dan asked nervously.
“Yes,” Sarah replied, unblinking, as she moved towards the front of the nightclub.
“Must we?” Dan inquired, sighing.
Few things terrified the elf more than those cursed death machines and, when Sarah gave a slight nod, Dan sighed melodramatically, resigned himself to his fate, and allowed the woman to lead him to her car, flashing lights and chaos surrounding them the whole way.
There were more people swarming in and around Charlie’s than there should have been. Dan was glad to get away from the ambulances, police cars, sirens, lights, EMT’s, officers, trembling witnesses, and hapless gawkers that seemed to invade the place. The elf had to fight his intense dislike of crowds, which nearly suffocated him, as they wormed their way under the yellow police tape and out into the calmer atmosphere of the afternoon light. Though things seemed more mellow the farther behind they left Charlie’s, the elf was still dreading the ride to come.
Sarah’s vehicle turned out to be a sturdy red four-door thing called a Jeep Grand Cherokee, which was parked in the small, fenced in parking lot across the street from Charlie’s. Danthias assumed what he had come to call “the safe position,” hands latched onto the handle above the passenger side door, as soon as he was belted in. In the end, he had decided this was marginally better than sprouting his claws and sinking them into that thing Marissa had called a dashboard. Somehow, he sensed that would be very rude. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Dan glanced over at Sarah.
“So where are we going again and why?” he asked, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was in his throat.
“Alex and I contacted several friends of ours who work for our agency last night, when we got back from the jailhouse,” Sarah replied, “I also contacted them again just now, via telepathy. We have all agreed to help you find a way home but we also have agreed that Charlie’s is no longer safe for you. Until the person or persons who have done this are caught and you are safely home, it is better if you stay with us, where you will be less likely to be found.”
“Okay, so you ladies are going to help me find my way home and give me a place to lay low until these guys are caught,” Dan said, “It sounds like a good plan but how’re you going to accomplish that?”
“You have already told us that the portal that sent you here is magical in nature,” Sarah said, “and that it seems to be highly unstable. It also sounds like it may be the only way back to your world and, with all this recent trouble, getting you home is even more important. Alex, Marissa, and I are willing to open up our homes to you, as will the rest of the group, once they get to know you, but we will need help in locating the portal.”
“How are we going to send me home when we don’t even know how to begin finding the portal?” Dan asked.
“Marissa, Alex, and I know little about the ways of magic, however, we have two people who are very knowledgeable about the arcane,” Sarah replied, “One is an expert on magic and the occult and the other is the most skilled person I have ever seen with a computer. If anyone can help you, they can.”
“What’s a computer?” Dan asked, “I understand the meaning of the word, thanks to you, but what’s its function?”
“It is an electronic device for gathering and storing information,” Sarah replied, “You will understand better, once you have been shown what it is and what it does.”
“Okay but how is this computer thing supposed to help?”
“There are many programs for analyzing things,” Sarah replied, “No doubt our computer expert will have one that can analyze magical signatures. We will probably journey to where you first appeared in New York and see if we can pick up any magical vibrations. After that, we can analyze it using the computer and try to find other places where similar magical vibrations have occurred. It may be we can locate this portal.”
“Sounds complicated,” Danthias said, sighing.
“It is but we will explain it better as we go along,” Sarah replied.
For a few moments, there was only silence, then Sarah glanced over at Danthias, sensing his deep distress.
“What is really bothering you?” she demanded, “I can see something flitting across the surface of your thoughts that troubles you but I do not wish to pry into it uninvited. Please, tell me what is wrong.”
Her voice sounded so sincere that Danthias finally decided to just talk. “What’s bothering your sister? One minute she was fine, considering what just happened, and the next, she seemed so distant, scared. It hurt me to see it.”
“You care for her,” Sarah said softly, stealing a quick glance at the elf’s stricken face, kindness illuminating her gentle features.
“Very much, though I’ll be damned if I could explain it. I know she’s attracted to me. I can feel it. But she just suddenly closed off. I don’t understand it. Am I not communicating effectively?”
“No, your verbal skills are excellent,” Sarah replied, smiling a little.
“Thanks to you,”
“Do not be too quick to give me all the credit, Danthias. I only gave you the information you needed and accelerated the process that had already begun in your own mind. Your language skills are amazing and you would have figured it out yourself, given enough time. You have learned remarkably fast, even given the circumstances under which you were taught.”
“Then, what is it?”
“My sister has always been a very free spirit. She flirts and teases. That is just her way but something...very bad happened to her about six months ago. She has been more cautious, guarded, closed off, ever since. I have sensed her interest in you as well but I think that things are happening very fast and that frightens my sister. Ever since that horrible event six months ago, she's started running away anytime a man tries to get close to her.”
“Why?” Dan asked, “What happened?”
“Those answers are not mine to give, though I may choose to at a later date if Alex does not give them willingly,” Sarah replied, “Give her and yourself time. Focus on trying to discover what has become of that portal. Let us attempt to see if we can get you home before you worry about such things.”
“You’re probably right,” Dan said, “I just hate to see her in pain.”
“Me too, Dan,” Sarah said, a sad look on her face, “Me too.”

2.

~ Solaris ~

Sylus Stryfe glanced up warily at his destination and felt a faint twinge of uneasiness settle upon him. The imposing edifice of the structure he proposed to enter did not daunt him so much as the implications of what was inside. One did not simply stroll into the head church of Mordus without at least some precaution. Only those who were fools or suicidal would assume those walls held anything but death and Sylus was neither.
The sun rode low in its xenith and shone down lazily on the city of Perkyn, Freeport. The view from the high hill in the center of the main street that would eventually lead through the city overlooked the harbor and that view was surely one of Solaris’s finest. The sunlight danced off the waters of the capital city’s port, little diamonds dancing on top of the waves, undulating crests of azure and pearl, all caught in the fiery blaze that was the dying sun’s last light. Boats of all sizes with white sails all flying the emblem of Freeport, the blue flag with the tan ship and leaping golden fish on it, dotted the harbor, bringing in the valuable goods that Freeport used to trade with the outside world. The priest could see the small black dots of fishermen pulling in nets and waving to their fellow tradesmen, as they passed, just another day in the city. They were all thrown into shadow, little black shades upon the blazing water.
If Sylus closed his eyes, he could smell the salt and spices on the air, scents that calmed him, reminded him with shocking clarity of the port town in which he had been born and mostly raised, Brighton, in the country of Coriander. Though that place was much farther north, the distant cry of merchants hawking their wares in the streets and people going about their business was balm to Sylus’s stained soul. Wondering for the thousandth time what he was doing here, the man headed straight for the tall, black building, made of stone and mortar, which rested to the westernmost extreme of the town’s harbor.
The road he was on was paved, made of plain, gray cobblestone and even that seemed to glitter in the light as it wound its way through a grassy, emerald field dotted with trees on either side. This gave way to stones of a more bluish color laid out in concentric, circular patterns as he approached the city proper and he stopped only long enough to state his business to the guards, citing visiting relatives as his reason for entering the city. Rodolfo followed quietly at his master’s heels, carrying all the worldly goods Sylus had thought they would need on their travels. He remained silent but the priest had no doubt that the nezumi would just as soon slit his throat as carry the belongings any farther.
After making sure that the town guard believed his story, the priest was allowed to pass into the city and ducked quickly beneath the red and black tiled awnings of the city’s many buildings. Blue stone, white stucco, and tiles of red and black swam past Sylus in a wave of impatience, as did the many interesting folk of all races, dressed in clothes from all over the world. No doubt, with the weather improving and promising to stay warm, Perkyn would be bursting to the brim with merchants and traders from all over, desperate to make their fortune. Sylus was glad the busy season was still a couple of weeks off.
The priest stopped only once before hailing a carriage to take him out towards the harbor and his destination. He paused briefly in a courtyard filled with fountains that flanked the main street, peering every which way at centaurs, satyrs, nymphs, and dryads, all captured perfectly in stone and emitting their liquid charges without complaint into the basins at their feet. Sitting on the lip of a fountain that showed a great minotaur in all its savage glory raising hands full of enormous axe to the sky, bellowing his triumph, Sylus quickly adjusted the sandals on his feet and the folds of his plain brown robes. His simple belt rope was easy to right and, with his nondescript looks, the priest hoped he resembled nothing more than one of those country friars who followed what they called the One True God on his way to see the country.
The required carriage came by remarkably fast, a sleek, tan colored affair pulled by a team of black stallions. The driver was surprised and leery at the man’s destination but spoke no word against it. He merely accepted Sylus’s gold and bade he and Rodolfo to alight into the carriage. After aiding the nezumi to get himself, his master, and their belongings settled, the man was up in his seat and the carriage was fairly flying through the streets. It did not take long for the harbor to come into view, with its sparkling water, as well as the small, rocky peninsula that jutted out at the westernmost edge of it. Far out on that peninsula, braving the rocky waves, was a lighthouse made of pure, black stone, its beacon light strong and sure even after centuries of use. Before it was the destination of Sylus’s journey and also the source of his disquiet.
Sylus was only too glad to see the back of the horseman’s carriage. The driver would come no farther than the end of the peninsula it seemed and bade them goodbye as soon as was polite to do so. The priest barely registered his going, however, nor saw how he made a sign against the evil eye as he fled. Sylus merely turned to Rodolfo and had the nezumi gather up their belongings from where the coachman had left them. Then, Rodolfo struggling along behind him with the bags, Sylus came to stand in front of the Church of the Silent Blade, the head church of Mordus.
It towered over everything on the tiny peninsula, which was no more than half a mile wide, rising fully five stories into the air. The façade was made of the same black stone as the lighthouse near the cliffs at the end of the road. Balconies, doors that lead out onto them, and little windows of some dark reddish glass almost the color of dried blood dotted the tower at every level and Sylus could see arrow slits and murder holes built into every crevice that would hold them. The door itself was a yawning portcullis of black wrought iron. Folks could call this a church if they wanted to but Sylus knew it for what it really was, a fortress, and one stop on the long road to Hell.
The whole place was alit with torches and candles like the maw of some grinning demon. Sylus forced his feet to move, one in front of the other, until he was standing right before the door to the demon’s mouth. Ignoring the dark shadows that had begun to engulf the dark tower’s edifice, Sylus reached up and clanged the immense knocker that hung on the door three times in rapid succession. He then paused for a count of three and banged three more times, then repeated once more, as he had been taught.
There was an eerie silence, as the echoes of his knock, a last deafening peal, faded away into the recesses of the church and Sylus contented himself with waiting on the doorstep with Rodolfo, half hoping the door never opened at all.
A slot in the door, which was almost exactly eye level with Sylus, opened. A pair of hard, dark eyes peered out, scanning what there was to see, and fixed glaringly upon the priest.
“What is your business here?” the man demanded, his voice every bit as cold and cruel as his eyes.
“Tell Cabal that his cousin is here to see him,” Sylus said.
“Wait here,” the man snarled and, before Sylus could so much as say a word, he was gone.
Sylus did not have to wait long. The man returned within five minutes, the door opening to reveal a dimly lit hall.
“Deathdealer Cabal is expecting you,” he said, motioning the priest inside.
Somehow, the small smile the man gave Sylus was all the more cold because it did not reach his eyes, no more than a thinly veiled mask. Sylus followed the young man willingly enough, however, Rodolfo cringing on his heels. The man had a deadly quiet stride and his frame and features were covered, only his eyes and corded arms visible from within the black cloth he wore. Definitely not someone to cross, though Sylus pegged him for mid-level clergy at best. He was far too obvious. The scarier members of Mordus's clergy could kill so swiftly that their victim was often dead before they even felt the wound that had killed them.
Sylus made it a point to keep an eye on the man in front of him, while still observing his surroundings. It wasn’t often a priest of Salazar was allowed inside the inner sanctum of the Church of Mordus as anything but a sacrifice.
The church suited both the god to whom it was dedicated and the worshippers that called it home perfectly. It was more of a fortress than a Church, built in the open, unlike Sylus’s church, which was run in secrecy. Smooth, polished gray/black stone walls, high, arched ceilings, and very solid oak floors were on all sides, black tapestries with scenes of death and murder sewn on them in crimson, silver, and gold thread lining the walls. Sylus caught a few glimpses of stone statues of Mordus, all cruel eyes and bloody hands, but caught little else, as the man in black ahead of him sped a little and the priest had to rush to keep up with him. The man turned a corner and lead Sylus straight into a small, spartan chamber that could only belong to his cousin, Cabal.
The man himself was seated calmly at a desk, his dark red eyes regarding Sylus with the barely disguised contempt the priest had come to expect. To his surprise, Cabal had actually had another chair brought in for him. Sylus made his way cautiously to where the other priest was seated, as the man that had brought him knelt before Cabal and spoke a few quiet words that Sylus could not hear. Cabal nodded at him and the other priest disappeared. With his escort gone, Sylus waited patiently for Cabal to speak.
He did not have to wait long.
“So, you’ve finally arrived, have you?” Cabal demanded.
It did not take a genius to see that he was irritated, barely containing a deep rage. It was in the agitated drumming of his abnormally long nails on his desk, the slight flush of his pale face, and the dark flash of his intense eyes.
“Good,” Sylus thought, “Maybe my point sunk in.”
Unable to suppress a smirk, the priest bowed his head cheerfully and replied,
“I never said I wouldn’t come, dear cousin, just that I didn’t much care for the manner in which your invitation was delivered.”
“It wasn’t an invitation,” Cabal said, eyes connecting firmly with Sylus’s, “Sit.”
For a moment, the priest of Salazar remained standing, blatantly ignoring Cabal’s curt gesture towards the chair.
“And, as I believe I told your subordinate, I am not a dog to be called to heel,” Sylus said, “I am a High Priest of my Church and I have every bit as much rank as you do, in my own right. If you wish to bargain with me, dear cousin, it will be as an equal, not as a master to his cur!”
Cabal’s lip curled in an ugly grimace of barely contained hate and he glared at Sylus, incredulous, not trusting himself to speak. When he finally did reply, it was through gritted teeth.
“I think you forget who you’re speaking to,” he growled, flashing canine teeth almost long enough to be fangs.
“Come now, Cabal, just because we’re both a couple of unscrupulous, evil bastards doesn’t mean we can’t be civilized,” Sylus replied jovially.
Cabal merely glared at the other priest all the harder, until Sylus finally sighed in irritation.
“I see your sense of humor has not improved,” he muttered.
“Nor, you will find, has my tolerance for games or my patience,” Cabal said pointedly.
“Oh, very well,” Sylus sighed, “I merely wanted to make sure we’d reached an understanding.”
“You’ve made your point, now will you please sit the hell down?” Cabal snapped.
“Certainly, my dear cousin.”
Sylus settled himself on the chair in a flourish of robes, ignoring Rodolfo who stood in the corner wringing his pawed hands. The priest allowed himself a small moment to bask in the satisfaction of having won this first round, then forced his brain back to business.
“Now, tell me, what’s so important that you would have your minions whisk me away in the dead of night?” Sylus asked, folding his hands.
“I’ve had a vision.”
“Oh?”
Sylus’s head perked up, as he poured himself a glass of the wine Cabal had set out for them. Whatever else you could say about the man, he cut to the chase, and what he had said so far was intriguing. Ears perked, Sylus listened.
“There’s a portal created by shadow magic somewhere in the Unicorn Forest,” Cabal began, “It leads to another world, one rich in technology and weapons, the kind of sophistication we could never even dream of.”
Sylus froze, his attention fully caught, as Cabal continued.
“I know for a fact the Nes’reenans are also looking for this portal. One of their Order probably opened it long ago, trying to recreate the great portals that brought our ancestors here in the Second Age. I’d like to find this thing before they do.”
“What part do you expect me to play in this?” Sylus demanded.
“Simple. I have great power but little skill in Divination,” Cabal replied, “I want you to find me that portal and then you and I are going to get all the information we can on it.”
“To what purpose?”
“We’re going through that portal, you and I, to see what there is to see,” came the reply.
“I admit, you propose an intriguing offer but what’s in it for me?” Sylus said, “If I’m to put my considerable resources to work for you, not to mention put myself at potentially great risk, what am I and my Church going to get out of it?”
“The possibilities of weapons, technologies, and knowledge you and yours could gain by this are endless. This portal could very well lead to the ancient world from which most of our ancestors sprung. Think about that for a moment. And, there’s also one thing in particular that will make it all worthwhile to you.”
“Oh? And what, pray tell, would that be?”
“I happen to know for a fact that Danthias Silverbow is on the world on the other side of the portal right now.”
Sylus sat straight up, eyes glistening. The sound of that name was like a gunshot and Cabal found he had the priest’s full attention.
“We will find that portal, walk through to the other side and, while you and I explore the limitless potential of this new world and plunder its technologies, we will hunt down and destroy your Church’s greatest enemy,” Cabal was saying, “Danthias Silverbow will lie dead at your feet.”
“Technologies and weapons aside, I think I might accompany you just for that alone, dear cousin,” Sylus replied, “Salazar would heap no ends of rewards upon the one who could end that miserable elf’s life.”
“Do we have an accord?” Cabal asked, pouring himself a glass of wine and holding it out towards Sylus.
“We do indeed,” Sylus replied and, without hesitation, he lifted his glass and he and his cousin toasted their new fiendish enterprise.

3.

Selunday, 23rd of Springtide, Continent of Lucresia, Country of Venule, City of Branneth

It was quiet in the courtroom. Quiet enough that Lady Anya de Wynter felt a slight tinge of nerves, as she waited patiently with her lawyer for the closing arguments to finish. In the three days since Anya had been arrested word had gotten around rather quickly about the scandalous trial. People from all corners of Venule and all walks of life had crowded into every crevice of the courtroom to watch the events unfold, to hear the Lady take the stand in her own defense. Now, all that was left was to hear the closing arguments and to let the jury decide her fate. It was widely known that Lady Anya was beloved by the common people but despised by all the nobility, as if she were some foul, loathsome thing crawling beneath their shoes. Anya could feel their hatred, palpable enough that they had braved the unnatural chill that had settled over the courtroom to see her get her just rewards. Anya reigned in her abilities as best she could, showing only the icy calm face of the Lady of Winter, lest anyone suspect she was nervous, or that she was the source of the unnatural cold.
The prosecutor, Guisseppe Gildarin, was one of the best the court system could afford and he was very shrewd. He’d very neatly taken her through the questions that had her state her name, occupation, date of birth, and place of residence for the court records before going for the jugular. Anya was pretty sure he hadn’t bought half her story but she cared little whether or not Gildarin thought she was lying. It was the jury she was worried about, though, truthfully, she would have enjoyed dispatching him as easily as she had the rats in her cell.
The man’s summation and that of her lawyer’s seemed to take forever. Anya was on pins and needles until the jury was finally dispersed by Judge Sheverton to begin their deliberations. Anya noted, not without some amount of bitterness, that they certainly hadn’t been dismissed until they had pried into almost every intimate detail of her rocky marriage to the late Percival Erron Weatherton, so called Lord Weatherton because he had married Anya whose family was titled.
Twenty minutes later, the jury filed sedately back in, resuming their places without a word or glance to betray their thoughts. If nothing else they were doing their job well, Anya thought.
The courtroom, if it were at all possible, grew even more quiet, as the jury finally readied themselves. After a few moments, the judge regarded the jury soberly.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Sheverton asked.
“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman, a simple young tailor, replied.
The bailiff took the slim slip of paper which held Anya’s future from the man and passed it to the judge. Sheverton read the note briefly, then nodded for the bailiff to return the paper to the foreman. He then faced Anya and spoke very soberly.
“The defendant will please rise and face the jury while the verdict is read.”
Lady de Wynter rose calmly, thanking her breeding that allowed her to do so without trembling, and faced the twelve people who were about to decide her fate. Judge Sheverton gave them a single nod and the foreman stood, facing Anya squarely.
“In the matter of the Republic of Venule versus Lady Anya Merridon Snow de Wynter, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty and further rule the death of her husband, Lord Percival Erron Weatherton, accidental, and all titles accorded to the Lady by either inheritance or marriage should not be denied her.”
There was a collective sigh throughout the courtroom and Anya let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, as Judge Sheverton began to speak.
“So be it. By the laws of the free Republic of Venule, Lady de Wynter, you are free to go.”
As the gavel fell and the court was adjourned, Anya could not help but smile. She gave the hand of her lawyer a firm shake, promising herself to see to it that the man was immediately promoted within the Church of Nes’reena. He had done her a great service.
“Your efforts will not go unrewarded,” she said, knowing full well that actually mentioning the Church out loud was the quickest way to get herself a one way ticket to the chopping block. The lawyer, Atherton, was quick to read between the lines and simply nodded, shaking her hand and smiling back.
“Fare you well, My Lady,” he replied, though Anya could read “Shadowveil” in his tone, plain as day.
As she finished bidding adieu to her canny lawyer, Lady de Wynter turned to leave and noticed another person approaching her through the crowd. She smiled warmly at his approach and held out a hand to him, her features softening just a little.
“Andarius,” she greeted him warmly, “I knew you would come through for me.”
Sir Andarius Kilcannon Valerius took the hand she offered and knelt briefly, kissing her ring solemnly.
“My Lady,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, and deep, “I’m glad your faith in me wasn’t misplaced. It seems, by a stroke of marvelous luck, my messages got through in time for you to avoid a most gruesome fate.”
“You do have a way with words, my friend,” Anya said, motioning for him to rise, “Come.”
Andarius complied instantly, falling just slightly behind and to Anya’s left, becoming a tall, dark shadow at the Lady’s side. Anya did not need to see him to know that Andarius walked with his hands clasped behind him at the wrists, touching his dark purple leather bracers and noticing everything. It was, however, a pity she couldn’t observe him at that angle. Andarius Kilcannon Valerius was, by and large, an impressive man. He was as tall as she, six foot four, and towered over those around him, sporting a very broad chest and shoulders and powerfully muscled arms, which he had toned through countless hours of hard work. Andarius appeared to be in his mid-twenties with a soft, somewhat effeminate facial structure, more pretty than handsome, and fathomless, vaguely almond shaped eyes that seemed to search everything. Anya could never decide whether they were lilac, lavender, or violet, but they were stunning, as were his high cheekbones and full lips. The gods had seen fit to give Andarius long, luxurious chestnut/auburn hair, which hung all the way to his shoulder blades in subtle waves and he had the kind of handsome, porcelain features one would expect on a knight in some epic tale.
Right now Andarius was wearing a simple, purple silk shirt to emphasize the unusual color of his eyes, pants a few shades darker, and well-worn black leather boots that gained him maybe a quarter of an inch in height. His hair was pulled back by a black leather thong into a single ponytail, all gold and auburn highlights, glinting in the light. He was good looking enough to give most women pleasant daydreams but it wasn’t his looks that had drawn Anya to him, to place him as her bodyguard. It was his unswerving loyalty. That and Anya had sensed somehow that he was not fully human, though the man himself seemed to have no clue as to his own heritage.
“Everything is proceeding according to plan, Milady,” Andarius informed her quietly.
This brought another smile to Anya’s face, this one colder, more satisfactory. If all continued to go well, the Most High would soon be helping her to hatch her schemes.
“I trust you’ve been handling my affairs?” Anya inquired.
“To the letter of your instructions, Milady,” Andarius replied, “Results should be forthcoming within a fortnight.”
“Excellent,” Lady de Wynter said, “Seek out others of your Order. I want all precautions taken and no surprises.”
“As you wish, Milady,” Andarius replied, inclining his head slightly.
Both knew that, though Andarius was a fully inducted Knight of the Republic of Venule, that was not the Order to which Anya had referred.
The pair had been slowly making their way out of the courtroom, when a very blustered and pompous form made his way towards them. Lord Karsis, dark hair and eyes flashing in his wrath, stormed slowly over to where Andarius and Anya stood, his many gaudily jeweled rings and necklaces clanging and glinting just over his rich, dark green doublet. Andarius moved subtly between them, casually off to the side so as not to attract notice.
“Lady de Wynter!” Karsis bellowed, “Do you really think you’re just going to walk out of here, after what you did?”
“Perhaps your end of the courtroom had bad acoustics,” Anya shot icily, “I’ve just been cleared of all charges.”
“Bribed the jury, no doubt!” Karsis snapped.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t provide you and your friends with the prerequisite beheading for your entertainment, however, since it was my head that would’ve been on the chopping block, you must forgive me for being a bit reluctant,” Anya quipped.
“Keep it up, you haughty, arrogant bitch!” Karsis snapped, “One day your acid tongue, slick lawyers, and personal assassin won’t save you!”
There was a shocked silence in the courtroom and Andarius’s hand was instantly at the ebony and obsidian hilt of the wicked looking sword at his side. It hung from an ordinary black leather belt but the ornate onyx and obsidian inlay on the sword’s scabbard said that if that blade cleared its sheath, all bejeweled with amethysts, someone was going to die.
“Apologize,” Andarius hissed, his voice full of quiet menace, as he stared daggers at Karsis, “Beg My Lady’s forgiveness or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”
The entire courtroom froze. The bailiffs readied to move into action but wondered, heavily, if they would be able to get there in time should this confrontation escalate. Then, Lady Anya spoke, one word echoing through the courtroom.
“Andarius,” she said, her hand reaching out to stay his, then added quietly, “Do not stain a worthy blade with fool’s blood. Come.”
With that, Anya simply turned, expecting Andarius to follow. He paused only long enough to give Lord Karsis a look that said, plainly, orders or no orders, there would eventually be blood between them. Then, he turned and instantly became Anya’s obedient shadow again.
Once they were outside, Anya hailed her driver, Marten, happy to see that he had shown up with her carriage, more of Andarius's careful planning. The black carriage with the crowned white swan that was her family crest made Lady de Wynter’s heart glad. The sun was shining, not a bonus, but fair weather would make for fair traveling.
“It’s so good to have you back, Mum,” Marten gushed, as he hopped down to assist in opening the carriage, “We’ve all missed you so; Been worried sick, we ‘ave.”
“Thank you, Marten,” Anya said, as Andarius took her hand to help her into the carriage, “Please take us home; There’s much to be done.”
Marten’s blue eyes teared up in happiness and he rearranged his short, gray hair neatly, as he pulled his sixty-two year old frame into the driver’s seat. Andarius secured Anya in the carriage and slid inside himself, tapping the side of the carriage for Marten to begin their journey.
For the longest time, as they sped through Branneth and on towards Wyntersgate, the de Wynter family home, Anya and Andarius did not speak. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Andarius broke the silence.
“He knows.”
“Karsis?” Anya replied.
Andarius nodded.
“About us?”
“Among other things. I think he’s dangerous, Milady, and I know he won’t rest ‘til he sees you dead.”
“I can’t afford a thorn in my side,” Anya said, “Too many plans have been laid. I trust you to make certain this thorn’s sting isn’t deep.”
“It shan’t even scratch you, Milady,” Andarius replied, a ghost of a smile playing across his face.
After that, the two of them lapsed gently into companionable silence, as the carriage rode on, pulling them both closer to home.