Forging Divinity Page 18

  The sorceress adjusted her glasses, and then looked him up and down. “If you can disguise yourself to my satisfaction, I’ll go with you.”

  “I’ll consider that a challenge.” Taelien grinned.

  Taelien looked ridiculous.

  He knew he looked ridiculous, and he seemed to be enjoying it significantly more than Lydia was. His strategy for avoiding notice was being so noticeable that no one would expect that he could be someone that was avoiding the law.

  The garb that Jonan had rented was now accompanied by some new additions – a tall hat accentuated with a plume of blue feathers, a half-length black cloak with golden trim, a half-mask that covered the upper portion of his face, and a new form for the Sae’kes that actually made the sword and scabbard resemble a sword cane. He had purchased black dye and re-colored the leather portion of the scabbard, which was the only part that had been consistently recognizable even when he changed the shape of the metal. The dye stank even after several hours of drying, but he felt the effect was worth it.

  Lydia could barely look at him without bursting into a fit of giggles, so he decided that his strategy was working.

  The Perfect Stranger was a large, single-floor tavern in the Mercantile District. A wooden sign displaying the name over a painted image of a blue eye-mask hung over the entrance, and Taelien could hear the low murmur of the patrons conversing inside as they approached.

  Lydia had taken the time to change into “less conspicuous” garb, and thus she was wearing a brown tunic and pants similar to his own. Her insignia of rank were tucked safely into a pouch on her belt, just in case she needed to show them.

  And her hair was down. It was a glorious cascade of fire, and he often found his eyes wandering to the sheet of color. He wasn’t sure if she had noticed his occasional staring.

  “This should be it,” Taelien said, pointing a thumb at the building.

  Lydia hooked his arm and tugged him toward the entrance. “C’mon, I could use a drink.”

  Taelien chuckled as they approached the entrance. “You’re in an atypically good mood.”

  “Gotta blend in with the local atmosphere,” she said, but the smirk on her face told him that she actually was in a pleasant mood. He wasn’t quite clear on why.

  Lydia pushed the door open, revealing a room longer than it was wide. At least two dozen customers were seated at various tables, and another half-dozen stood near the bar. Taelien glanced side-to-side, taking in the patrons of the tavern. None of them seemed to give either him or Lydia any undue attention, but he felt somewhat unsettled regardless.

  Lydia dragged him toward the front, seeking the bartender as they had planned. When the man behind the bar turned around, she froze.

  So did he.

  The man was tall, about two or three inches taller than Taelien, and a good bit thicker. His rolled-up sleeves revealed that his bulk came from muscle, the kind of muscle you might see on a blacksmith or a lumberjack – or a soldier. His brown hair and neatly-trimmed goatee were flecked with gray. His eyes focused on Lydia for a moment, scrutinizing, and then he tilted his head to the side.

  “What can I get for you two?” he asked, a half-grin cracking across his face.

  “A mead for me,” Lydia said, snapping out of her momentary paralysis. “And what about you, James?”

  She put an odd emphasis on his name, but he got the impression it wasn’t directed at him.

  “Hrm. One of those ‘mead’ drinks, too,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at Lydia. She shook her head at him.

  “Two flagons of mead it is,” the bartender said, spinning around to walk to a series of cups and bottles up against the wall.

  Taelien glanced at Lydia. “Problem?”

  “No,” Lydia whispered. “Maybe. Don’t worry about it.”

  Maybe? That’s not foreboding or anything.

  A cup had appeared in front of Taelien by the time he glanced back toward the bartender.

  “Can I get you two anything else?” the man asked.

  Lydia picked up her cup, “I think my friend had a question for you.”

  “Oh?” The bartender turned toward Taelien. “What sort of question?”

  Taelien suddenly felt very small. This is foolish. What are the odds this man knows anything about Erik Tarren? I’m in the wrong place.

  “I, uh, heard I might be able to find Erik Tarren here,” Taelien stammered, his hand fumbling for his drink.

  The man furrowed his brow. “The scholar? Hrm.” He turned toward Lydia. “Might know a thing about that, but it might cost you.”

  Lydia nodded. “We can pay.”

  We can? Taelien reached down with his left hand to feel for his coin purse – which, of course, he didn’t have. It had been taken along with all of his other belongings when he had been captured, and he had not found anything else along with his sword. He had been borrowing money from Jonan to pay for the additional clothing.

  “Come chat with me around back,” the man offered, waving a hand toward a door behind the bar, and then opening the door and walking through it.

  Lydia grabbed her drink and followed immediately. Taelien took another look around the room, scanning for anyone that looked hostile, but he just saw ordinary-looking customers. The only other people with weapons were a couple soldiers were playing some sort of game of darts involving three separate boards near the opposite side of the room.

  After a quick glance behind him, Taelien picked up his drink and scuttled after Lydia into the back room.

  Once Taelien stepped inside, Taelien scanned the room for threats immediately. Most of what he saw was crates and barrels, presumably containing more alcohol and supplies. A single round, wooden table with a handful of stools around it sat toward the back. Atop it sat a deck of playing cards and a bottle of half-empty alcohol.

  There was a long spear leaning against the back wall, behind the table – the wooden shaft well-concealed among the boxes and barrels. It was a simple weapon, but a weapon nonetheless. Taelien took note of its position, but the bartender didn’t head toward it – he stepped back closer to the pair of them and shut the door tightly.

  “Grab a seat,” he said, “And keep your voices low.”

  Lydia led the way, taking a seat all the way toward the back – facing where they had entered. A good decision, from a strategic standpoint. I wonder if she chose that position deliberately.

  Taelien sat to her left side, awkwardly adjusting his scabbard and hilt to keep them from knocking into the table.

  The bartender walked over toward Lydia a moment later, balling his right hand into a fist. In the moment while Taelien tensed for a fight, the bartender crisply brought the fist to his chest, and then released it. “Surprised to see you here, Lydia. Is he one of ours?”

  Lydia made a fist and raised it to her own chest. It’s a salute, Taelien realized, breathing a sigh of relief. He must be a paladin, like her.

  “No,” Lydia replied, gesturing at Taelien. “But he might be more than that.”

  “I’ve heard a few rumors,” the man nodded. He turned to Taelien, stretching out a hand. “Sorry for being rude. I’m Gerald Mason.”

  Taelien clasped the man’s hand at the wrist. “Taelien Salaris.” The pair gave each other a brief squeeze at the wrist, displaying that they had no hidden weapons in their sleeves, and then released their grips with an exchange of nods.

  Lydia glanced over to Taelien. “You never told me that last name before.”

  “I was your prisoner when we made our introductions. And it isn’t my last name, precisely. It is my birth name, whereas Taelien is a title I took as my surname. I don’t have a family name, since I was adopted.” Taelien took a sip of his drink. What a strange beverage. Tastes almost like honey.

  “Ah, thought so. You must be the one Byron is all flustered about,” Gerald said, raising a hand to his chin.

  Lydia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Gerald lowered his hand in a quieting gesture.
“Keep it down, Hastings. And I can’t talk long – Tom’ll take over the bar, but he’ll come looking for me in a few. Anyway, it’s nothing secret – there are posters up around town.”

  “Posters? You mean like bounties for criminals?” Taelien asked, leaning forward against the table.

  “Not wanted posters,” Gerald said. “They’re a challenge. They say that the ‘bearer of the Taelien is challenged to appear in the Court of the Spear’, or something along those lines. Basically, the prince is offering the ‘Taelien’ a chance to fight to prove his innocence of some sort of crime. I thought it was just a prank at first, but the number of posters indicated a real effort. And then after a day or so, I started hearing that some of them have the royal seal on them – forging that is a high crime.”

  “Yeah, that’s talking about this Taelien,” Lydia said. “I’m not sure how much else I should say.”

  Taelien quirked a brow. “Why not? I take it he’s one of your fellow p-“

  Lydia shoved a finger in Taelien’s face. “Never say that word aloud in this city.”

  Taelien frowned, but he went quiet.

  “We’re in a closed room, but you’re pretty loud, and it’s a bad habit to start spouting information that could get someone killed. And yes, he is. But we’re not supposed to know about each other,” Lydia said.

  “Don’t be too hard on the lad.” Gerald finally took a seat on the opposite side of Lydia. “Look, Salaris – people like Lydia and I are doing work that isn’t exactly legal here. We are not supposed to know about others like us, in case we get caught and interrogated. It’s a big city, and there aren’t many of us – at least I assume there aren’t – so we don’t run into problems like this very often.”

  “The more information we share with one another, the more we could potentially give away if one of us is captured,” Lydia continued the explanation. “So we’re going to be a little vague with each other here.”

  “Aye, but we can talk a bit.” Gerald turned toward Taelien. “Any idea why the crown prince wants you in the arena?”

  Taelien glanced at Lydia and she nodded to him. “I was arrested for carrying a symbol of the Tae’os Pantheon when I first arrived in the city. I was imprisoned in a strange cell in the low palace. I’m still not sure on why.”

  “Calling what you carried a symbol is an understatement. Show him the sword’s real form, Taelien.” Lydia made an expression of wry amusement.

  Taelien nodded, raising the scabbard.

  Revert, he commanded the metal.

  The metal shell retreated from around the pommel jewel, and the crossguard expanded outward, reforming into a pair of silvery wings. Gerald gawked openly for a moment, and then raised his fist to his chest again. Taelien almost responded before realizing that Gerald was saluting the sword, not him.

  “Gods around us...,” Gerald muttered. He turned to Lydia. “If he can change the shape, how do you know that form is the real one, and not the other form?”

  “It was taken away from him for several hours, and it looked like that – the Sae’kes Taelien – during that time. None of my efforts to identify its functions have succeeded. It has powerful sorcery, and I could not even draw it out of the scabbard myself. Taelien here can draw it, and I’ve seen him make several of the runes on the surface glow,” Lydia rattled off.

  “My,” Gerald said, “I never thought I’d actually see...Amazing. Would you be willing to show me the blade?”

  “It’s dangerous,” Taelien warned. “I’ll just draw it out a little.” He stood up, drawing the blade enough to expose the unlit rune of Lissari near the bottom of the blade. To further the demonstration, he took a breath and concentrated, feeling a surge of his essence flood into the weapon. The rune flashed azure, and he snapped the sword back into the sheath.

  “Beautiful,” Gerald said. “Thank you, I never believed I’d see it with my own eyes.”

  “So, Taelien walked into the city with the Sae’kes, and someone in a high place – presumably Byron – panicked. Byron’s coronation is in a few weeks. It’s very plausible that he thought Taelien was sent either to make some sort of political statement, or perhaps to assassinate him during the coronation.” Lydia tapped a finger on the table, apparently thinking.

  “According to rumors, Myros discovered an armed group – presumably assassins - skulking about the high palace a few months ago. They say that’s why the coronation was delayed. I assume the prince and the queen regent are somewhat on edge, given that the new date for the coronation is fast approaching.”

  Taelien scratched at his chin. “I wasn’t hiding the sword, though. I mean, if I showed up in the middle of the coronation and attacked Byron with the Sae’kes, sure, that’d be a pretty serious political statement. But if I was going to do that, wouldn’t I have made some effort to conceal the sword when I came into the city?”

  Gerald shrugged. “If you’re afraid of being killed, you’re not necessarily thinking rationally. Besides, even if you’re not an assassin, I’m sure having the sword of an outlawed religion in the city at the time of your coronation would be disconcerting. Maybe he’s worried about you inciting a rebellion.”

  “Wouldn’t be enough people to do much with that,” Lydia noted. “But you’re right, Byron probably isn’t thinking that way.”

  “Hrm. Why challenge me openly, then? Wouldn’t that just call attention to my presence?”

  Lydia rubbed a hand against her left temple. “That depends on how the challenge is structured. Do you know the details, Gerald?”

  “Says that if he wins, he’ll be given an ambassadorship. Seems like a reasonable tactic – if Taelien loses, he’s removed from the picture, either by being killed or imprisoned. If Taelien wins, he’s made into a public figure, where Byron can assign people to keep an eye on him.”

  Taelien nodded. “Thank you for the insight. Why did you invite us into the back when I first asked about Erik Tarren?” Taelien asked.

  Gerald folded his arms. “I thought you were a part of the organization that Lydia and I belong to. That’s a code name for one of our missions.”

  Lydia seemed visibly taken aback by that. “Really? You mean there actually...?”

  “Oh, Master Tarren isn’t actually here,” Gerald explained. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s just named after him.”

  Taelien’s shoulders slumped. “My family sent me to find him. They said I should look for him here.”

  “Are your parents members of my organization?” Gerald asked.

  Taelien shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. Not the parents that adopted me, at any rate. Perhaps my biological parents were, but I don’t know their names.”

  The bartender took a breath, shaking his head. “If you’re here about Master Tarren, I’m afraid you’re about ten years too late. He used to own this tavern. Members of our organization would meet here, and he’d teach them. This was before my time. When he left the city, he left the tavern to a friend, who in turn passed it off to me. I doubt the old man is still around, sad to say. He was ancient.”

  “It’s possible he’s still alive, given that he most certainly knew how to extend his life with sorcery,” Lydia pointed out. “What’s this mission that’s named after him? Was he involved in it? Can you tell us anything about the mission that could potentially be relevant to Taelien?”

  Yes, anything, please. I need to know.

  Gerald scratched at his chin. “There was a battle many years ago between the armies of General Therin of Whitestone and Vyrek Sul, the Emperor of Xixis. During their final battle, Erik Tarren cast a spell that shattered Vyrek Sul’s weapon – Cessius, the Staff of Dissonance. He later successfully banished Vyrek Sul to another world. Sul’s followers gathered up the pieces of Cessius and hid them away in secret vaults, awaiting their master to return to this world and reclaim his empire.”

  “I’ve heard the story, although I heard that Therin was the one that destroyed the staff. Anyway, the details are largely irrelevant.�
�� Lydia mentioned.

  “This was a Xixian city,” Taelien realized. “You think Cessius is here.”

  “Master Tarren thought a piece of it might be here,” Gerald said. “He never found it, though. After he left the city, our organization decided to pick up where he left off. They named the mission in his honor. I don’t know where Tarren went after he left here, unfortunately.”

  Taelien nodded. “Thank you. You’ve already helped a great deal. More than you know.”

  Cessius, the Staff of Dissonance. The weapon of the Xixian Emperor. Perhaps I’m meant to help finish Erik Tarren’s work.

  “Sorry, kid. Finish the drink - it’s on me. Maybe it’ll help you feel a little better,” Gerald offered. “Lydia, I’ve gotta get back. Pretending you were paying me for information is one thing, but this is taking a little long for that.”

  Lydia nodded and smiled sadly. “It was good to see you, Gerald. We probably won’t be meeting again anytime soon.”

  “Well, here’s hoping we both finish our secret missions soon, so we can go home.” Gerald stood up from the table.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Lydia smiled, raising her cup and bumping it against Taelien’s. Startled, he spilled an inch of liquid and nearly fell backward, triggering a cascade of laughter from the two paladins.

  Paladins. I’ll never understand them.

  Taelien took a drink and stood to leave. “Gerald, before I go. You said you didn’t know where Tarren went, but do you have any idea who might?”

  Gerald shook his head. “He didn’t tell my predecessor, as far as I’m aware. He was close with some of the leaders of my organization, but I don’t think they’d give his location away easily if they had it. Of course, since you’re carrying the sword of the gods around, I take it you’re actually someone important to us. Maybe someone very important, as Lydia was implying earlier. If I had any advice, I’d say you should talk to someone at the top of my chain of command. Maybe Orin Dyr.”