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Letters on Rebellion
Posted: 21 Mar 2005 09:11 AM |
Edrik did not think of his neighbor as a morning person. However, he heard him knocking about and groaning, and here he was at daybreak, drinking hot tea from a small clay mug and pouring thick fresh cream over a slice of old bread to soften it. He was scrubbed and dressed, not shabby as he frequently was in the early mornings. He wore a good robe dyed the color of saffron, and soft shoes stitched together well, and left a satchel with Cale the innkeeper for safekeeping.
Edrik nodded to his neighbor, who mashed up his bread with a spoon and poured in some hot tea, making a proper breakfast for himself. Shouldn’t want to chew anything, he thought. It was food for an invalid. But the breakfast was suitable in a way, for Salt was a milksop from start to finish. Anyone who had adventured with him would agree, wouldn’t they?
“They’re expecting me bright and early at the Library, La Sapeinza,” Salt said. “As soon as they are awake and walking about, I’m going to be there…” Glancing to Cale, he demurred. Then continuing sotto voce, he said “What we discussed, in Brandibuck Vale, the prophecy, and what She said to us…” Salt traced the letter “B” on the tabletop with some subtlety, referring to their companion at the Halfling-run tavern in that settlement. “The Heart of Aristi,”he whispered. “I must know who made that prophecy, and when. It could show us the way that…She might fulfill it.”
“I only hope that things have not gotten so bad that…” and now Salt traced a “V” on the table surface, “…that He has not begun to correct the history of the city to match His current vision. I hope that the histories interred at La Sapienza can be trusted.”
He put the bowl to his lips and sucked down its contents. Then he finished the tea, and moved to recover his bag from Cale Adams. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Mornings at the Unicorn
Posted: 22 Mar 2005 07:49 PM |
Edrik raised an eyebrow as a well-groomed Salt took a seat across from him at their regular table. The change was so dramatic from the unshaven and surly breakfast partner he was used to that he could not help but bark a laugh.
“Salt!” Edrik said through his chuckle, “is there some lass in your life you have kept a secret of?”
“They’re expecting me bright and early at the Library, La Sapeinza,” Salt had said by way of explanation, and Edrik listened as his friend spoke of his plans for the morning. When Salt sketched the “B” on the tabletop and mentioned the artifact that had been shown to them, Edrik felt a chill take hold of him.
Edrik had been shocked to learn the priestess lived despite the rumors to the contrary, and her words had proven unsettling, though they supported many of his own suspicions. But what ate at Edrik most was the fear in the priestess’ eyes as she first spotted him in Midoran colors. It was an image that visited his dreams in the nights since.
How far have we fallen that a priestess of Midoran should have to react in such a way? Edrik pushed his gruel away, having lost his appetite. He listened to Salt and struggled to put the pieces together.
Blanche La Belle is alive… and she claims Perriand has been wounded, Melchor is unaccounted for, Jongras is subjected to torture, and Uvanle has turned against Midoran Himself. And Vidus, she says, is at the core of it.
But the Unicorn was not the place for such a conversation, regardless how cryptically held. If the wrong wandering ears or eyes happened by, Edrik knew both he and Salt could end up nailed to crosses outside the gates. Edrik subtly shook his head so that Salt would understand this. But Salt continued.
“I only hope that things have not gotten so bad that…” Salt said as he began to sketch a “V” on the tabletop.
Edrik realized Salt’s intent and quickly reached for the bowl of gruel, hoping to distract any wandering eyes, as he cut Salt off. “No, no, Salt,” Edrik said as he pulled the bowl under his nose and sniffed lightly. “The gruel is not so bad. I just do not have my appetite today.”
“So you are off to La Sapeinza?” Edrik asked as he set the bowl back onto the table. “Have you ever visited the courtyard there, and the cave beyond?”
“It has been some days now since I have stepped foot into the place. Perhaps I will walk with you to the library, and spend some time in the cave,” Edrik shrugged casually and added, “Then once you have the tomes you seek, we can discuss your findings there.”
Within the cave we should have some privacy, Edrik thought. And in times like these, I could use the serenity of the place. |
"Beer is living proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy." - Benjamin Franklin
"I hate quotation." - Ralph Waldo Emerson :P |
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Research Notes
Posted: 29 Mar 2005 09:03 PM |
[Salt uses the following notes made over several days at the Midor Library and other locations to assemble longhand the results of his research, which is centered around certain questions raised by a random meeting in Brandibuck Vale. These four fragments are kept in a slender wooden portfolio in his trunk at the Unicorn; the longer presentation of this information is entered into a volume purchased from a bookseller in Port Royale, which is also locked in his trunk.]
[Fragment 1]
Mtg w/ B.L.B. – Brandib. Vle
Edrik T. present as well—good eyes probe mem’ry ASAP
Rod/Staff—Heart of Aristi— how old? B.L.B. say 1500 years – older?
Marcus Aristi
Who made that prophecy?
------->When?
------->What was Aristi?
Ask Edrik--what else was said??? Left before sundown to make walk back towards Midor (aloe still grows in shady spot near Hall where Gwyn’ra showed me)
[Fragment 2]
La Sapienza
***Research trip a disaster—more, terrible accommodations at La Sapienza, food made me dyspeptic and no herbalist in walking distance and privy too austere in appointments for my liking and chaffed something awful
Next time—go next door to Unicorn for sustenance
Much scholarship on Aristi if it can be called thus—poor wrk w/ no objectivity only blunt reasserting common disposition found throughout texts. Mythical redempt. by Midoran req. that Aristi be remembered as desrvng of plague.
Obscure reference to one called Plague-Virgin —reference to Elbereth? A pagan origin for this goddess??? Make spec. note for later researches
Results
1/ Nothing about the prophecy in Midor Library—Nothing about the PROPHET either
2/ Plenty of texts describ. EVIL of Aristi, auth. by Midoran clergy--depthless
3/ Questions about any prophecy attached to an artifact from Aristi noted well by libr. (see no. 2/ above—use caution with further inq.)
[Fragment 3]
//All artifacts, books, and any not embracing Midoran burned with the Fall of Aristi//
~1000 years ago +/-
For true?
Part of myth? —but all knowledge seem lost, so perhaps not only myth.
[Fragment 4]
Txt lost behind range of shelves at Midor Lib--exam briefly but did not remove
Volume=Modern Introduction to Aristi
Beal Comeister Dr. Ancien Hist
Ld Westerhaus Perfectly Heretical notions from texts
Copy recently transcribed—good black ink paper Ka’azm taught scribe no doubt
Lectures recent—Comeister still lives
Book RESHELVED in stacks—Series VI top shelf 9 from left end of range—book on side with dk bl bnding
spend more time with
Best find so far
Tell Edrik
1/ mistake to approach directly—no material avail for research, only announced my intention
2/ R.S. have my name and face—incident with A. Haji outside Midor
3/ No direct inquiry about the Heart of Aristi—only lead V.K. to B.L.B. in Brandib Vle.
Then the Heart would be in HIS hands!!! |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Another Morning
Posted: 02 Apr 2005 11:43 PM |
Opening a leather satchel and laying it flat, Salt withdrew a number of notes written on scraps of parchment in varying sizes. Cara Adams was nearby, and he motioned for her to approach. He handed her a small mouth-blown bottle with thick walls, which was flat like a squash and closed with a wooden plug wrapped in cloth. It contained what remained of a batch of ink he had mixed up that morning and taken with him to La Sapienza.
He asked, “Do you write, Cara?”
She shook her head quickly from side to side.
Salt glanced across the common room of the Unicorn to see whether her father watched. Conspiratorially he suggested that she should learn letters, and he understood from her expression that letters did not mean anything to her yet. So instead he suggested, “Would you like to draw some pictures, Cara?”
This time she responded in the affirmative, holding the small bottle delicately and rolling the mulberry-colored fluid around inside of it.
Salt drew a broad-bladed bag knife from within the satchel and deliberately sharpened a stylus of stringy wood. Handing it to her, he suggested that she find something around the tavern to draw upon. “Perhaps some old wood,” he suggested, “or a roofing slate. And I want that bottle returned, so do not lose it.” Paper was simply to dear to give up for the girl’s education.
With that, he began to sort through the papers that contained his research notes. He arranged them hierarchically across two tables according to a personal and idiosyncratic logic that few could follow. Laid out thus, they formed a kind of map and guide to a portion of the holdings of Midor’s library…
…as well as hinting at the sparsely furnished but palatial intellect that was housed between Salt’s ears.
The papers were many, irregular and rumpled, some with small cramped writing to the very edges or around preexisting print, some with what appeared to be lists, and some inscribed with single questions like:
Wht is orig. for the name Aristi?
Are there objcts from plague refugees in Port R?
Accessibility of forbidden knowledge from Aristi to V. K.?
Scraps for notes had been torn from the pages of other books, cheap ones made from wood pulp and printed with hundred year-old parables of the Knights of Midoran. Others were written on squares of fine vellum, scrolls botched and then sacrificed as scratch paper. Small squares of thick stiff cotton rag inscribed in one direction with blue or black pigment, and then inked over again crossways in another direction.
Salt made stacks of the notes such that he could reproduce the order and then began to gather them with both hands and press them into a portfolio. As he did so the unmistakable sound of chainmail carried across the common room, and looking up he saw Edrik traveling towards him. He gestured for the old man—his neighbor at the Unicorn—to join him as he placed the portfolio back into his satchel, thoughts assembled and ready to report.
He smiled, to see the old guardsman wearing his cloak of the Midoran watch. “Edrik,” he began, “a moment of your time.” |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Still Morning
Posted: 23 Dec 2005 11:18 AM |
”Calm down Salt…” Connavar was saying. “What about the museum?”
Another man shot back, ”What’s the difference? Let’s figure it out later… Museum first. Stupid old man riddles second…”
* * * * *
Salt woke disoriented from a heavy dreamless sleep on a straw mattress in Paws. Considering what he had seen, the dreamlessness was merciful. The dreamlands, for him, were fertile ground that he glimpsed frequently and occasionally tread upon. This night had passed however in blackness, with the seer in such torpor that he could not say whether he had slept for several minutes or several days. The sensation startled him immediately upon waking.
The museum, he thought as he opened his eyes. Did they go there? Did they return to Midor? An intense concern overcame him. The room, the inn was silent, as was the village outside. Salt worked to penetrate his disorientation and… acute loneliness, and set his mind to work. Awake, sleep’s black clarity was difficult to overcome. He felt as though his mind was a great boundless empty space without a single star for illumination. No spells were remembered, no impressions available. His intellect was without any specific posture.
Something big had happened. That, or he had become exhausted, drained like a reservoir with the sluice left open.
Then, a thought. It is more common that the condemned are dispatched by strangulation, before being burned on a pyre… Few there are, who are actually allowed to be killed in flame.
After the Purge, Salt and the weaponsmith Connavar, and two others had fled the city in the back of an oxcart, all four pulled to safety by one of the dwarven drover brothers, Kusin. One of them was a man named Jake, a street fighter from Port Royale. The other was a man with mixed elven features, who Salt had seen in the town during the Parade. His name was learned during the wagon ride, and it was Caylith Sygn.
The condemned… Salt thought, allowing the enormity of what happened to rise up in his mind. The old merchant in scrolls and parchments he knew reasonably well. Lousy stock, barely worth a second glance, is what Salt usually thought of him. After the parade and the riot that was narrowly averted, Salt had gone to his place of business in Western Midor to try and speak with him. However he found no one. Then again, when the burnings were well underway and Vidus Khain had returned to the Temple, Salt went to the parchment trader’s storehouse. Several others had the same idea. The half-elf Caylith appeared first, and then came Connavar, then Jake, the brute who worked for the notorious Hand.
They found the place torn apart on its interior. Salt was unsure whether it was the mob who destroyed Kens Baja’s business, or the Righteous Swords. If it had been a search, it was a clumsy search, for Salt found certain documents in the disorder.
Gods, the museum, he thought as he reviewed them. How had they been missed? They clearly connected old Kens to the rebellion, or so it seemed. Salt shared them with Connavar, while Jake performed a more thorough search of the storehouse.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?!!” said Caylith. “I’ve as much to lose as both of you,” and he pulled his hair back from his ears, to reveal his elven blood.
“You saw!” Salt exclaimed. “You saw what goes on!”
“No, I mean here.” Caylith replied. “What are those papers?”
“This shop,” Salt glanced around despairingly, “This was everything he had!”
“Now he has nothing,” Connavar said of the dead merchant. “These things mean nothing!” he snarled and gestured at the papers, anxious to get himself and his companions out of the city as quickly as possible.
Salt tried to assist Jake in the search, spilling books off the shelves haphazardly. Jake had popped open a small locked chest, saying “You figure the guy gets burned, he’s leave some interesting stuff lying around.”
The condemned… Salt thought again, lying on the scratchy straw in Paws. The paladin and the priest. He shook his head. To the very end, Salt had assumed that there would be two victims put into the flames that night, Kens Baja, and the whore who Vidus accused of preaching lies about the past. The paladin and the priest he took for a part of the apparatus that brought them to their doom. Even the young paladin’s outburst he took for a break in discipline, a soldier of Midoran who was refusing to carry out his duty. It was only as these, too, were put into the flames that Salt realized how desperate things had become in Midor. For had not even Buckshire hung a woman accused of necromancy within recent memory?
The papers… Salt had given them to Connavar when they reached the inn in Paws, right before he collapsed. He had felt something coming on, a queer anxious feeling that signaled his senses opening up for a real precognitive event. Jake had found it necessary to lift Salt up bodily and carry him to the inn, dumping him roughly into a chair and trying to pour spirits into him. He was only able to mumble out a few words before slipping into the murky blackness that received him in sleep.
“T-take these papers and go to the museum… I’m sorry Conn, I’m fading…” Salt looked to Caylith and Jake, and addressed them. “You, elfblood.. and you, Port Royale… get him there. Stay together…”
Then, waking. Waking with the queer, empty feeling.
* * * * *
How had Vidus accused the whorish woman? What had been her crime? Preaching lies about the past. Salt knew that Midor was built on lies. His research time spent at the Sapienza convinced him of that. Now Vidus unveiled those lies, and few seemed to find fault in him.
Would it be safe, to return to Midor and move among the Midorans? Salt believed that it would be. After all, what had changed? The inquisitors had been torturing and killing foreigners and Midorans alike for months now. He had conducted his inquiries in to the Aristi and their history and so far, he had escaped notice. He was discrete, and he was cunning. Hide in plain sight, he knew it was a sound strategy.
He gathered himself and set out to arrange transportation. He would seek out Cale Adams at The Unicorn, near the Sapienza, near the museum. The Unicorn would give him shelter. The library would give him cover. The museum... the museum would give him answers. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Four Quarters
Posted: 27 Dec 2005 11:07 AM |
Salt found a quiet corner in the common room downstairs at the Four Winds Inn, across the way from a shelf full of books and a writing desk. Anymore he avoided the gnome-run ordinary, especially since a gnome had been elected mayor of Buckshire. So he had heard, anyway. But, of the Four Winds he could say this: that the gnomes kept it quiet, and that the company was usually pretty good. Now he was alone in busy, methodical contemplation, eyes closed as he sat upright or nearly upright with his traveling robes around him, thin white hair mussed and standing in whisps.
It took just a few moments to recover the name from the vault of his memory. Ranji. Salt remembered how his name went out on the lips of the Midorans around him at the Purge, quietly and half-believed, as they confirmed with one another the condemned prisoner’s identity. The priest had been called Father Ranji.
Lillian Blackstone, the one who had done the most to bring Salt into the rebellion against Midor under Vidus’ leadership, had wanted that name very badly. Now, how might he bring it to her?
It could not be communicated to her in writing; too many around were still loyal to Midor and a letter could be intercepted. And besides, who would bring word to her lonely post, deep within the Midor Mountains where the paladins in rebellion had once rallied? Only a compass could remember the way; he himself did not.
Perhaps Bogie would bring her this name, if Salt asked him nicely.
Now Salt drew over to the writing table in the basement room of the Four Winds, and withdrew a book from the shelf nearby rather than taking out a sheet of his own blank parchment. It was a habit that he acquired, during the lean times, to horde paper rather than wasting it making notes to organize his actions. He flipped the book open and with a slow even motion tore out the last page, the back of which was blank.
He folded the page into quarters and opened it again, finding the space separated into four evenly sized rectangles. Then he sharpened a rolled lead pencil on the side of the desk, and made notes in each of the quadrants:
[First quarter]
L. B. ~ Haven
- strange instrumentation required to reach the place.
L. B. called it a memory compass
- camp abandoned intact after defeat of Paladins
on the Great Plains and rediscovered by Lillian B.
- L. B. to move the Whole Revival of Byron L. and B. L. B.
from shore of Ladriel to Haven, but for
now she is there alone
- strongly warded but security unsure
- - > L. B. would not speak freely there, even
in what had been command tent of Sir
Rayinor ~ insisted on travel to the tower
of Ladriel instead.
- “Hush Tunnels” as escape route ~ Rivers lead to
harborage
- - > Strange warships derelict but afloat
- - > tunnels large ~ five oxen could walk abreast
- - > extensive workshops apparent ~ smithy and
tinkering apparatus reminiscent of a manufactory
or an arsenal ~ Some thing about them put
me in mind of gnome Fabius in Paws
- - > overall impression of a war machine that
could be put into motion with proper knowledge
??? What were the Midor Mountains called before
??? the coming of Midoran?
[Second quarter]
Questions
What were the Midor Mnts called in the time
of Aristi? Before Aristi?
L. B. ~ Why are there no anti-necromantic wards
on the Midor burial grounds?
Question THE EEL ~ Months ago he tried to sell
Me information about the Museum
what did he overhear at a gathering of
heroes at the Unicorn Midor? He told me many
including hin, two half-orcs and others
had raided the M. and celebrated at Cale's
tavern ~ THIS before the Battle of the Great Plains
and the return of Midoran to his city
[Third quarter]
Museum of Midor
Lillian says there are ruins beneath the museum, prob.
rep. the time of Aristi; I do not know that any had looked
for remain. of Aristi anywhere in M!
L. B. plans to penetrate underneath ~ what is secret below?
K. B. cypher also mentions but req. analysis
TWO WARDS to surmount
~ disjunctive 'wave' that dissolves abjurative magics
then
~ guardians that cannot be harmed
L. B. says that the guardians are said to be vuln. to
elemental magics, and the Hands of Bigby as such. Immunity
to Missiles compl't
These at least have seen:
B. L. B.
Lady Solitaire
Shihaya'zad
~WHAT others? Why did these three go and how did they
get to a place underneath the museum?
~IF these wards cannot be overcome, can the place
be penetrated through divination?
~WHY divination is forbidden by law in Midor - Aristi and
its secrets lie right there underneath it
Must Recover notes of Kens Baja’s from Connavar
[Fourth quarter, in a small hand]
What She Asked of me
1/ research the Midor Museum and attempt
to scry into the ruins beneath
- - > Visit if poss. and eval. protection? traps?
- - > View remotely from scrying room at Ladriel?
2/ produce weapons ~ scrolls and wands that con-
tain elemental magic, for use against the Guardians
Standard list of spells potentially useful against the guardians
Estimate cost of materials to inscribe magics upon parchment,
or to imbue within wand/rod/staff
- - > COST will run into tens of thousands ~ who will fund???
NOTE ~ Lillian acts on her Own Authority |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Next Steps
Posted: 02 Jan 2006 12:29 PM |
Watercraft conveyed Salt from the shores near Brandibuck Vale to the village of Paws. From Paws, the seer walked, staff-in-hand until he reached the outskirts of the White City. He visited Midor on Lillian’s errand, or several of them. He believed himself sufficiently embedded in the city to come and go despite what all had seen on the night of the Purge, just a little more than a week ago. He had friends who would take him in. Salt had told Lillian as much. Now he would see if he could indeed move freely about the city unmolested, or if he would be barred entry, harassed by its citizens, or worse, arrested by the Righteous Swords.
Mind Blank? He had considered the option. Salt had no ability with illusion, but perhaps he could absence his mind, conceal his intentions as he moved through the city, now as always a thinker of forbidden thoughts, a divinationist and thus a deviant.
Then he considered that whatever resided within the temple at the center of the city might notice a blank spot as quickly as it recognized an unbeliever. Salt was able to overcome that power, which resisted any but Midoran’s devout followers in the practice of magic. If he was able to throw off that power through his will and knowledge of magery, perhaps he could maintain some integrity for his mind, camouflage himself from the all-seeing eyes of that entity. Hide in plain site, he had always said, which is not to hide at all. Salt was above ground, and the Swords could take him any time they wanted to. Yes, if they want me, they will take me and kill me, Salt thought. There really isn’t any way to prepare for that, or change what is to come. Perhaps one day I will see my own death reflected in a pan of still water. But - for now - I must keep working.
The exodus from the White City had slowed such that Salt passed just one departing caravan, a driver and a wagon that slogged through deeply-carved ruts in the muddy road out of the city. The road itself had widened significantly after bringing so many to that crossroads in the Great Plains, where each party made its decision: to head east along the coast to Paws, perhaps to make passage by sea to Port Royale and peaceful northern lands, to move west into the mountains towards Icy Vale along the military roads carved by Midorans months ago, or perhaps to strike out into the Mirghul Forest and clear a field for a homestead.
The oxen hitched to the driver’s wagon pushed against the soft wet clay of the road as Salt, not willing to walk in the knee-deep mud that characterized the highway’s surface, passed many yards away where the sod was still intact.
The driver lashed his oxen furiously, perhaps because of inexperience. The team dug itself deeply into the mud as it pulled, and the wagon shifted forward. The sweating driver called towards Salt: “Traveler! Where d’ya head?!!
“I head the way you’ve come,” Salt shouted in reply.
“Strangers are not welcome in Midor these days,” the driver called back. “If you knew the city, then the city you knew is gone.”
“Have there been more burnings?” Salt shouted to him. He honestly didn’t know what had happened in Midor since the Purge, having not returned since fleeing from that night.
The driver turned to the road in front of him and shifted in his seat. After collecting himself for a moment, he offered this warning. “There will be,” he said, nodding. “There will be more before the Purge is done. If you aren’t making pilgrimage… if you haven’t taken this new way of Midoran into yore heart, then you had better prepare to find y’self on top a’ that pyre. Else, don’t go to the city today.”
Salt looked at the breadth of the road that lay between them. It had grown so wide that it was no longer practical to go around the mud and the rutted spots. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of souls had passed this way in barely more than a week, a river that left behind a muddy track just as wide. There were tracks from their wagons, and from their feet. Here and there cumbersome possessions and goods easily replaced were cast by the way. In the clay there were lost shoes and slippers, handprints, face-prints, perhaps even entire persons sunk there at the outset of their journey.
“Is the city quiet?” Salt called over to the driver after a pause.
“Aye, quiet,” the driver snapped, nodding.
“Is the city safe?”
The driver sat back in his seat atop the wagon and looked ahead of him, striking a posture Salt recognized in those who tried to divine the answer to a knotty question. One of the oxen dipped to sip muddy water from the road. The driver said, “There is order,” and then repeated it. “There is order. But ya think I’m leavin’ for no good reason?!!”
Perceiving anger, Salt offered thanks to the driver for his news. The driver cursed Salt briefly but memorably, and recommenced with slashing his sweating team with a whip until the cart was pulled into slow progress. Relying on his staff Salt advanced over the sod in the direction of Midor’s outskirts and the completion of his errands.
Passing through the city gates, he found no challenge. Salt made for the dignified eastern district of the city, where he had once lodged with Cale Adams at the Unicorn, not far from La Sapienza, the great library of Midor.
When the seer had met with Lillian and Markus at Lake Ladriel, the paladins had asked him to use the room at the tower that was designated for divination, to look into the earth beneath the Midor Museum. In this way those exiled might not have to risk returning to the White City, now running red. Lillian had also insisted that the tower at Ladriel was the only safe place that they could speak openly about the business of making rebellion. Unlike Byron, and Sir Tonan, and Lillian herself, Salt had never been granted access to that tower and he knew very little about it.
Its reputation, to hear those wizards at Ka’azim speak of it, was worthy of the rebels’ confidence. The tower was said to be proofed against the most able scryers. The knowledge of two domains among the sisters of that tower was renowned. These were divination, and demonology. In these two areas of lore and practice its magicians – among them the ladies Alianda, and Calia Qu Estrael - were without peer. Salt had heard of a time when magics throughout Vives had been darkened by a tainted energy from the underworld of Nethar’u. Indeed, the opening of Nethar’u set magic wild upon the lands of Vives, such that the practice of magic became dangerously uncertain. In those days the Council of Mages had worked protections upon the three towers of magery, and those protections had held. This then explained the security the rebellion found among the Sisters at Ladriel. Salt however had no comprehension of their interest in demons.
His first errand in Midor that day and for several days after found him within the great library. There he exhausted its resources searching for information about the tower that for now hosted the rebellion. What he found was virtually nothing. He took this for a very bad omen. He knew from his previous research in to the Aristi that the content of that library was constrained by church doctrine. There were volumes on the Aristi, many in fact, but the Aristi were seen through Midoran eyes. If there had ever been any information about Ladriel and its tower in La Sapienza, those volumes had been pulled. The implication was clear. Salt dared not inquire.
In the day that followed his second errand brought him to the Museum of Midor. There Lillian had bade him make reconnaissance, after his memory had failed on the details of its security. As he reclined against a stone pillar within a chamber full of antiquities – a dragon’s skull, an instrument for gazing at the stars, and a set of scales associated with Midoran that were said to have been recovered from an archaeological context – his familiar, Bogie, sailed on raven wings as quiet as a horned owl at hunt. Through his eyes Salt saw into nearly every corner of the museum, saw the number and placement of guards and even achieved entry into the museum’s department of archaeology. But, he could find nothing suggesting an underneath to the exhibit spaces, no doors-in-the-floor, so to speak. The archaeology department seemed to be unstaffed and the materials spread about were difficult to comprehend through Bogie’s black beady eyes. There reclined against his pillar, woolen robes pulled about him for warmth, Salt nodded and mumbled Bogie’s progress: “…one curator…two swords…double-blades at that…one mystic in the sculpture exhibits, and one enforcer adjacent to the alcove containing Midoran’s statue…”
Departing with Bogie, Salt made one final stop. Within the comfort of the Unicorn Inn, the seer sought the hospitality of Cale Adams, who provided obligingly. Salt had once made his home at the Unicorn, and might one day again if he was required by the rebellion to embed himself in the White City. Over a bowl of porridge made from bread softened with hot cream, to which Salt added a dram of whiskey for flavor, the two made conversation.
“Seen the Eel anymore around these parts?” Salt opened, noting that the gambler Esteban was missing from his usual station. Esteban the Eel had once offered to sell Salt information about a group of adventurers, whom he had overheard in conversation about a subterranean ruin that they had penetrated nearby. The information almost certainly related to the deeply buried history of the place where Midor now stood shining. At the time, Salt could not meet Esteban’s price and put the man off as a phony. Now he felt remorse for that decision.
Cale took his time in responding. “Cleared off,” he pronounced understatedly. “Left his things and cut out. Knew a thing or two, that one…”
“Where are his things?” Salt asked and slurped his whiskey and porridge.
“Had’em sold at auction,” Cale responded. “Since those citizens not devoted to the Just God have taken to leave His city, the auctions haven’t ceased. Good time to buy property in Midor, if you ask me. Find a home easy, Salt,” the innkeeper suggested, “little place to settle your bones and do some serious work.”
“Everything I need in Midor is right here, Cale,” Salt replied. “In these comfortable lodgings of yours.”
“When you can afford them Salt,” spoke back the innkeeper, who more than once had evicted the magician who occasionally came up of no account. “When you can afford them. But you’ll not find an offer like that anywhere else in the city.”
“Is it that bad, Cale?”
“Good time to buy property in Midor, these days. The auctions haven’t ceased. Some land has been seized by the church. But with a little coin, a fellow could find a home easy. Lot of homes are empty, abandoned. Lot of folk are selling out and leaving. The auctions haven’t ceased…” |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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