Priya

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani stared into the distance onto the shore and allowed his vision to become a tunnel. The voices around him degenerated into a chorus of dull humming. Even the chilling Salvic wind became numb warmth, or perhaps that was the body’s answer to a chilling Salvic wind. His mind was not in the present. It was in the past, only a few hours earlier, when he rose from his comfortable bed and immediately recalled the dream he had the night before. It was a frightening dream, but not in the way of nightmares. He finally came to when he heard the disturbingly familiar voice of his Head Cook, Mohana Colville.

“So, Chief Mate, how do you command this ship while the Captain is away?” she said with a glimmering smile.

“I just ask myself what the Kid would do.” The “Kid” was what the crew of The Peregrine had come to call Captain Rajani Aishwara, seeing as he was younger than at least two thirds of them. At first it was a sign of disrespect, but it had come to be complimentary of his creative and so far sufficient leadership. It was almost as if they were calling him a child prodigy.

It took Rajani a while to process the conversation around him, but once he did he gave his Chief Mate, Aton Mira, a smile of gratitude. “Why not lead with your philosophy for a while?”

“It’s not my ship.” Aton’s wrinkles around his mouth curled to show a faint confident smile. “The only difference is I may not be as creative as you.”

“Many thanks.” Rajani said in a sly tone. He realized what this was now, a collective attempt to uplift his ego, and rightfully so. Aton, Mohana, and the entire crew of his ship knew how important this operation was to the success of The Peregrine and the financial firm named after it, much less the economic survival of all of Althanas. It rested mostly on his shoulders, a twenty two year old rich boy from the legendary island of Avalon. He turned with sword and sack in hand to walk down the ramp off of the ship.

“Do I have everyone’s orders?” Mohana said in a loud shrilly voice. The crew responded in a positive and she went on to follow her Captain. Her mission was quite different from Rajani’s. As a culinary master she was to explore the food of the region as well as calculate proper food supplies for the next trip out to sea. She caught up to Rajani and playfully bumped him in the shoulder, “Aton meant what he said.”

“I know. I just wish he’d say such things when they have no relevance. That’s when a person truly means what is said.”

And Rajani Aishwara and Mohana Colville, the two only Avalonians of the ship, set out on their separate missions together.

::::::::::::

The trip from port to Knife’s Edge took two days when it should have been less than one. Luckily for Mohana their scenic path put them along several agricultural fiefdoms where she could acquire her food. It was then, on the second day, as Mohana was bargaining the price of five pounds of apples, that Rajani decided to make mention of…

“An eerie dream haunted me the other night.” He nervously leaned against the fruit stand and scanned the many fruits around him.

His statement fell on deaf ears as Mohana paced back and fourth with frustration in front of the fruit stand. She wasn’t getting the price she wanted from the old man on the other side of the stand. “Do you remember the apples we had in Avalon? Their aroma was different. Needless to say their aroma was superior to that of these apples. Avalonian apples smell crisp and fresh.” She had clearly given up on lowering the price by benevolent means.

“It was a strange dream by anyone’s standards. My sight was rendered useless, but I saw no need to panic.”

“I could very well make my way down the hillside and grace many another apple orchard with my business.” She pointed down the road to another fruit stand, which stood behind scattered pillars of golden sunlight that plowed through the trees of the orchard.

Rajani would have to go to desperate measures to get Mohana to listen to him. “You were in the dream.”

Mohana signaled for the merchant to stop speaking before he even attempted to retort. It seemed she had read the merchant’s mind. She then turned to Rajani with wide eyes “How do you know I was in your dream? Your sight was compromised.”

“So you did lend me your ear?” Rajani said with a coy smile. “Now that I have your full attention let me point out that my hearing was not compromised, therefore I could hear you.”

Mohana’s emerald eyes became narrow with suspicion. This didn’t sound like it was leading to anything good. “What other senses did you have at your disposal?”

This was a chance to scare her. “Touch… Smell… Taste.” He waited a few seconds to allow her to relish in the frightening possibilities of what this dream might have been. He finally continued. “No worries. There was nothing as far as a romantic context, but the conversation you and I had still worries me. We were talking about some other party wishing for our marriage.”

Mohana tilted her head in confusion and gave her auburn hair a vigorous scratch. After a silent moment of contemplation she shrugged her shoulders “It’s merely a dream.and resumed her previous activity of scolding the merchant. “So will you apologize or split the price in half?”…

After finally giving in and paying the full price the two Avalonians continued their journey to Knife’s Edge.

::::::::::::

Rajani had been deceived by Salvar’s reputation of being a dull environment. Over the past few days he had experienced the greatest contrast and mix of stimuli in his life. They had sampled the bitter cold frozen wastelands of central Salvar where the plains were pearl white and their boots were heavy with snow. They had trekked through the Salvic states of the fertile river valley as they basked in the comfortable warmth of golden sunlight. Now they were in Knife’s Edge, an urban jungle of monolithic stone trees and animals known as people filling out their various niches. For the entrepreneur, Salvar was the most diverse country he had witnessed to date.

He and Mohana were now at the Rathaxea Inn & Tavern, conveniently located in the square it was named after. That was where they would be staying during their tenure in Salvar. For the moment they sat across a circular oak table from each other, with two empty seats by their sides. The tavern portion of the business was busy this afternoon, and the dull roar of the dull grey room was loud enough to force Mohana to raise her voice to speak to Rajani.

Her eyes were scanning a scroll filled with black ink. It was Rajani’s plan for the Peregrine Group’s proposal to the Kings of Alerar and Salvar. Now that the two countries’ alliance was solidified, he preferred to call them the Brother Kings in his little design. Mohana squinted her eyes in confusion “Don’t you think that is an extreme measure to capture their attention?”

A sly and almost sinister smile appeared on Rajani’s face as he brought a glass of white wine up to his lips. After a sip he responded. “Nay, Madame Colville. Numbers never lie. Tainted mathematics may, but numbers won’t. If the Brother Kings and their administrations are the least bit ambitious they will find it difficult to ignore us. Would you be able to turn an oblivious eye to that much money?”

“But that money is nonexistent. It’s a projection, a generous projection of the future, but if it produces results my hat will be off to you.” Mohana glanced at the two empty chairs accompanying them at the table, “Will we be having company?”

“We will be having company indeed. I couldn’t go on an escapade as significant as this and not have members of the Group participated. Stay and mingle. I guarantee these characters will tickle your fancy.”

[Ataraxis]

“No need tae fret, lass! Oi’ve everything under control.” The dwarven engineer let loose a hearty laughter, patting Lillian on the elbow with a thick, gauntleted hand to appease her concern. Though the motion was much appreciated, it did nothing to allay her fears, and the optimistic ring with which he spoke had only cast an eerie sense of foreboding in the sixteen-year-old girl. With a furrowed brow, she looked at the brass contraption propped on the wall at the short end of the workshop as it coughed up more acrid fumes than the smokestacks of an Aleranian factory.

Fastening his goggles, the dwarf bounded into the billowing smokes, wading his way to the strange machine he had finagled and, plucking a trusty wrench from his belt, he gave the broken device a good, solid whack. The girl started, visibly unacquainted with a mechanic’s finesse, but was quite impressed to see that the black miasma was slowly quelling to a fog at her feet. “See? What’d Oi tell ye?” the man chortled with surprise, almost as if he hadn’t expected the trick to work. Truth be told, now that she had an unobstructed view of his proud creation, she felt an even greater rise of apprehension and secretly wished that the smoke had not dissipated. It was a capsule of some sort, riddled with nuts and bolts and just large enough to fit a grown man, but it seemed unreliable and very unfashionable, as if wrought by the hands of a coffin maker. Lillian swallowed hard.

“This’ll git ye anywhere ye want! Jist step inside and think hard aboot where ye want tae go!” Simple enough. All she needed to do now was to trust in the old dwarf, and pray to her goddess that the man had not yet gone senile. She hadn’t much choice in the matter, either: her stay in the Library of Ettermire had exceeded the time allotted by her calculations, and she would never realistically reach Salvar in good times by way of ship or through the passes of Kachuk. When she had heard that this machine was able to transport someone through hundreds and hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, Lillian truly thought the gods were finally smiling upon her, and had promptly set out to find the miraculous device. No matter how… defective the thing was looking, she would take her chance, and took comfort in the fact that many before her had employed the teleportation apparatus.

Her sigh was heavy, but her step forward was steady and resolute. “Alright. Take me to Knife’s Edge, in Salvar!” she said, only a hint of anxiety in her voice. The door closed behind her, throwing the girl into a baleful darkness. She could hear the engineer’s muffled voice through the brazen barrier, but all of her senses were rendered useless in the teleportation pod… all of her senses, save one. ‘Did something burn in here?’ Then, she made a sharp intake of air, realization creeping upon her shadowed face. The place stank of black powder. She spun round, dashing for the door and gaveling at it with her little white fists, but it would not budge. “Get me out of here! Stop! You’re going to kill me!” The girl hollered at the top of her lungs, begging for help. All she heard in return was the sound of a cranking lever.

First, there was fire. Then, nothing.

:::::::::

Snow, snow and snow. These lands were all but barren wastes of snow, white hillocks and windswept dunes of immaculate sands, blowing beyond the brush of dark pines and far yonder the snow-capped crests of the Ahyark Mountains. Distant howls pierced the blare of a raging blizzard, perhaps faint calls from a broken pack of wolves, though nothing else could pervade the unwavering thickness of its frigid screen. A true algor was storming on, shattering broad boughs with the sheer force of its chilling winds and turning all to ice, be it the trees or the stones or even the flesh, making everything but a shoddy, frozen sculpture of what it once was. Here was Salvar in all its splendour, a magnate expanse of winter desolation for each and every season, devoid of warmth and bereft of hope; and no sane person would even think of crossing such perilous sites, for undertaking such an enterprise would be mere folly and spell irrevocable doom. To wander these ice-lost regions, to wade through miles of white dust without ever finding sustenance or liquid water to ingest, where not even blood or piss could quench one’s thirst, only to stumble upon the rocky hillsides of an impassable mountain, was insanity. All was snow, only snow…

But in all this white, there was a patch of black. It peeked through a cover of the powdery stuff, but it was shrinking with the wear of time. Soon, it would be inhumed by the pale dirt, forever lost to the frozen tomb of the North. One would think it had been providence when a black snout prodded the dark sward, sniffing it intently with a satisfied growl. The creature to which it belonged dusted off the snow with its large paws and oversized maw, until the black cluster was revealed to be the crest of a human head, buried under the snowstorm. It snarled victoriously, the mane that lined its spine bristling up in coarse brushes of grey coal, and its chest heaved gladly, each breath pulling the thin pelt over its protruding ribs. It lunged forward, sinking its fangs into a lean and tender shoulder. With a violent yank, it exhumed the frozen body from its grave – a girl it seemed, all white and in white – and dragged it away, leaving a trail of thin red drops to congeal in the cold.

Lillian was still alive; the teleportation had been successful… more or less. Even with the bitterness of this cold, she had survived, her body iced over only on the surface. Clusters of frost clung to her skin and her lips were chapped, puckered and white, but she could still feel the pain surge through where the great wolf had bitten, she could hear its famished growls and see in its beady, amber eyes much anticipation in making her its first true meal in months. ‘It will be sorely disappointed. Trapping a rabbit would have provided it twice more the amount of meat and a lot less bone to gnaw through.’ Sadly, she could not laugh at her own dark humour, being far too concerned with the prospect of being eaten alive. She could have died in the blast of fire, she could have died in the wasting cold; but no, she would end up digested in bits and chunks inside the stern things that were the stomachs of the Draves. “H…help… me,” she muttered hoarsely, losing her mind in desperation. Who could hear through the howls of the storm a voice so meek? In the end, it did not matter. ‘No one could possibly live around these parts of Salvar. It would be suicide.’

A thud sounded through the brisk winds. ‘Great, I’m even hearing things, now.’ The sound was looming closer, and she could feel the ground shake even through the cushion of snow.

Immense tusks rammed into the lupine beast, skewering its heart like meat on a spit. Dark blood gushed from its hollowed chest, tainting the snow with blotches of black; it was convulsing, yelping and groaning, the jerking spasms of its body sickly and unsettling to witness. Then, exhaling a diminuendo of a howl, the Drave fell limp atop the ivory stakes. Slowly, her saviour rose from his crouch, wiry white muscles rippling through patches of bare skin, the wolven corpse still dangling from the bony excrescences of his face. With reverent fright and boundless gratitude, she looked at the bulky creature, hoping it would see a smile in her eyes, for her lips were now stiff and unmoving, barely able to utter her thanks.

“I, Hjalp, have saved you. Remember this, daughter of V’dralla,” the hulking being started with a snarl, dismissing her thankfulness as though it was phlegm. Bringing his hand to the blade-haft cinched at his waist, he pulled the wicked weapon out, drawing the battle-worn edge high above his head as though trying to pierce the very skies. His voice was stentorian, carrying through the raging blizzard like trumpets sounding over the winds. “By coming to your succour, an old death has been acquitted. Remember this, and inform the gods that the name of my kin is tainted by one less crime.” With this, head held high and ignoring the frost’s bite, he sheathed the symbolic blade and turned on his heels to depart.

“Wait… you can’t leave me here…” Lillian’s voice was raspy from the cold, and every word speared her throat; but regardless of the pain, she went on, knowing that he was her only chance at survival. “If you do… I’ll die just the same.” The creature hesitated, but she knew he was not yet swayed by her logic. With all her might, she plowed through the expanse of her knowledge, trying to make sense of what he had said. She recalled a book concerning the races of legends, and a passage about beings known as Direlings; tall people with alabaster skin and tusks protruding from their skulls. Only then did she understand the gravity of the situation, not only for her, but for her savior as well.

He was on a quest to redeem the name of his people, and had mistaken her as one of the beautiful children of V’dralla, who had long since died out. Had she still the blood to do so, she would have blushed at the flattering misunderstanding, but her heart was overcome with the guilt of using this opportunity to swindle the honourable being. “My death… would make a waste of your deed. There is no point… in saving me from the fangs of a wolf, if only to… abandon me to those of the cold. If I die today… there will be no atonement… only further… damnation.” The lie made her feel like the vilest of swines, hurting her more than the pain in her throat, and she might have yielded to honesty and confessed, had her last ounce of willpower not been whisked away at that very instant. Eyes falling limp, she slipped into darkness, fearing that she would never arise.

:::::::::

“And that’s how I went from Ettermire to Knife’s Edge in a single day,” Lillian said with a conclusive tone to a group of impressionable children she had bumped into at the borders of the Rathaxea Square. At first, she was not fond of the pestering brats, as they had tried to waylay and relieve her of her scant riches. However, when a Rathaxean Guard had taken interest in their squabble, she had pitied the rapscallions and lied on their behalf, sending the fur-clad guard on his way within moments, therefore gaining the admiration and fealty of the homeless children. Not only was she endeared by their sudden change of heart, but she could also relate to having no parents and no definite home to return to, as she had been forbidden to ever again set foot upon Fallien. Nothing really mattered anymore; though she had lived there her entire life, a bond had never formed between her heart and her country. The only things she ever regretted leaving were the old librarian, Merkah Baen, and his library, the ‘Blades of Knowledge’. If there was one place she wanted to be, it was with the old man, in the only place she could ever call ‘home’ without wincing. When Lillian looked at these children, she saw fragments of herself reflected wherein their wide, ogling eyes – she abhorred the idea of leaving them so soon. Her trek to the Rathaxea Inn could wait.

“So you’re saying that Hjalp carried you all the way here? Wasn’t he afraid that the guards would take him down?” asked one of the children, a sniffling boy who went by the singular name of Anatol.

“Oh, he was quite smarter than he had led me to believe at first. I even think he had seen through my ploy before I even came up with it!” Lillian burst into laughter, or at least whatever was the feminine equivalent of the action. “Anyhow, he stopped short of the outer walls, out of the sentinels’ ken, and waited for a cart to come by. I was conscious enough to notice the dreadful stares the carter gave him! Ah, but Hjalp knew how to quickly sway a person’s opinion, and had so respectfully asked for his help that all the driver could do was oblige… though I have to say the boon he gave the man in return might have played in my favor.” Indeed, the Direling had given the man an old golden brooch adorned with porcelain and precious gems, found within the entrails of the Drave he had slain. It was still wet with blood, but gold always had a way of appealing to the eyes, regardless of its taint. Before they had left, however, he had skinned the beast and given her its fur, a rather gruesome present, but it still went ways to touch her heart. She would have it tanned and made into coat of some sort, finding her own garb too skimpy for such weather. For now, however, she would leave it in her knapsack, hoping the relative cold within the city would mitigate the spread of its stench.

“But I still don’t get it. How did that dwarf send you so far away from Knife’s Edge? He literally missed the mark by miles!” This time, little Nadya had spoken, a girl as white as snow and black of hair, not unlike Lillian, though they were cropped a lot shorter. She was the most curious of the bunch, and perhaps the only pragmatic amidst them, as she did not feel as enchanted about the ancient Direling as the others, and would rather hear of technicalities and logistics. In this, she was Lillian’s opposite, and the sixteen-year-old girl felt that much more affection for the little romp.

“Ah, to that, I have no definite answer.” Nadya grimaced, thoroughly disappointed. Lillian actually had made a few conjectures as to why things had gone so wrong. The dwarf might have derived a perverse joy in killing people by sending them to insupportable climates. Perhaps the machine had never worked, that it was meant to burn people alive, but that by some insane turn of fate, she had been teleported. The most sensible theory, however, was that the instant-transportation apparatus was indeed functional, but all those the dwarf had sent with it never quite had the opportunity to come back and complain about its inaccuracy... being dead and all. However, wishing to upturn that pout on the girl’s visage, Lillian did add one last thing, teasingly. “But perhaps, I believe, a wizard did it.” The children oohed and awed, visibly unacquainted with the rogue logic, but Nadya had scoffed, her lips arcing upwards ever so slightly. Smart girl.

“Oh, it’s almost noon,” she said listlessly after a glance at the skies. They were clearer here than outside the sprawling city, courtesy of the Aeromancer towers that encircled the Salvic capital, and she could somewhat make out the position of the sun. She could dawdle no longer: duty called. “I’m sorry, little rascals, but I have to meet with my… colleagues.” A wave of dejection came from their collective mouths, and it crashed against her heart, the undertow carrying bits and pieces of her spirit with it. “I know, I’m sorry too, but I have to work.” They all wondered how she, being their elder by only a few years, could already use words such as ‘work’ and ‘colleagues’. This struck her as odd as well, but a series of unrelated events had entangled into a single thread, one that had led her to where she was today. It was all rather overwhelming, but she couldn’t complain. She had met many illustrious characters, had fought alongside friends and battled against foes, had lived the adventures she had always dreamed of in her youth: and this was only the beginning of her journey. Truly, there was no reason to complain… there really shouldn’t be. ‘Why, then, do I sometimes wish that things were different?’

“Nadya, Anatol, Dimitri, Valentin, Piotr and Dina. I had a great time. Please, do take care of each other.” Lillian was crestfallen, for she knew what these children would do to survive. To tell them to stop pick-pocketing would deprive them of their only means of survival. She also knew that, on the other hand, leaving them be as they were was heinous, despicable. They would one day be caught, and the devil knows what would befall them then. This might very well have been the last time she would see them. Huddling them up, she embraced them all, ignoring the throbbing pain that tossed in her shoulder. People often said pain was weakness leaving the body: how she wished it were so, and that she would be left with only the strength to carry on. She knew of only one way to help them, and that was to leave, and do her job.

:::::::::

In a huff, she walked into the Rathaxea Inn & Tavern, the door swinging frenetically behind. Lillian had dashed from the edge of the Square to the Inn, shooting baleful stares at the moving sun as though seeing a zenith would imply her untimely demise. Many eyes turned, narrowed in mild confusion and picayune interest; the clientele of the tavern was severely lacking in entertainment – because of how young the day still was and how far the hours of unabated drinking seemed – and a puffing girl’s sudden arrival had provided them with a fleeting instant of broken dullness. It wasn’t long, however, until the strain of the ambiance loosened, and the customers all turned their focus to their mugs and plates, which were all in various states of emptiness. Lillian shot scattered glances around the room, praying Suravani that she had not mistaken the date of the meeting. Her eyes fell upon a familiar face, a young man with a set of charming brown eyes and a milky, chocolate complexion, endowed with fine features and a toned physique that still showed through his abundant outerwear, understandable in the friskiness of Knife’s Edge.

This was Rajani Aishwara, leader of the Peregrine Group, and though the occasions she had seen and conversed with him were few, she could still recognize his every facial feature with a single spied glance, in a bustling crowd - at night. It was her prodigious memory that had piqued his interest at first, when his ship came to Fallien on the day of her exile. To him, their relation might be one of mutual assistance, but she had seen the man as a savior in unsettling times. Oh, she considered many her saviors, for it seemed that for all of her hardships, the gods had aligned her path with those of such men and women, and this belief was further bolstered by her recent encounter with the one time General, Damon Kaosi, and even more recently, with the Direling Hjalp. However, she felt it was time to take her life into her own hands. The world was not an endless supply of heroes as much as it was one of adversities, and Lillian had had enough of her ineptitude. From now on, the tables would turn in her favor: she would become the knight in shining armor, as told in the books that blessed her childhood.

“Sir Aishwara, I hope my belatedness has not incommoded you too much.” After making her way to the oaken table, she had addressed Rajani, bowing slightly but with much deference. She was learning the ways of appropriate speech in proper company, having developed much disdain for her weak and whining ways during her stay in Ankhas, the revived Raiaeran General having made a great impression upon her person. “I had estimated my errand would not take longer than a week, but certain complications had prolonged my stay in the Library, such as the unleashing of Nightmare Incarnates upon the library-goers, an assassination plot against a supposedly-dead General of worldly renown and a pioneering into the realms of instant-transportation gone awry.” Lillian had considered this a simple explanation for her tardiness, and had spoken so accordingly. Remembering the fang marks on her shoulder, she made a detached ‘oh’. “I also had a run-in with a Drave, which was perhaps the third or fourth time I almost died!’ To add that chipper enchantment to her voice was a quaint habit that would not fall. “It is rather odd how reading books has become such a precarious activity, do you not think?” She ended the query with a warm, joking smile.

Turning her attention to the woman she knew by name but not by face, Lillian extended a spindly white hand to the Head Cook of the Peregrine, Mohana Colville. “Oh! I’m sorry; it was rude of me to ramble so. My name is Lillian Sesthal. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

[Rajani Aishwara]

The abbreviated menu of the tavern was unimpressive to Rajani. He didn’t expect to be impressed. Never in a thousand years would he admit it to her, but Rajani favored Mohana’s cooking over any land lover’s entrée. With the proper supplies she could make anything requested even if the name of the dish escaped one’s memory. She was a living endless restaurant carte du jour for brunch, dinner, and the occasional midnight nibble. She already knew that, so what necessity was there to inform her? The waiter placed two glasses of white wine on the table. Rajani politely thanked him as he walked away.

“The Salvarian grapes from which this Sauvignon Blanc was made are not native to this region.” Mohana said with a dry tone before Rajani could take a sip. He rolled his eyes as he put the glass down. This was why he rarely commended her. “Despite selective breeding the grapes of this region never fully ripen due to the soil content. Not to mention they likely failed to age it properly.”

“I won’t dare mention the food.” Rajani buried his face in the menu hoping she would understand that she need say no more.

“Request the sirloin, rare done.” Mohana shattered his hope with the utmost pleasure. She knew he wanted her to say no more. Body language was universal and she received his message loud and clear. It was a perfect act of defiance.

“I’ll humor you. What is the necessity of ordering the sirloin rare done?”

“I suggest the sirloin because the chickens in this area have a reputation for catching disease. Stay far from the fruits and vegetables because they are seldom cleaned by the staff. Order rare because your taste is for medium and the kitchen overcooks.” She paused and allowed him to ponder.

The waiter approached and Rajani complied and ordered the sirloin, rare done. “In addition would it trouble you much if I requested ale?” He could hear Mohana take a breath to speak. “… Don’t!”

Mohana shrugged her shoulders and silently objected to ordering any food. Before Rajani could scold her for acting so rude, his mission partner approached. Those eyes of pure sapphire and that hair of black orchid were familiar to the young captain. Her skin was paler than usual as it had lost its rosy features, and her pace was fatigued. She resembled that of the undead. Lillian Sesthal made her case for being tardy for their meeting. Rajani honestly did not mind since he hadn’t arranged the truly critical meeting. His attempt to contract such an event with such momentous figures would be absurd at best.

Before he could properly respond Mohana stood up and wrapped the young librarian in a warm embrace. “You poor creature. Might fates have pity on your fortune henceforth.”

“Indeed. Please sit down. I will pay for the meal although you may have a challenge with the menu.” Rajani motioned for her to sit down with them and their waiter placed a glass of wine in front of her seat. “Would you mind informing us of your findings at the library of Alerar, or shall we allow you to rest?”

[The Glassmaker]

How do people live up here?

Sihiri tried his best, but failed miserably, to conceal his shivers. Even through the heavy elk-hide cloak bestowed upon him by some gracious stranger, the Salvic winds bit almost as badly as windswept sands.

As he made his way on foot into Rathaxea Square, into the swirling maelstrom of pale-faced strangers and shouting voices in tongues he didn't know, it occurred to him how very far from Fallien he'd come.

He pushed his way through the crowds of shoulders, trying to make as little stir as possible as he looked for the Inn, whose name was etched on the scrap of parchment in his hand. He had yet to learn to read writing, but he at least could recognize matching symbols. He hoped.

He'd no sooner made it through the mass of bodies at the square's entrance than a waist-high child came charging by, colliding hard and nearly toppling him. He spun around, but the child merely kept on running.

Why the haste?

He stopped. He sighed. He glanced down at his belt. His knife was gone. Drawing Bokoa from his back, he turned, raising the blade of the glass sickle toward the fleeing thief.

The glass dagger sprang from beneath the boy's shirt and flew to Sihiri's outstretched hand. The child spun on a dime, his eyes wide.

Sihiri smiled. "That's mine."

The boy darted away.

Not long afterward, Sihiri had located a building whose sign seemed to match the name on the parchment. Warily, he pushed his way through the door.

The tavern was the color of the overcast Salvic sky, filled with a clamor of the nation's strange tongue. As a group of burly men circled around one of the large tables burst into raucous laughter, Sihiri's gaze caught on a trio further toward the wall--a man with onyx curls and darkened skin that matched the description given by his cousin, a woman who seemed to be his companion, and a girl as pale as the Salvic snow.

He approached cautiously, praying they were the ones he sought.

"Rajani Aishwara?"

[Ataraxis]

Lillian had stepped through the tavern threshold in steadfast determination, but in a second’s moment were her delusions dismantled. The girl had been ready to defend her case, to justify her belatedness, to mend all tears and wipe all stains that may have despoiled whatever length of trust they had invested in her. Lillian had entered with the heart of a fierce lioness, yet she had become but a squeamish kitten, submissive in the giant embrace of a mistress. The Head Cook was surprisingly strong for a woman of such glamorous litheness, the interlacing of her arms catching the girl in an unshakeable lock. ‘Then again, she probably does her groceries on her own... and she does not seem like the kind to make more than one trip.’ That, added to the number of mouths to be fed on the Peregrine, made her brittle frame shudder. If this was an act of compassion, then Lillian definitely did not want to experience firsthand an expression of wrath. ‘Try and stay on her good side, Lily.’

“Th-thank you?” went the sheepish squeal in answer to Mohanna’s wishful prayer, muffled by the layers of the woman’s winter vestments. When she had released Lillian from the nest of her arms, the girl gasped as if reemerging from the depths of a lake and escaping the clammy hands of death by drowning. Still, the hug had not been a wholly dreadful thing, for it was impregnated with motherly warmth, one her singular memory had recalled with such vivid emotion. Though her physical frailty was no longer in dire straits, her spirit now missed this rare affection, this perfect replica of a mother’s smothering love. Feeling her thoughts drift to unkind realms, the young girl shook her head, sending rolling waves through her silken mane. ‘Keep yourself together, girl!’

“Ah, yes! I’ll sit. Of course.” Lillian chided herself for stuttering, and was mortified that they might think of her as a scatterbrained teenager. With scissoring strides did she go and meet one of the vacant chairs, pulling on its backrest nervously, only to plop onto the rigid seat with the lightness of a feather. “There is no need to worry about me. I am not weary, and even if it were the case, I would still not allow myself to rest, as I have already dallied too long on the way.” Good. She was already regaining the reins over her emotions, and had assumed an air of pseudo-professionalism.

When the waiter came to serve Rajani a still steaming plate of medium-cooked sirloin, he also took her order. Lillian straightened up and looked him in the eyes. “I will take a…" She eyed Rajani’s plate with the subtlety of a mouse. "…small sirloin, rare done.” Fearing that her partners would think of her as some sort of rabid carnivore, trapped in the most unlikely of bodies, Lillian quickly whispered her explanation when the waiter had strode off far enough, her dollish visage softened by a bashful smile. “I… I only heard that such places tend to overcook. I’m not, um, a vampire, or anything like that…” Lillian absolutely did not want them to elaborate on that particular subject; her mention of vampires might have already sowed some seed of doubt in their minds; though utterly false, it was, after all, a logical explanation to her paleness.

“Based on what you have asked me to look into, I have amassed a substantial amount of information that may prove to be useful to you. For instance, I believe you might be interested in knowing where the largest veins and deposits of mythril, damascus and osmium are?” Lillian paused, if only for the dramatic flair it would create. The girl was beginning to enjoy this meeting of adventurers, so oft seen in the first chapters of her favorite tales. Of course, the matters at hand usually pertained to rampaging dragons, vicious legions of woken dead and generally anything linked, in one way or another, to the world’s impending doom, rather than of business endeavors and talk of geology, as it was the case in this particular tryst. “I must say, I was surprised when I first read your missive, and I could not imagine anyone undertaking an enterprise of such a grand scale. To literally mo– ”

Though Lillian had been the subject to impolite stares only moments prior, her eyes had now made one with theirs, all moving in unison toward the door that had just whined open. In the street-cast light stood a swarthy man of obsidian curls, his figure swathed in the caramel coat of a deerskin cloak. Seeing the thin bundles of cloth that peeked from beneath the furry folds, she made the assumption that, like her, the man was not particularly inured to such a wintry weather, or to the thick and warm clothing that those indigenous to the country all seemed to boast.

Abrupt was his advance, and Lillian felt progressively intimidated by his size, which seemed to increase exponentially with every taken step. Her heart hung on a barbed fence when the newcomer flung his less-than-curt interjection. ‘Should I introduce myself? No, it is not your place to do so, Lily! He asked for sir Aiswhara, not you, so you might as well deflate your swollen ego this instant!’ Taking her self-admonitions to heart, Lillian sank deeper into her chair, and it might have been a trick of the eye, but she seemed to shrink ever so slightly, as if in compensation for the stranger’s daunting size.

Not knowing what to do, the sixteen-year-old girl ogled the rounded glass that lay before her, with its placid red contents glaring back at her with intent. Without giving any notice, her hand subtly yet swiftly went for the neck of the wineglass and brought its brim to her slowly-coloring lips. At a loss for a rational action, she sipped the claret fluid, ignoring its bitterness; her eyes were far too focused on the two men for her mind to even register what she was doing.

It wasn’t long until her cheeks felt a welcome flush of blood, adopting the hues of a playful carnelian, and her lips curled into a giddy, woozy smile.

[Rajani Aishwara]

An awkward silence followed the tenderfoot’s entrance. Rajani had long before begun to dig into his meal as he haphazardly listened to the dialogue between Lillian and Mohana. Avalonian custom deemed it impolite to eat before everyone at the table to have a meal before them, but after observing that custom being broken all around them Rajani thought nothing of it. Now he was regretful as he looked upon this tall mahogany skinned man with raised eyebrows and a full mouth frozen in mid gnaw. The newest member of the Peregrine Group was intimidating in height. To speak with his mouth full would be rude, but to remain non responsive would be just as detrimental. For the first and probably only time, Mohana’s frantic fear of awkward silence saved them.

“My stars!” She said with a smile as her slender index finger floated around the table. “I could very well make a well rounded dessert mousse with the flavors surrounding me, a light milk chocolate body, a bright banana pudding layer, a swirl of whipped cream, and a sprinkle of genuine vanilla bean. Salutations, good sir. You have come to the right place. The ever so polite man with the beef crammed mouth is Rajani Aishwara, Captain of the Peregrine and leader of the Peregrine Group. I am Mohana Colville, Head Cook of the ship, and this is Lillian Sesthal. I take it like her you are a member of the Peregrine Group?”

“Yes, he is.” Rajani said after a hasty swallow. He politely stood up extending his hand, and continued to speak with a lump literally in his throat. “Madames, this is Sihiri Kiinimacho, the newest member of the Peregrine Group. He is here to shed light on the market value of Fallien’s glassmaking to the Salvic world. Too long has that market been ignored and underappreciated by the rest of Althanas. We hope, with him, to at least encourage interest.”

“Well this is a first of many indeed. I have yet to come face to face with a glassmaker.” Mohana said as she patted the empty seat beside her. “Please sit and enjoy a meal with us as Rajani briefs us in this coming mission.”

The Avalonian Captain chucked as he sat back down and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “First and foremost, Mohana, feel free to commandeer the kitchen and teach those men how to cook. Secondly this mission is of the utmost importance to the future wellbeing of the world economy. As you know the Bazaar in all its vulnerable glory has become the recent target of extortion attacks. This isn’t the first time and it is not likely to be the last. In its current condition the entire Bazaar can fall to one’s mercy with the attack of a handful of critical locations. In order to remedy such weaknesses we must introduce more resources from Salvar and Alerar into the global market. In less than an hour a caravan of noblemen and ambassadors from both nations will be making their way through Rathaxea Square. They will meet to finalize their relations today. That is when we must capture their attention. So will you ride with me?”

[The Glassmaker]

It wasn't them.

The man he'd thought to be Rajani just stared at him like an ibex before a lion...a lion he thought was crazy...

He just about turned away with embarrassment when the older woman started chattering excitedly, sweeping her hand about the table. He didn't catch everything she said---his tradespeak was flimsy---but just the word Peregrine was enough. He sighed...he was safe.

He then just about introduced himself, but the group's Leader was quicker. Sihiri merely smiled at Mohana and shook the man's hand--not as firmly as he liked for first impressions, but good enough.

“Please sit and enjoy a meal with us as Rajani briefs us in this coming mission.”

He bowed his head to her and sat. "Thank you, mahdam." Listening to them speak---and responding---reminded him of just how strong his Fallien accent was this far north. "Am sorry for being later. Cart driver did not understand..." The tradespeak word evaded him. "...way to...go here."

Aishwara didn't seem to mind, though. He seemed to have just started eating---and the women's food hadn't even arrived. Perhaps he wasn't too far behind.

Instead, Rajani went on to explain...something. Many of the words Sihiri had not heard before...ekoh know me?...but he understood most of what was said. The man did talk fast...but everyone else seemed to understand him.

"Will ride." Sihiri nodded, and extended his hand across the table. "You sound as strong captain, sir Rajani."

[Ataraxis]

What a queer sensation this was! An unusual heat was scalding her throat, pricking with vehemence as it coursed down to her chest like sparks from a bonfire. Lillian made a face, the wine having left behind a dreadful aftertaste – at least, for her amateur palate. Nevertheless, she kept on sipping the crimson stuff, if only for the gentle wash it provided her gullet, and she even began to acquire a taste for the cleansing properties of this liquid fire. What coaxed her to consume more of the draught, however, was the lightheadedness that came with it, every velvety nip a drop of wondrous clarity that roused her senses and sharpened her mind. ‘It’s like my brain is breathing through a thousand little holes in my head!’

In her state of heightened awareness, her ears had pricked. ‘That accent…’ From the burnt hues of his skin, Lillian had surmised that the foreigner was a man who had toiled under an arid sun, but since his features were not unlike those of the Peregrine leader, what with his caramel complexion and his ruffle of dark curls, she could not accurately guess his ethnicity. Even the scant clothing beneath his deerskin was not proof enough, as Rajani himself had a scarce wardrobe – something the budding girl had realized upon their first encounter, not without a bashful blush. The thickness in the accent of this stranger, however, had been a most brusque answer to her musings. She grinned, a dash of nostalgia seeping in between her lips. ‘Now that man is definitely from Fallien.’

Lillian paid heed throughout Rajani’s speech, or at least invested as much attention to the soliloquy as one could in a drunken stupor. That she had barely quaffed half a glass did not matter; Lillian had never come within ten feet of an alcoholic beverage prior to this day, and weighing a bit under a hundred pounds made her an incontestable lightweight. While the prospect of meeting members of the Elven peerage would have terrified her any other time, she was now surprisingly thrilled at the idea. “Oh, that sounds wonderfully exciting!” With a whiff of the air, her look became rather puzzled. “And it smells wonderful too?”

“Your small sirloin, rare done, with a side of baked potatoes, madam.” The waiter stood to her left with professional calm throughout the announcement, holding on the tip of his fingers a porcelain plate, seething with a mixed aroma of roast beef and melted butter.

“Oh! Thank you, it looks delightfully good!” Lillian exclaimed with adjoining hands, her voice ringing sweet, if not tipped with a slight euphoria. The waiter had issued a hoary laugh, dismissing it as nothing but the liveliness of the youthful, and strode away with an amused smile. “Sir! This man also requires sustenance! He has come from far and is most probably famished from the trip!” Lillian wasn't sure if she was chiding or pleading, but felt she had come strongly either way, perhaps a bit too much. What intrigued her most, though, was that she did not give a rodent’s buttocks.

The waiter had rolled on the ball of his heels, asking forgiveness for his mistake and rambled on nervously about his failing eyesight. With a satisfied smile, she turned to Sihiri, who was seated directly opposite to her, and addressed him in perfect Fallien. “You must be terribly hungry! This man will take your order, and you need not be concerned about the price. Sir Aishwara has told me he would take care of the receipt! Sadly, I doubt they serve kebabs here, and even if they did, it would not taste anything like authentic Fallien Cuisine.” With a joking chuckle, she gave Sihiri a playful wink, unaware that, because of her inebriation, it had come off as a particularly beguiling ‘come hither’ look.

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani lowered his head and looked down at his less than satisfactory meal in order to hide his laugh. Mohana only barely concealed hers as a sneeze sounding chuckle squeezed past her lips. This was an amusing turn of events. It was evident given her feather light weight and her small frame that the librarian’s body would have little tolerance against alcohol. But only after a handful of sips it was incontestable.

Their little Lilly had gone a little tipsy.

Mohana playfully reached for Lilly’s wine glass with tiptoeing fingers then slowly dragged it out of reach. It was a strangely conspicuous maneuver as it was in plain sight and well noticed.

“Madame Sesthal, it seems as though this miniscule amount of alcohol has left you somewhat inebriated. I do understand that this moment’s circumstance leaves it appropriate for you to partake in recreational drinking, but perhaps you should pace yourself.” The young entrepreneur looked away as a sudden thought struck him. Until now he assumed that he would have to be the sole spokesperson for the task given Sihiri’s linguistic impediment and Lillian’s shy nature, but the weight of the daunting role may have been lifted off his shoulders yet. “In spite of this please take into your memory your slight lack of normal inhibition. It has greatly enhanced your charisma, for if your scent were as pleasurable as your current sociability, all would flock to you. You would attract the evening star…”

A familiar and frightening sound began to pour into the canal of Rajani’s right ear, horseshoes. There were many horses moving about on the street outside the tavern, but within that dull thud was a great chorus of several horses trotting in a synchronized union. It could only mean one thing. The nobles were here, and they were surprisingly early. In a few seconds all activity would stop to make way for them for they were certainly headed for Castle Rathaxea. Rajani abruptly rose from his seat and began a hasty navigation through the maze of tables, chairs and bodies. His own chair would have fallen to the ground hadn’t Mohana gotten hold of it.

“Adhere to his lead!” She said instinctively as she stood and offered her hand to the intoxicated librarian.

Rajani finally found the door just as the busy street had been cleared. He only gave a glance down the way to see a blur of marching white horses and a large multicolored ornate carriage.

“Pardon my way! Please excuse my transgression!” Rajani sounded off several polite statements of apology as he rudely bumped shoulders with several people as they clustered around the walkways. By most standards Rajani was short in height, and it was clearly demonstrated here. After several leaps and bound he had finally made his way into the street to intercept the noble caravan.

Unfortunately by this time four of the ten noble carriages had passed and Rajani found himself confronted by several pikemen guards. He naturally changed his route from making his way towards the caravan to sidestepping along the walkway. This was the first, and possibly most dangerous, step to his plan, the very step that Mohana expressed reluctance over. In order to convince the courts of Salvar and Alerar to do what the world needed them to, he would first have to make a meeting with them.

[Ataraxis]

Too late had Lillian notice her wineglass being purloined, lead astray and out of reach by the less-than-sly fingers of Mohana. She made no attempt at concealing her indignation, boldly slouching down the backrest with her arms crossed, her bottom lip drooping into a pout as would a child whose favorite toy was confiscated because of some childish transgression she may have committed. “This isn’t fair,” she protested dejectedly, slightly leaning forward before turning away her wooly blue eyes in a huff. “I only had a wee sip! I swear!”

Lillian was surprisingly agitated as she sat through Rajani’s harangue, beseeming not the well-behaved adolescent that she was, but rather the impish four-year-old who neither knew nor cared to distinguish right from wrong. Luckily, this newfound mindset was working in favor of the Peregrine leader, whose honey-tongued eloquence had easily swayed her fickle mood. Inebriation had once more done its work, upturning her doleful moue into a salaciously satisfied smile as she playfully forked the tiny sirloin that lay before her. “Well, well, sir Aishwara; I now see that flattery is also one of your… many fortes.”

Far too preoccupied by the strange symptoms of a swollen ego, the whirs and clicks that rang outside the tavern had gone unheard to the girl; but the ruckus of Rajani’s abrupt departure had not failed to rouse her from her sluggish daze. For a while she watched him clod past the closely-packed tables, only noticing then an extended hand that struck her as oddly similar to her wine burglar. What words then escaped from Mohana’s lips, Lillian registered as barely intelligible rubbish, but the girl complied nonetheless and latched onto the Head Cook. “Ad…admire the mead? If you say so…”

“Oh!” Before she knew it, her feet were fluttering beneath her as she was pulled into a mad dash; and as they stepped into the northern cold, Lillian realized with half her wit that they had just committed a hit-and-run, and fairly noticeably at that. “What an exciting day! I’ve only committed minor felonies once or twice before!” Across her face was now splayed a cloddish grin, her scarlet countenance accentuated by the thermal shock. Often had she almost fallen, either toppled by unmindful bystanders or tripped by the curbstones that seemed to snake underfoot. ‘I think I’m getting a headrush…oh no, that was only the urgent need to vomit. I’m good now.’

Lillian had been led into a tight crowd of onlookers as Mohanna attempted to sidle past the pikemen. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that many were giving her quizzical looks as she strutted past them. “What’re you looking at?” There was sluggish emphasis on the ‘you’, which elicited even more perked eyebrows, but Lillian quickly dismissed them as she finally caught sight of Rajani, skipping sideways as he vainly tried to bypass the wall of guards that barred the path to his ambitious objective. “Hey!” Lillian hollered shrilly, uncaring that she had deafened most of those within earshot. “Sir Aishwara!” She persisted, now flailing her arms above her head in hopes that he would notice them. “Maybe we can get them to hear us by-”

It sounded like a slick, viscid slip. Intrigued by the peculiarity of the noise, the drunken librarian lifted her chin and gave a long hard stare to her hands. One in particular had attracted her attention, for it was clasped around the silver haft of a fork, with prongs that, though stained with brownish sauce and meaty little blotches, were alarmingly vacant. “Oh no.”

Like a flat, round pleasant-smelling bird, the sirloin had soared high into the sullen skies before entering a dramatic descent. Down, down, down it went, plummeting faster and faster, breaking off into little fleshy chunks of cooked meat in its spiraling descent. Then, in the most theatrical manner that Lillian had ever seen, the flying slice of beef ended its fall. Arms still raised, fork still brandished, her face frozen into an expression of despairing fear that was mirrored in her unbelieving gaze, she saw her sirloin bypass the pikemen and slide into one of the noble carriages through an open window flap.

“Oops?”

Strange, how everything had suddenly fallen silent.

[Rajani Aishwara]

Only during one of Rajani Aishwara’s ambitious escapades would Karma rear her paradoxical head and bring this unwanted yet comical turn of events. The entrepreneur’s eyes widened with a mixture of shock and fear, as did the cook’s. All those in visual range began to turn to the supposed source of the projectile filet mignon.

“Drop it! Drop it!” Mohana said in a snaky hiss of panic as she grabbed Lillian’s arm and shook it frantically. The fork hit the ground and she kicked it behind them. The pikeman rested his eyes on the two women as the sound of a fork dragging across the ground rang in his ears. Mohana set her eyes in the air. “Where did that come from prey tell?”

All was quiet; all was frozen, an opportune time to attract good attention. “One million gold pieces every harvest!” Rajani’s voice echoed throughout Rathaxea Square. The angelic white horses pulling the carriages finally stopped, and all eyes were on him. He had managed to steal the show from the sirloin. A single masculine hand emerged from the ornate curtains of the middle carriage holding a blood soaked brown sponge of meat. It dropped the meat and waved. Two pikemen stepped aside allowing passage for the entrepreneur to approach. Rajani stepped forward and continued. “The initial costs will be minute to nil in view of the fact that it is simply a modification of plans already put in motion. There will be no need for major alliances with the Church of the Ethereal Sway, or the Vorguk-Stokes Company, nor will you find it necessary to tax your people.”

That last statement bid well with the observers on the side. Various onlookers reacted favorably to the thought a tax free ambition. Some even made their favor audible. The red curtains finally opened and a nobleman in a uniform of white and gold stepped out. For the brief second that the curtains were completely open the entrepreneur could see a young woman no older than the teenage librarian. Her silhouette alluded to the last trimester of pregnancy as her left hand, lacking a ring of any kind, flopped lazily over her inflated belly.

Rajani bowed with a smile as he introduced himself. “I am Rajani Aishwara of Avalon, Captain of the Peregrine, and leader of the Peregrine Group. On behalf of all previously mentioned entities I desire to make a proposal of fortune.”

With his chin up and his face pasted with proud intrigue the noble finally spoke. “Alan Formaxim, of the Formaxim Estates. Your methods of gaining our attention are rather reckless.” He slowly glanced back at the carriages behind. They fronted Alerar’s colors. “And they are mighty convenient in terms of timing. We are holding a banquet tonight at the Castle Rathaxea. While we eat, you speak.”

Without saying a word of goodbye Formaxim turned and stepped back into the carriage, and the caravan marched away as quickly as it disappeared. Rajani released a sigh of relief, but then realized they only had five hours to construct a presentation worthy of royalty. That thought of slight inebriation enhancing Lillian’s performance was taken back.

“Feel free to stay clear of the alcohol tonight, Madame Sesthal.” Rajani said as he made his way back into the tavern. “Since we are all present please indulge us with the information you came across in Ankhas.”

[Ataraxis]

Before any eye could settle on the silver glint she had hefted high, Mohana had shaken it out of her lax grip, the clatter of metal ringing not far off as it was dragged and trampled by the crowd of jittery onlookers. Not knowing what to do with her outstretched appendage, Lillian lowered it slightly and stuck out a wobbly forefinger, pointing aimlessly a dozen yards away.

“Verily, it has come from the conveniently situated food court yonder,” she blurted innocently, unintentionally elaborating on the Cook’s formal speech. In the end, it made no difference, for Rajani had concocted his own means of drawing the attention away from the intoxicated librarian and onto himself – in fact, even Lillian was intrigued by his bold statement, and was eyeing him widely as the carriages came to a full stop.

What followed had come as a flitting blur, though all details of the event were still burned into her mind. Crimson curtains were parted to reveal a noble figure, dressed in a gold-buttoned jerkin whose shade mirrored the plains of Salvar, trimmed at the hems with gild and cursive tracings; but the most striking image was that of the youth that hid in the veiled shadows of the carriage, her pristine hand pressed lightly upon her distended abdomen. Word of a banquet fleeted past her ears, on to which they would attend, it seemed, before the velvet drapes brushed back to a close, whirs and hoof falls resuming with the click of the coachman’s tongue.

Left in the procession’s wake, Rajani made his way back to the two women, and though Lillian was still under the influence, she was no fool and could clearly sense her captain’s tone. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I’ll behave, now.” Her voice had softened to nigh a whisper, her recent blunder having summoned back most of her sobriety. “I will waste no more time, then.”

With this, they made their way back to the Rathaxea Inn. After having reassured the proprietor that they had not dashed out to escape a bill, they recovered their seats around the oaken table. With a glance of misery, the young girl saw her plate devoid of substance, save for a frighteningly dark sauce and mashed legumes that had gone cold and odourless. ‘I doubt I can order something else, now. After what just happened, that would be, urm… improper, I guess.’ With a cursory sigh, she set her palms flatly against her lap and stared at the captain for a moment.

Then, she spoke, and an unsettling change was already apparent.

“A land of unimaginable wealth, sleeping undisturbed under a sempiternal blanket of snow: that is Salvar,” she began, joint hands lightly set on the rugged wood of the table. “You have sent me to Ankhas so that a means to rouse these riches could be found – and I just may have found a viable means.”

“The major exports from Salvar are raw resources such as metal, lumber, skins and furs. Knowing this, I delved deeper into the nature of these resources and I discovered that though the Salvaran trading commerce is thriving, it is scarcely responding to the demands in its more exclusive materials.” A stop to breathe, but she quickly found a second wind, and promptly continued her presentation.

“We could proceed safely and strike a deal with the northern tribes, who have been known to trade with whoever proposes the best offer for their goods. In this manner, we could have easy access to hides and bones from their hunts, lumber from their dense forests and even common minerals they mine in bulk.” Lillian had been staring intently at her hands all the while, but in this moment of reprieve, her eyes had rolled up, now riveted on the head of the Peregrines; and though they were still clouded with the claret of wine, the convincing glow of their eerie blue was more than dominant. “Yet I doubt you wish this to be our main endeavor, since it would be sensibly time-consuming and would require a rather vast capital to begin with. This would be a secondary goal – a plan B, if you will.”

“There is one way to attain our goals much more rapidly, but it comes with considerable risks. As aforementioned, Salvar has not even bored past the tip of the iceberg when it comes to exploiting its rarer resources. What I speak of is the blue-white osmium, an extremely brittle ore that can be refined into a highly-prized material by blacksmiths, found only in the Ahyark Mountains that surround Knife’s Edge, and Liviol, a magical wood that enhances the inherent properties of its natural form, found in the ever-elusive Warded Wood.” Waiting an adequate span of time for her colleagues to assimilate this information, Lillian made a sharp intake of air, trying to air out the blur of intoxication that still ailed her mind. “Having a monopoly on these materials would ensure nigh-ludicrous revenues, without counting what could be gained from the Magical Rifts in Berevar and finding the recipe for creating the all-powerful Icemold.”

“Though I do not know much about the world of business – with which, in any case, you seem to be more than comfortable – with a bit of help, we could devise feasible ways to take advantage of these untouched resources.” For now, this would be enough. It was useless to say anymore until Rajani had made his choice.

That, and the motions of her mouth were impeded by the coarse hardness of the table, into which her dozing head had crashed with an unceremonious thud.

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani rubbed his chin in contemplation as the librarian divulged all the necessary information. The distorted emeralds that were Mohana's eyes widened just as her jaw dropped. Noticing this in the corner of his eye the entrepreneur made a grin from the corner of his mouth. He knew Lillian would impress her with her intelligence. It was just a simple question of when it would happen. Before this moment she was simply another stowaway who deserved Mohana's charity and good will. Now she realized how valuable Lillian was to the Peregrine Group, and that they were so lucky to stumble across her.

“Mark me impressed.” Mohana said as she leaned forward with intrigue. “For your short time in this world you have become articulate and intelligent far beyond your years. I pray to know your acquaintance when you reach our age for I can hardly imagine how great your mind will be then.”

“I stated it before, and I will state it again, my good culinary mistress, the Peregrine Group harbors in its ranks characters that will tickle your fancy. Now let us return to the matter at hand.” Rajani said. “It is admirable that you have provided us with an alternative plan. Indeed if the nobility of the two nations is not impressed with our initial plans negotiations with northern tribes may prove quite useful, if not to them then to us. As for our primary objective, we must diffuse Althanas' resources and services so that the market is no longer in one vulnerable location. That is why we are here today, to beautify Salvar and Alerar in the eyes of the merchants and artisans of the international community. This osmium ore couldn't be in a more convenient location than Knife's Edge. Firstly we may alert the King and the surrounding fiefdoms to the resource so that they may immediately capitalize on it. Second, both nations intend to forge a bi national rail line. It will naturally lead here making the transportation of said resource all the more swift. The conflict may be the properties of the Osmium. It is the market preference that Osmium be used as an alloy agent to enhance the durability of other materials, and the dangers involved in refining it currently fail to outweigh the benefits. While the rail system may grant access to the Kachuck mines we must find a common, less expensive metal to serve as a companion good. Are there any?”

[Ataraxis]

“Why thank you, madam Colville; yet I cannot help but wonder how I may pass as articulate, with my face plastered so against the table.” Her words were muffled at best, the girl trying with all her might to fend off the call of a drunken slumber. While she attempted to push herself up from her less than distinguished arrangement, she outlined a formal reply to Rajani’s enquiry.

“We would indeed have access to all desired metals, were we to gain the favor of the Kachuk Dwarves.” Her speech had started sloppy, mostly due to the solid harshness that was pressed against her right cheek, but Lillian shook off her slur as she finally straightened herself up, blinking eyes returned to the hazy contours of her comrades. Her mouth was twisted into strange shapes, in an effort to soften the pasty numbness that reigned within. “Yet I understand that the exploitation of multiple sources would hinder the efforts of any faction that wishes for the detriment of our endeavor.”

“Therefore, I searched for a few alternatives, parsing a score of geological maps and studying the requisite conditions for the formation of most metallic elements.” The lids of her eyes were half sealed, the librarian bringing to the forefront of her mind the countless graphs, diagrams and statistics she had committed to memory only a fortnight ago. The eerie blue of her irises shone once more, her full gaze meeting that of her leader's. “I am certain that there are untouched veins of Prevalida in the southwestern regions of the Ahyark Mountains.”

“It is a material not foreign to the country, and smaller mines were built only miles away from what I believe to be the mother lode.” All signs pointed to a single location, one that stretched at the very least for several miles beneath the southern and western versants. Lillian was amazed that no one had realized this: no records of a mining enterprise had made its way into the most recent encyclopedias of Ankhas. She knew for a fact that she had found virgin grounds, and that they were safe to exploit. “Also, at the foot of the northern inclines, there are high concentrations of ilmenite and rutile, which are minerals that contain the most abundant of Titanium compounds - Titanium Dioxyde - whose process of refining is by far more complete and of economic worth than that of Osmium.”

“There may also be small deposits of Dehlar and Damascus, a few miles east of Kachuk, but my research on these materials was not as conclusive, and I cannot guarantee that, were we to mine these locations, we would find worthwhile quantities of these ores.” Her face was solemn, almost sallow, as though the fact that she could not say with certainty that they would strike the allegorical gold in the last given sites made her feel worthless. “I am sorry that my last finds were not beyond question. I… I could return to the Library and start my research anew,” she added in a sheepish murmur, brooding over the possiblity that her comrades had lost all confidence in her abilities.

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani raised an eyebrow in confusion, which was a change from the satisfactory smile he held as Lillian divulged the golden information all the while. He turned to Mohana to see her tilt her head and narrow her jade eyes. She too was confused. Why was this young genius asking for forgiveness for such superb work? Before he could continue with the discussion Rajani had to address this. Lacking in confidence was an all too common phenomenon with the young librarian.

“Please do not convince yourself that you have failed your mission, I pray you.”

Mohana chimed in as she took Lillian’s spidery thin hand in hers. “Having seen the strategy myself, I can assure you, you have more than made this a worthwhile endeavor for all of the Peregrine Group. If there is a knife in your heart is of your own hand.”

Rajani gave a nod of confidence. “She speaks the truth, and I will demonstrate why.” He took a moment to ponder over what he was about to say. Then he leaned in and spoke in a quiet voice. “The report of the mass mouth is that Alerar’s new king has intentions of forging a rail system, this steam carriage that pulls along a metal rail. With increasingly fond relations with Salvar it is likely that this rail system will have at least one bi-national line that ends here. ‘Twould be illogical for there not to be. The majority of the Salvic Estates make their tenure in the fertile valley in a straight line to Knife’s Edge. There has been no impediment transporting raw goods from the Ahyark Mountains to the Salvic capital. The true obstacle lies in the economic situation of the local consumers and consumers abroad. The Vorguk Stokes Company and the Church of The Ethereal Sway hold a near monopoly on what little minerals they mine out of the mountains allowing them to drive up the prices. None here can afford it, thus the market for the minerals has never expanded to break into the international market. Enter the Peregrines…”

“Excuse me…” A waiter dressed in a simple brown tunic approached them with a wide smile. “And what will the happy family be having to drink on this fine day?”

“None for me or for her. Thank you.” Rajani said. He quickly returned to the matter at hand. “As I was saying we the Peregrine Group will simply bring the international market to Salvar. Tonight we will advise the kings to offer free lodging for merchants on the estates along the rail line. Tomorrow we will alert the relevant estates to their hidden treasure. The equation from there should fall into place and end in the desired effect, a proper diffusion of resources and services, making the Bazaar less vulnerable to attack and extortion.”

[Ataraxis]

Whether it be elation from the last drops of wine that swam in her system or the faith her companions had in her abilities was unsure, but Lillian pulled herself up as easily as she did a bashful smile, her whole demeanour miles more chipper than they had been prior to their persuasive words. As so, she could now hearken the Peregrine’s plan with the utmost attention, no longer worried that the flaws of her studies might have been transferred to his grand design.

The tidings of a railroad crossing the Twilight Mountains from Alerar to Salvar were no news to her, considering the extensive time she had spent in the former nation. It had been more than just hearsay, she knew, the librarian having somehow linked the piece of information to Rajani’s ambitious objective, here in the cold lands. In all likeliness, she had hit dead on the nail, though the Avalonian had been the one to promptly finish the job with a few hammering knocks, bringing her up to speed with the deeper details of their work. The culmination of his address elicited from the girl a few deliberate nods, for she knew that, though this tavern tryst was to be the foundation, there were a myriad clouts to strike before they could see the end of this project, see it rise from the grounds of abstraction to the summit of reality.

“Wait… tonight?” Something new crept over her face. It was not the gloom of fear, the lack of faith or the blush of wine, but something much simpler, much worldlier. Gingerly, she let her gaze fall, first to her clothes, not yet a mess but bearing an off-white shade, worse than merely lacklustre, then to her hair, tangled and frizzed at the ends due to her trek from frozen wastelands to hearth warmth. A few inches to the side, she could see the brown backpack, slumping against the uneven dapples of the floorboards like a half-empty bag of beans, a faint reek suffusing from it in nose-cringing eddies, as though inside, something dead had thawed with the heat of the tavern.

She refused to say it, not after gaining their respect with her successful presentation. To them, she had become an equal, and Lillian was adamant on keeping this hard-earned position, instead of chucking it out the window for something as futile, as vain and superficial as smartening up. Still, she could not go to the banquet looking like a pauper straight off the streets, could she? Her fingers were knit, squirming and restless over joint knees, and with a sidelong glance, she conveyed her blinking plea to Mohana, so momentous that it should have eluded the Captain’s eyes – oh, how she wished it had!

It was, however, her dearest hope that it had not fleeted past the emerald scopes of the Head Cook, and that the bonny woman would help her in this time of need, where lore of science was so helpless to offset her shortcomings in style.

[Rajani Aishwara]

I hope you don’t mind the bunnying. Check your pms for more details.

Rajani raised his chin with a sly grin and chuckled. “My dear librarian, I hope you don’t think me so dull witted as to not see your ever so obvious distress hail to Madame Colville here.” He placed a few coins on the table and stood up cuing his party to take their leave as well. “Perhaps we shall venture to the market to drape you in more appropriate attire.”

”Eureka! Drapes!” Mohana blurted out with enthusiasm as she pointed to her head. Rajani watched her in silent confusion. “Understand? Drapes!”

Rajani shook his head with a face of futility.

“Take your leave, good sir, and allow me to be the heroine of this catastrophe. Oh, and…” Mohana grabbed Rajani by the blade. She slid her hand around the cylindrical grip just below the nickel pommel and jerked several times before Rajani gave in and let it go. Mohana stumbled back. It took her a brief moment to regain her balance and hold the sword in a safe position. “One must watch their eye around such things. Take a tour of the city, Captain Aishwara. I claim this task for the honor of the Peregrine and women everywhere.”

Mohana took Lillian by the wrist and took her up to their room. She kicked open the door to reveal a plush room of fluffy red cushions, an intricately woven rug, and maroon window drapes of elegant embroidery. Mohana ran to the bed and dropped Rajani’s sword on it, then reached into her pocket and pulled out random materials.

“I have no doubt in my mind that Rajani, being an honest entrepreneur, will end this trip compensating the inn for the impending damages. However, this is far more ambitious than just sauntering about the market for a makeshift cloth.” Mohana took her long nails and began to pick at the corner of the white sheets on the bed until a single thread came out with a tug. She pulled it until it was halfway across the room and bit it off, section by section. She then used each to measure Lillian, wrapping one around her bust, her waist, and other parts of her length. “Hmmm. Petite.”

Having memorized the dimensions of the girl’s frame, Mohana ripped the strings off and patted her on the behind. “Get the to the tub on the other side of that door. There are rose pedals to add a flare. The innkeeper made a faulty assumption about the Captain and I.”

Mohana took Rajani’s blade with haste and aimed her swing at the drapes. “A pack of filthy vandals entered while we were enjoying a day out on the town.”

She winked and took a swing.

[Ataraxis]

It had taken but one look of supplication for the frail young girl to be swept away by a whirlwind called Mohana. Within seconds, she was plucked from a maze of round and reddish tables, drawn up a set of rushing stairs and pulled into a room so lavish in décor it could have been torn from the pages of a salacious book. All Lillian had been capable of was hastily excusing herself when she bumped into chairs and strangers alike, and to wave Rajani goodbye in between a trip and a fumble, the bewilderment splayed across his face most likely mirrored in her own.

“D-Damages?” she uttered meekly next to the door, but her word of bemusement soon became a sound of embarrassment; the librarian let out a sudden squeal when tense threads tautened around her chest and waist, the girl not quite accustomed to this particular method of measurement. The groping sensation made her quite uncomfortable, and that the cook was of a shared gender did very little to allay her uneasiness. The very moment she came unbound, a rap on the posterior told her where to go, and straightaway she scurried to the bathroom, the door closing behind her with a 'click'.

Like a child stumbling out of a mad carousel, she tiptoed about the premises, positively disoriented by this turn of events. Mohana’s purpose had been made sorely understood, and though Lillian was glad that the kind cook had taken it upon herself to sew a dress for her, the thought that anything remotely refined could be tailored from tavern drapes was dubious at best. ‘But madam Colville is no fool. I should trust her.’ Shooing away the last specks of doubt from her mind, Lillian marched onward, the cold finish of the floorboards sending faint shivers up her feet.

The valves of the basin were a novelty to the girl, and though the concept of running water was nothing secret to her, watching a solid instance of that technology rather than inked schematics awed her to no end. The Outlander’s Quarters in Fallien had common wells from which she used to drink, or where she filled buckets after buckets, so that her mother would have enough water to bathe the girl. Unfortunately, cleaning her had always been a waste of time, since her younger self had been to dirt what a magnet was to metal. Lillian smiled at the memory, but the upward curve was quick to droop. It always was. Shifting her weight from left to right, she doffed her crimpled dress and hung it to a wooden peg, feeling a sudden breeze when there was none.

Steam seethed hotly as water filled the porcelain tub, whisking her burgeoning curves as she leaned over the basin, one hand over the white brim, the other handling the left spigot. There was a long moment of impatience, until the tub was full. She skimmed the fluid surface, feeling a sweet torridity rise through her fingers, soothing her in expectancy. Going to the cabinet above the sink, she found clay pots filled with quite a few bath articles such as rose petals, cinnamon and various dried blooms. Back at the tub, she sifted the diversity of potpourri over the nigh-scalding waters. There was a sibilant hiss as a diaphanous mist rose in a swirl of fragrances. “Oh my,” she exhaled, blushing from the smell alone. ‘It’s such a pity that those two aren’t an item. They don’t know what they’re missing.’

Lillian slowly entered the flowing vessel, causing steam to rise up once more. Even though the warmth riled the sting in her wounded shoulder, she relished in the tingling sensation of ebbing waves enclosing around her, sending much welcome warmth throughout her body, cleansing it almost as well as it did her spirit. Dirt had faintly roiled the body of water, but no more. Though this bliss would be transient at most, she would wholly take advantage of it, for this might be her last opportunity for such selfish enjoyment, considering what the imminent future had in store for her and the other Peregrines. Her mind wandered to the homeless children she had met a few hours ago, in the streets of Knife's Edge, but the warm memory had quickly turned to ice; they too were faced with an uncertain yet inevitable future. She sighed.

Halfway above the porcelain did her back rise, her haunting blue eyes open wide. For a few seconds, she perked her ears, listening for an errant sound, but there was only the pitter patter of watter drizzling down her shoulders. Slowy, Lillian receded into the liquid warmth, still somewhat wary, but she blamed her delusions on fatigue. Lillian was far more tired than she had led on, after all.

Still, she could have sworn she heard the voice of a man.

::::::::::::

“Madam Colville?”

A patch of wet black peeked from the yawning door, bubbles of steam puffing through to the ceiling. Lillian gave cursory glances to the room, but her vision was impaired by the warm vapours that still seethed. The girl had extended her ablution for quite a while, but it had not been simply due to an omission of time. The mix of warm water and a flowery bouquet had made the girl a tad woozy, and had her head not hit the edge of the basin, she would have fallen to a most wonderful, drowning death. ‘If this goes on, I’ll run out of lives! Granted, I thought I only had one to start with, but I'd rather not find out just how many I have left.’

“Have the vandals left already?” the librarian quipped, finally stepping out of the bathroom. Around her lithe silhouette was draped a wool towel, the white fabric so large that the girl seemed to drift over the floor. Lillian seemed a spectral wraith, come in a cloud of pleasant-smelling smoke. Unfortunately, the flush of her cheeks and the childish lure of her face gave the ghastly apparition more of a comedic value than a frightening quality.


((I skipped some time! This should have given Mohana the time to, well, sew something!))

[Rajani Aishwara]

The deep chime of the colossal bells atop the church spire saturated the air and resonated through Rajani’s body in such a way that he felt the need to stand still until they stopped. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be a brass symbol as it was struck by a drum stick. He wasn’t one for churches, or religion in general, but he was told it that St. Denebriel’s Cathedral was a sight to behold, worth seeing for believers and nonbelievers alike. Even as he was in the city that day he never thought to come here. A church, no matter how magnificent, was never worth a detour. However, he was glad he chose against his better judgment. Not because it was a sight to behold. It wasn’t, but it was likely that he’d have to appeal to the members of the Salvarian clergy tonight, and it would be a wonderful conversation pretending he admired the lush garden, and the endlessly tall towers.

Rajani began a peculiar waltz through the crowds and around the carriages until the base of the lofty structure was before him in clear view. The entire ambience of the image was offsetting to him, but those who recommended visiting it didn’t exactly match his taste in anything. The drawbridge couldn’t help but show its age with a rusted metal frame and wood devoid of its original color. It voiced its strain with screeching as Rajani took a quick but careful trip across, taking not to look down at his boots as they stretched over potential danger zones. The vibrant greenery of the garden was what killed the entire image in the entrepreneur’s mind. It served to alert him that life could be sustained and managed in this harsh region, but the Salvarians insisted upon leaving their church dull and dead with grey stone that cried tears of mold in its nicks and crannies.

As he looked upon the elephant leaves that shaded him from the sun Rajani began to turn such condemnatory thoughts into pleasant ones. It was then that his ears caught another pair of footsteps beside him. “So do you believe in any of this, good sir?”

The masculine voice with a touch of Jove came from a tall pale elf with a rugged russet goatee more fit for humans. Assessing the presence as a non threat Rajani decided to return the kindness. “How am I to believe in something I do not yet comprehend? I’ve failed to investigate the state’s religion.”

“Do you believe in anything?” Their feet no longer grinded on the dirt, but tapped on the stone as they began to ascend a vast flight of stairs. “Any religion, agnostic, atheist?”

“Dub me uncertain. I do know that there is intelligence to the universe, for if there wasn’t how would we account for such order within the chaos we see in this world? The abilities of a plant to feed off of the sun, the teeth of a herbivore to mole such plants, the fangs and bloodlust of a predator to kill such an animal, only to die, decompose, and become the plant that is eaten by its prey.”

“So how would you account for these so called Gods and Goddesses that roam our world? You have to admit their existence is confirmed. Almost every person has a first hand account of them. Don’t you?”

“Yes. They are beings higher than we, and that is the only fact I consider confirmed and uncontested. They may take control over our lives, but they have yet to master the forces of the entire universe. If any of them did there would never be another ‘God’ or ‘Goddess’ to contend against. Such a powerful being would be the universe.”

“Hmm” The red elf dropped his head in contemplation as Rajani, being the polite gentleman, heaved the massive wooden door open and allowed his new acquaintance to enter. They began a slow walk down the nearly vacant sanctuary. Makeshift multicolored spotlights in the form of stained glass windows distorted Rajani’s perception as if a child was using his eyes as a canvas for watercolor. “You’ve thought a lot about that, haven’t you?”

Rajani complied with a nod.

“That is perhaps the closest guess I’ve heard in all my existence. You should be proud of yourself.” The elf ran his hand along the mahogany pews as they passed each of them. “However, I would recommend against plaguing yourself with such a matter from now on. You’d have to be dead to get the rest of it.”

Rajani narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Are you an acolyte of this religion?”

“No” The elf said with a chuckle. “No. This religion, although closer than most, is still a far cry from the right thing.”

“What is your identity then?” Rajani said with the shrug of a shoulder. “Why are you here?”

“How should I answer that question without startling you?” The elf halted and rubbed his furry chin for a brief moment, and in a poignant tone he said, “I may sound pretentious, but this is the truth. I am the wisdom that all who need me constantly ignore, Senex, as I weave in and out of the action of the play that is their lives with the sort of impunity that is reserved for a jester, Feste. Call me Senex Feste. And you are?”

“Rajani Aishwara, entrepreneur and Captain of the Peregrine. ‘Tis a pleasure to be graced by your acquaintance.” They shook hands and traded genuine smiles. Rajani liked this Senex Feste. He could tell already that Senex had an unprejudiced eye upon the world if there ever was such thing. There had to have been an extremely fundamental flaw that earned this man the surname Feste. “Why are your words ignored and your status tossed?”

“Simple. Because I’m blunt. I’m a straightforward kind of man, but my premonitions are unbelievable until they happen. I find the order within the chaos of this world where others cannot, so when I try to help them they remain skeptical.”

“These premonitions are more like fortunes and prophecies aren’t they?” Rajani crossed his arms, and although Senex was taller than him he made it clear. Rajani now looked down upon the elf. “You bear the profession of a fortune teller?”

“Worse.” Senex said as he bent down towards Rajani with a bright smile. He spoke in a vibrant whisper. “An angel.” Before Rajani could retort, Senex spoke again. “Would you like for me to provide an example? It won’t do you any harm to hear what I have to say.”

Rajani stepped back and looked at the door of the sanctuary, which was now far off in the distance. This was a waste of his time. He had come for what he needed to arm him with the conversational weapons for the night. It would only be a matter of hours before he had to be ready to arrive to the palace, but he saw himself as a gracious and courteous fellow. “Say your piece and be done with it. I have other matters to attend to.”

Tonight you will be given a force of nature, a binding force of nature that will make your ship, its crew, and you the most powerful force to roam the seas of Althanas. Least to say it will have powers of an unconventional medium, and at times you will feel the ship is suffering from its presence, but fear not. The Peregrine will prosper because of this force, and you Captain Rajani Aishwara, will have the pleasure of cultivating it. Do the right thing.

[Ataraxis]

“Ah, so there is color in you after all!” Mohana teased after a backward glance, observing the girl make her steamy entrance as the most adorable of poltergeists. “And here I thought you the unfortunate offspring of a snowman and a ghost; to think that a bath was all you required to rinse the flour from your skin!” Lillian was all chuckles and blushes as she tiptoed toward the red bed of buttoned cushions and embroidered quilts where her associate was seated. In response to the teenager’s previous mention of the nefarious vandals, the woman took on an air of theatrics, her grin growing ever wider as she spoke.

“Such seems the case, I am afraid,” she began, her formal speech now laced in the overtones of a tragicomedy. The Head Cook shook her head with deliberation, letting out an overly-emotional sigh escape as her emerald eyes wandered to the only window in the sumptuous chamber. There, only the ripped remains of a burgundy drape still hung from a curtain pole that shone like copper under the intruding sunlight.

“Leastways, they did illustrate a degree of civility in leaving us something of a compensation, one I believe to have been well worth our while and grief. Have a look.” With a flourish in her hands and a twinkle in her eyes, Mohana turned to face the librarian, revealing her masterpiece in a swirl of red and black. It was infinitely satisfying to see the young girl gawked in awe at the dress that dangled from her fingers with a silky bounce.

During her short stay on the Peregrine, Lillian had savoured meals that were beyond even her imagination, so foreign and wonderful to the palate that they felt like figments from a dream. Even when the food supplies were thinning and rations had to be enforced, the young girl had never tasted a drop in quality; hence her conviction that the hitherto faceless cook had the power to make everything out of anything. Still, Lillian was pleasantly surprised that this applied to more than just cooking.

“It’s beautiful!” she blurted, staring at the maroon gown with wide, blue eyes. It was a silky little thing, with the crisp and smooth sheen of taffeta snaking where there were natural folds and crimps. It was simple, yet small details in its design gave it an undeniable elegance. First was the satin ribbon cinched around the waistline, once a tieback for the lavish drapes that were used to make this very dress, she remembered. Last was the embroidered hem, adorned with light-black tulle that boasted the diaphanous qualities of gossamer. Of this, she could not even hope to guess the nature or its previous function in the gaudily-furnished room, considering her sudden loss of wit and care to the magnitude of her excitement.

“How did you… What is it… I…” She stopped, deciding against against the technicalities of this miracle; the thrill alone was enough for Lillian to dismiss her usually unquenchable curiosity. “Oh Madam Colville, thank you!” She moved into the onset of a hug, but in her hurry, she had almost let the towel slip. With a mouselike squeal, she grabbed herself across the chest, keeping the folds from sliding too far down and exposing far too much. “I-I should get dressed!” Mohana made a failed attempt at containing her laughter. Nonetheless, she nodded in compliance, first handing her the dress, then turning around to give the shy girl her minute of privacy, an upbeat hum playing at her lips. In haste she doffed her own dress.


“Um, madam Colville? May I ask you something?” Mohana hummed on, but the young girl saw a slight bob in her head, which she took as a nod of approval. Even so, Lillian had an immensely hard time to proceed with her query, as though she had become conscious of its embarrassing nature far too late. “Sir Aishwara and you…” She paused, struggling with both her words and the dress. The girl chided herself for sounding so gauche, despising how both her mouth and brain fumbled when matters of heart were concerned.

“I-It just seems that… well...” And to think that a few hours ago, this same girl had gone through a presentation on Salvar’s natural resources and potential points of interest for an entrepreneurial venture with expert volubility. ‘Oh, what are you saying, Lily? You should just forget–’

“If your train of thought is leading you to the realm of romance, would you be so kind have it run by without a stop?” There was nothing cross, bitter or threatening in Mohana’s voice, but for some reason these words scared away the newest colors from the librarian's face. Was she truly that transparent? Lillian stood frozen, her head halfway through the wrong opening, shallow breaths muffled by the fabric. “The captain and I tend to no relation of the sort. In fact, I would not even dare imagine the horrors of such an association.”

Lillian muttered something barely intelligible as she contended with the gown. The struggle seemed oddly uncharacteristic for a girl who could recite verbatim, backwards, and in seven different languages the instruction manual of an Aleranian blast furnace. By some arcane sorcery, the Head Cook had made sense of her muffled words. “I concede that, by some twisted standards, one could say that the two of us get along.” Mohana seemed to shift where she sat, though not out of anxiety. “But that is only because we share a kinship, nothing more. As much as I am loathe to admit it, the captain is my only tie to Avalon, in these unfamiliar lands.” It was nostalgia, perhaps homesickness. Lillian stood still and quiet, her countenance a shade darker from understanding. She was no stranger to either emotion.


“I’m done,” Lillian whispered gingerly, the weight of the silence now too much of a burden. Mohana slid from the bedside and let the scrutinous green of her eye wander the topography of the librarian. The Avalonian seemed much chipper, and a moment later the smile she boasted seemed to melt into her soft and milky tan. In front of her stood a girl so timid she looked down with an incomprehensible shame. Her hands were clasped together and playing sheepishly with the front of her dress as she shifted from side to side on the creaking floorboards.

The v-neck was wide, revealing pale but peachy shoulders while exposing none of her chest. It complemented her modesty and childish allure. The dark tulle that dangled in folds from the hem swayed preciously around her knees, giving the teenager a weightless quality. The satin ribbon around her waist tugged on the fabric, drawing the shape of budding hips that had been given no justice by her usual attire. Mohana hid her delight with joint hands. Lillian was no longer a young, bubbly little teenager. She was a young, bubbly little lady.

“Nature was unnaturally kind with you, my dear librarian. It is a rare sight, that of a woman with an exceptional beauty as well as an exceptional brain.” Turning on her heels, she made her way to the engraved wardrobe on the other end of the room. It was all she could do to keep herself from taking the child into her arms, lifting her up and squeezing the very life out of her frail bones for the second time today.

Troubling questions had mulled in her mind ever since Lillian pranced into the tavern, sporting that crudely dressed wound on her shoulder as if it were a mere scratch. How could someone so young travel alone through these wintry lands? What kind of parents would allow their daughter to walk a path laden with death without a wince? Perhaps the reason she was so warm and maternal to the girl, the reason she wished to help the poor creature in so many ways, was that she already knew the answers – that she had read them in the sadness of her eyes. To clear out her brooding thoughts, the woman decided that moving the conversation along to newer pastures would be best.

“I did not believe that the captain would be granted an audience with these nobles, but I came prepared nonetheless.” From the depths of the wardrobe, she produced a gown of her own. It was of a dazzling shade of tourmaline, of a slightly more plunging neck than Lillian’s dress and thinner, lacier straps, with a tailored cut on the left to provide both mobility and a treat for the eye.

Mohana pressed it against her body, flattening the textile so that it would follow her own curves and give the librarian a sneak peek of what the she had chosen to wear for this most dignified evening. The sight of it alone made the girl burst into florid hues, visibly unaccustomed to such a showy and lavish fashion. Still, she could not deny that her colleague would look stunning in it. “I purchased it in one of the specialty stores of Radasanth, on our last sojourn in Corone. Considering the grand nature of his enterprises, to have such a dress at my disposal seemed most convenient.”

At Lillian’s mute appreciation, the Head Cook stowed the dress back into the wardrobe, wary of making any unwelcome crease in the delicate material. “There is still much time before he returns from his promenade, and even more before the banquet. It might be best to use this window of opportunity to do something with that leaking style of yours. It would be a pity if you partook in this event with such a ravishing dress, when your hair bears unwonted resemblance to a used mop.” The teenager nodded, sprinkling the floor with cold droplets from her dishevelled mane.

“When that is done, I will raid the kitchen and teach the callow excuses for cooks that this establishment seems to employ in bulk what it is to be a true cordon-bleu. What say you to a chilled sabayon, served with rhubarb compote in rosewater?” Lillian wanted to laugh, positively amused by the zany idea. Moreover, she had to admit that the outlandish dessert sounded absolutely mouth-watering.

A moment later, the beam on her face was replaced by reverent fear. Mohana was dead serious.

((It begins. Sorry it took so long, this was hard to write. When Raj returns, Mohana and Lily will be eating dessert, and Lily will have wavy hair bundled over the right shoulder, with a small, flower-like ribbon on the same side. Let's move this along! Oh, and I hope I didn’t make a mess of Mohana’s personality. If I did, I’m very sorry, and I’ll edit until she’s just like she’s supposed to be!))

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani didn’t verbally respond to the alleged prophecy. Perhaps the silence was response enough. He scratched the back of his head with confusion while rolling his eyes towards the velvet clad pulpit. The statement was completely contradictory of what Senex Feste said it would be. The last piece of it was advice, suggesting Rajani had some choice in the matter of his future. A prophecy was a foretelling of what was to come, an exact foretelling with no variations or uncertainties. That’s what made a prediction a prophecy. Such a minor mistake in definition was excusable. Senex did not seem to exude the wisdom he claimed he had. However, nor did Rajani exude the professionalism and maturity he sometimes claimed to have. Such superficial judgments couldn’t be taken to account. The one thing Rajani couldn’t find an excuse for was Feste’s claim to be blunt and straightforward when he was excessively ambiguous. Either he was in clear and utter denial, or he was lying.

Nonetheless, Rajani couldn’t waste his time here any longer. The night was fast approaching. “If you will excuse me, Sir Feste, I must take my leave. There are other matters I must attend to.”

Senex nodded with a content smile. “I know. We all do.”

The sound of Rajani’s footwear echoed throughout the sanctuary until he finally reached the door, and the ambient noise of the city’s activity poured in. Rajani’s walk back to the inn would have been timely if it weren’t for a brief interruption. A tangerine dye soaked the approaching evening sky adding to the colorless snow city, but did little to bring vitality. The streets were packed, voices were shot above like lobbed war arrows, and the accumulated body heat did well evoke beads of sweat on his forehead, but for some unknown reason it all seemed lifeless and rehearsed to Rajani. It was clear now. He didn’t like Knife’s Edge, and he would have to convince himself a good game to act like he favored Salvar’s Capital.

“Rajani Aishwara?” A soft voice rang from behind him with a tone of uncertainty. The entrepreneur rolled his eyes and turned quickly to see a female of alluring air. Her sapphire eyes gleamed as she smiled, and dimples appeared on her youthful face as she spoke. “Are you Rajani Aishwara?”

Her loveliness compelled Rajani to suppress his hideous demeanor. The corners of his lips curled into a smile almost without effort as he nodded and extended his hand. “Indeed I am, and who might you be?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.” The young woman slowly raised her hand to meet his. “It’s who I represent that matters. I’m an envoy for the Vorguk Stokes Company.”

The smile remained on Rajani’s face, but he refused to release the grip on the woman’s hand. “Your name, Madame.”

Her smile remained and she showed no struggle to free herself from his grip. In fact she tightened hers as she took a long step forward and looked up at him. The tips of their noses touched. “My name is none of your concern.”

“Therefore your proposal is none of my concern.”

She dropped her head and sighed. Rajani imagined the exhausted frown on the woman’s face. For a split second she was true to herself. Whatever she was doing here, she didn’t want to do. “Anfisa.” She said as she looked back up with the same smile.

Rajani let go and stepped back. “Speak your case, Anfisa.”

Anfisa motioned for them to walk as she wrapped her arm around Rajani’s. Her approach as an envoy for the biggest corporation in Salvar was unconventional to say the least. The entrepreneur felt as though he was arm in arm with a wife. His heart jumped a beat after he realized how long it had been since he had touched a woman in this manor. His sinking eyes drifted into visions of the woman he’d left behind in Avalon, the one that didn’t want him. Anfisa broke his chain of thoughts. “That was quite a show you put on in the Square. You made a wonderful use of props.”

“Make use of your time with me for you will make your departure when the in is within viewing range.” They were no more than a few blocks away as a few familiar buildings came into view.

“Well I’m going to be straight up with you, Rajani.” He scowled with disbelief. The last time someone said that they were the exact opposite of ‘straight up’. “We’re impressed with you. What you got in less than a day takes us an average of two months, and you got in during a party at that. Some of the most important people in Salvar will be there, so someone’s bound to take you seriously. We’re interested in your plan. If we were to sponsor your plan everyone in that room would take you seriously tonight.”

Rajani looked down at her golden blond hair as it draped down her back. He could smell the lavender from where he stood. His preoccupation with Anfisa’s appearance made it almost a given that the company would send her to appeal to him. Unfortunately for them, he wasn’t completely enamored. Considering the plan, Vorguk Stokes wouldn’t play a productive role. Even if their intentions were benign, they would certainly attract the market to focus in one area, which was what made it vulnerable in the first place. “My sincerest apologies, Madame Anfisa. I must turn a nose up to your tempting offer.”

With that said Rajani broke her grip and drifted away into the swift current of the pedestrian river of Rathaxea Square. He let the current carry him along to the sidewalk in front of his current headquarters, where his two cohorts were convening over dinner. Strangely his stomach wasn’t crying out to him just yet. All the better. Time was of the essence and he hadn’t changed yet, so he took the rear entrance to their room so as not to disturb them.

No more than an hour later Rajani was ready. He floated down the stairs in a mahogany and pearl cloak held together by a silver seal. It did well to cover the suit below as was the entrepreneur’s intention. He approached Mohana and Lillian at the table where they sat in front of empty glasses and china topped with scraps. He didn’t bother sitting down instead motioning for the ladies to stand. “Let us be on our journey.”

(Once again. Sorry. Feel free to take us to the evening party at the king’s castle. It’ll take place in the Grand Hall, which you can create at your pleasure.)

[Ataraxis]

"Our captain looks rather dashing this evening, wouldn't you say?" Mohana sent Lillian a subtle wink, without betraying the mask of nonchalance she wore. One would think her bored or aloof, prodding the chunks of rhubarb that still lazed at the bottom of her bowl, but such an assumption could not be farther from the truth.

"Huh?" Lillian blurted, almost choking the last spoonful of her otherwise scrumptious dessert. Her soft features crimpled in puzzlement, eyes still red and watery from the unfortunate incident. A single look behind her, however, replaced the curve of confusion in her brows by one of glee on her lips.

The man was making his way down the stairs without so much as creak, the dainty drift in his steps and the sienna billows of his cloak giving him the airs of a falcon made man. He was a paragon to all nobles; nothing could possibly tarnish his elegant image, and he seemed to breathe charisma from every pore. The girl was rosy-cheeked as she observed him; in a flushed silence, she nodded, agreeing with the Head Cook.

Doing as she was told, Lillian drew herself to a stand, grabbing the wool cloak she had hung on her seat rest and tossing it over her shoulders. It was such a pity; she had wished for the man to comment on her dapper new look, maybe even bolster her teenage ego, but that had not been the case. "Welcome back, sir! I hope your walk has been as fascinating and educational as was my stay with Madame Colville!”

His response was generic and dismissive, but the librarian did read a faint amount of perplexity in his tone. Perhaps something had transgressed on his promenade, something of which he could not make much sense. Without any further dawdling, he made headway through a cluttered sea of plate-laden tables and occupied chairs, leaving a narrow passage in his wake for the women to follow. It wasn't until the yellow ambiance of the tavern was replaced by a growing chill from the gaping doorway that Mohana swathed herself in her own cashmere shawl.

When they left, joyous bellows surged behind just as the door was swinging to a close, having apparently originated from the kitchen. Lillian, seeing the curious hook in Rajani's dark brow, was unable to contain a smallish chortle. "I will tell you on the way to the Castle."

Within moments, all three figures melted into the frigid crowds and graying snows of the Rathaxea Square.

::::::::::::

"Believe me, I could hear the whimpers all the way to the dining room. I turned a blind eye to most of the incident; nothing good could come out of commandeering the kitchen." Mohana was not oblivious to the simper that curled on Rajani's misting lips, while he listened to Lillian's retelling of their nigh-criminal adventure. Instead of interjecting, however, she playfully rolled her emerald eyes and padded along stretches of whited grey and rutted stones.

"I hid behind one of their stoves while Madame Colville turned the executive chef into nothing more than a mewling toddler with a tear-soaked toque hat," she said while walking backwards, in such a way that her companions could see her grin. The cold streets unfurled here like forgotten alleys, dark, narrow and inhospitable. Coarse brick structures could be seen by looking up, scraping malevolently against the charcoal skies. "The other cooks were so furious that I was afraid we would both end up served as fricassee to the customers!"

"In my defense, I was the image of civility, whereas they were the rude ones for snubbing my constructive criticism." The Head Cook broke her sentence in a hurry as she reeled Lillian out of harm's way, that is to say a serpenting curbstone that had nearly tripped the inattentive girl. They were taking a ‘shortcut’, as the librarian had called it, but so far it seemed more like a hazardous passage whose only function was to weed out unwary drunkards or cloddish dunderheads from the common populace. "And none of this is relevant, as they did relinquish control over to me."

Returning in line with her colleagues, Lillian shot apprehensive glances to her surroundings. The sealed windows and boarded doors that lined the walls unnerved her; in the night, they looked more like atrophied and cancerous eyes, watching over all passers-by with idle disgust. She gulped, moving closer to the cook, and resumed their light-hearted confabulation. She hoped it would stave off her impending fit of panic. "Well, Madame Colville also added that, if someone had to bear the blame, it was you for suggesting the idea in the first place."

"I am glad to learn that my promptings do not leave you indifferent after all, even though this one was meant in jest." Upon hearing mockery in the captain's voice, Mohana looked over to her diminutive friend with an air of mild shock and betrayal. Lillian nodded her apologies to the woman, trying her best to stifle the chuckles that belied her repentant intentions. Her laughter had a crystalline ring to it, but in the darkness of this alley, the sound had been warped into the ghastly cackles oft described in old wives' tales, before fading away into other dark-infested lanes. With a sigh and a playful shake of the head, Mohana pulled the frightened child under the shelter of her shawl.

Up ahead in the distance, above the last rise of the constricted passage, Lillian saw something shimmer. Perhaps they were oil-fueled streetlamps or the smoldering coals from a row of decorative braziers. They quickened their pace; Lillian huffed slightly as they hared for the end of the street. There, a wonder to behold awaited her ever-curious eyes; after this trek through dim and dark, the resplendence of a stone-wrought palace was a godsend. "We made it. Castle Rathaxea."

Built on the western side of the Square was the massive and wondrous product of thousands of years of constructions, renovations and architectural evolutions. Like the rest of the Salvaran capital, its structure was of bricks and stones, but Lillian perceived the changes in their patterns, in the tools and methods used for their confection. Long ago, the castle had been a work of symmetry, but innumerable additions had given the building a dynamic irregularity. Tall, ashen spires tapered in coils to pin the nightscape, while other smaller turrets boasted a hulking corpulence more fitted to the rooks of a chessboard and their crenellated parapets. Blazing white lights shone atop these, tearing through the puce skies like a swarm of earthbound stars. 'Those must be the Aeromancer Towers I read about.'

Already were they at the gates when Lillian snapped out of her evening reveries. Various caroches were stationed about the high-rise walls, all of different fashioning styles and boasting the emblems from close and distant fiefs alike. Save for those and the fur-clad guards at the entrance, however, the surrounding area was very much empty. Fires flanked the wooden gates in large, brass goblets, there to shed enough light and warmth over the arriving invitees. In a much expected manner, the two guards crossed their wicked-looking axes, barring the group access to the inner court. Rajani, in his habitual eloquence, imposed his presence to the men on duty; a curt statement of their affairs at the banquet and the mention of their invitation by Alan Formaxim was enough to jolt their memories. The uncrossing axes made a ringing swish, and they were granted passage into the castle.

The Grand Hall, exalted lieu of the forthcoming banquet, was a place that aroused as much awe in the girl as had the enduring exterior of the palace. Loftier than anything she had ever seen was the ceiling, surpassing even the heavyset dome of Ankhas in Ettermire. The arched structure was a stone-hewn ribcage, riddled with concealed lights that cast a sepia color over the polished stones that spanned underfoot. Positioned along the length of the chamber, a stark contrast to the pews of a cathedral, were the banquet tables; they were adorned with crimson embroidered quilts, all laden with carafes made of sparkling silver that overflowed with wine, ceramic plates of roasted meats and fine-woven wicker baskets, abounding in still-steaming bread loaves. Even from so far, the redolence of the food made a still-full Lillian ache as though she were a famished waif once more.

Everything in the hall was bustling; crowds of the regional peerage were stationed everywhere inside, from the food-fraught tables to the great colonnades that kept on supporting the millenial ceiling in mint condition. To her eyes, these people were motley assortments of regal cloaks and irridescent dresses, things she could never have seen outside the artifical warmth of the castle. Not a neck, not a wrist went without some sort of jewelry or ornament, each seeming to cost at least twice as much as the sum of all her belongings. Lillian had never felt so dwarfed in her whole life, so out of place. What could a modest librarian from Fallien be doing at such a dignified function? 'The hour is too late for rationality; you should have thought of that before coming here, Lily! What you need to do now is to keep your calm; Rajani might need your help to persuade these people.'

Hiding behind the stony archway that led into the hall, she was unable to make a single step inside. Lillian murmured to her colleagues a question that sounded so benign, but she knew what answer it would bring could either be sweet, sweet release, or the manifestation of all her deepest fears. "Is there anything you need me to... do?"

((Sorry it took so long, and hope you're okay with the bunnying! If there's anything you want me to change, tell me and it shall be done! And in my next post, I'll hopefully get to introduce the first of the things we had planned.))

[Rajani Aishwara]

Lillian’s offer had gone unanswered. Rajani hadn’t seen a room so luxurious since the Peregrine had left Avalon, and he was sure Mohana hadn’t either. An ocean of bodies remained in constant movement against the backdrop of impossibly high stone walls and giant drapes fronting the king’s shield. It reminded the entrepreneur of a large subterranean cave, with protrusions offering private service to guests of honor. The banquet attendees, like his party, were dressed in a motley assortment of flamboyant colors that the common Salvarian could not afford.

Rajani felt a strange ache in his cheeks only to realize that he had been unwittingly smiling from ear to ear for quite some time. This was his ideal setting, his habitat. As lavish and as comfortable as things were here to the eye, the bird of prey named Aishwara knew what this was. This was nature, where predators and prey played out their dance of fight and flight through slightly less abrupt means. Currency was the lion’s claw here, properties and profitable assets were the prime gazelle and wildebeests, and the laws governing the commerce were the climate of the savannah. But above it all sat the peregrine in his golden aerie ready to make his maverick stoop, take his fill, and ascend back into the clouds. The peregrine would never be king of the jungle, but he was never without his share of the meat.

The entrepreneur dropped his head in a blush and decided to keep that little analogy to himself. Never in the natural history of Althanas had a peregrine falcon and a lion occupied the same habitat. Perhaps that was a sign. Instead of being comfortable perhaps he should have been afraid. He wasn’t.

“Sir. Aishwara!” A familiar voice blasted through the thick crowd in the center of the hall. Soon after, the Noble Formaxim immerged with a dry but courteous smile. Rajani was surprised to see that he was in the same white and gold clad suit he had on earlier in the day.

“Good evening, Sir Formaxim.” Rajani said as he attempted to mimic the traditional Salvarian bow. “Might I introduce Mohana Colville, Mistress of the Culinary Arts and consultant of Peregrine endeavors, and Lillian Sesthal, Librarian & Reference Extraordinaire.”

Formaxim stuck his pale nose into the air and looked at the two women with crinkled eyebrows, “They won’t be accompanying us to the meeting, will they?”

“Such places are not their realm.” Rajani said with a nervous smile. He knew immediately that Formaxim was warning him not to allow the women to accompany him into the meeting, so he had to act quickly. Hopefully one, the other, or both caught on. “But please allow me a moment to gather my thoughts.”

The dry smile reappeared on the aristocrat’s face. “Take your time. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take you to the King’s chamber, and a servant can take your women to my chamber. They can keep my daughter company.”

Rajani nodded and looked over at Mohana, whose green eyes were wide in fury. Her head was tilted almost as if to suggest a psychotic nature. The entrepreneur would not have been surprised if this were true. Fearing eye contact with the beast for too long, Rajani turned to Lillian. “I require as much of your information as quickly as possible.”

[Ataraxis]

There was a time of silence after Rajani’s request, one during which the librarian underwent an internal debate. “As you wish,” she finally said with weighted calm, her eyes in a squint as she watched the haughty figure of white and marigold wander out of earshot. This was one of her better choices: mouthing off to the aristocrat might’ve been her much needed catharsis, but that whim would have spelled the end for all future trade agreements between these noblemen and the Peregrines. With a bit of will, she could digest Formaxim’s flagrant show of misogyny, while no amount of it would ever make her swallow the guilt of disappointing her surrogate family.

“Begin small, speak of the tribes in the northern hinterlands.” The gleam in her eyes was robbed of warmth, as though the chill of the land had swept over them at last. What remained were frosted orbs, cold and calculating, a stark contrast to the body they had taken host. “They will trade furs, hides, bones, lumber and a widespread base of minerals for a cut of the price most private companies would ask for the same goods. One clan of a hundred may not provide much, but luckily Salvar houses the equivalent of six hundred such tribes. All they would need is a thimble of diplomacy.”

“Though that will have piqued their interest, you will need a much fatter worm to have them hooked. Mention the metals, first the deposits of Dehlar and Damascus, east of Kachuk, then the massive veins of Prevalida on the southwestern versants of the Ahyark Mountains and end with the Titanium nearer to the northern inclines.” Lillian only wasted a moment to ponder, absently twirling a lock of hair around an index as she looked to the ceiling. “Perhaps you could lure them with a hyperbolic comparison, saying that they would have enough to fully outfit four times the population of Knife’s Edge for war and still have enough to spare for ten or so generations?” The sly smile on her face and the peculiar tone of her voice would alert the captain to the underlying meaning of her words, tell him that it wasn’t such an exaggeration according to her latest estimate.

“By then, they should be wrapped around your finger. I will divulge additional information, should the contrary case occur. Just for good measure.” Lillian was proud of her discovery, but reason had told her, back at the Rathaxea Inn & Tavern, that revealing it to Rajani before she could provide physical proof to buttress her claims would have been unwise. Under these circumstances, however, she didn’t have much choice in the matter: if it had the smallest of chances to turn the tables in his favor, then it was her responsibility to share it with him. She bridged the distance between them with a few hurried tiptoes and lifted her head as close to his ear as she could. It was a low murmur that brushed gently, yet struck hard.

“There exists a much more cost-efficient process to refine Osmium, sir… and I believe I have discovered it.”

Her lithe body drew away when her soles touched ground again, leaving naught but the fragrant scent of her namesake near his neckline, testimony of her earlier closeness. Lillian tilted her head and gave the captain an apologetic wink that told him she could say no more, at least not without filling his head to the brim with superfluous information about sodium hydroxide, digesters, precipitation tanks and electrolytic cells – information that would do him no good in the King’s chamber, where the paragons of laymen would most likely be assembled.

“I hope that will be enough to win them over. Good luck, sir.” At that, she watched Rajani slowly make his way to the noble and follow his strides, until both their figures were swallowed by a sea of lurid colors and textiles. No word had come from him before his departure, but Lillian had read enough in the last look he had given them both, that he was deeply sorry, that he was truly thankful, and that he would not allow himself to fail. She turned a queasy smile at the Head Cook, but the sight of a still-throbbing vein on her forehead was reason enough to postpone what she had in mind. ‘Now might not be the best time to have a heartfelt talk about the captain with Madame Colville.'

“My ladies,” came a sedate voice in a nasal whine. Lillian rolled her eyes from left to right, but had only found its source when looking down to a dwarf in human guise, or vice versa. The man was surprisingly small, the bald sheen of his spotted head not even reaching her chest. From the unassuming style of his cobalt tailcoat, she gathered that this was the servant sent to escort them out of the way. “If you will follow me, I will see you to the lord’s chambers.”

A few feet to her left, the poor girl could almost hear a vein pop.

::::::::::::

“That unpleasant little man! Speaking of us as though we were harlots, sent up for the servicing of that misogynist twit at that!” It had taken Lillian quite a few rounds of bashful shushing and tugging on a fold of Mohana’s green dress before the proud woman would lower her voice to sharp murmurs.

“He was only doing his job; I see no reason for you to be so harsh with him.” The young girl looked to the coarse stone walls that reeled on both sides, alit by the eerie glow of silver candelabras, perched high above their heads. There were the occasional oil paintings and marble busts adorning the glum passageway, but Lillian found this dim alley uncharacteristically ominous for such an ostentatious castle, as though these narrow corridors had only recently been fitted out for living quarters. With the unwonted fertility of her imagination, the girl could picture fallen rubbles crushing bones and skulls, strange blood stains that came and went, cold breezes that swirled too well around her neck and ankles like ghastly breaths from the unseen residents of this stricken hallway.

“My dear librarian, I had not believed you to be so naïve! Have you seen the way his beady eyes inspected us, appraised us?” The admonition in her companion’s voice pulled the child from her dreadful reveries, lighting her youthful heart with a much different type of fear. “Be careful of the little men, for their tastes in women are contingent on their ability to reach.”

“Madame Colville!” Lillian whined in a surge of shame and prudishness, not only because of the woman’s quip at her height, but also because of the repulsive chill caused by the implied meaning of her words. The dwarfish servant veered right at a bend, and for the slightest if instants, she could swear he had stared right into the white of her eyes. Her first reflex was to slow down, her second to half-hide behind the cook’s arm. Something lightly jerked at her ankles, and she spun.

He had deep-set eyes of jade and a face as wrinkled as an old rag, but there was something soft to the ruthlessness of his lineaments. The man wore simple clothes, a tattered leather jacket with oil stains and a neatly buttoned shirt underneath, but there was something wrong, terribly wrong with his picture. It was faint, as if she were not watching the man himself, but his reflection in a grimy windowpane. His lips moved, he spoke; it was the same voice she had heard in the bathroom back at the inn, but she could not focus on his words, only on repressing the screams that were tearing at her throat, battering the filter of her teeth.

“The chambers of Lord Formaxim,” said the servant faintly louder and with an edge. Lillian had trailed behind. The moment she looked back, there was no sign of the specter, only the shadows that flickered with the flames above. Befuddled, she made her way around the corner, where Mohana awaited with a queer hook in her brows. The girl gave her apologies, proceeding into the brighter glow that escaped from a door the servant held open. Only then did she recall what words the phantom had spoken. ‘A bond stronger than blood is being born...’

“Good evening.” To hear her speak was a taste of honeyed water, a whiff of snowfall and the stroke of a summer breeze. Beneath the gold trims and red velvets of a baldaquin bed was seated a girl no older than Lillian, with curled locks like gilded wheat, a piercing gaze of sparkling emeralds and of skin so fair yet so much livelier than the librarian’s flour-white. Her fingers, however, were tapping rather impatiently upon her distended belly. “You may leave, Irvan.” The servant made no sound, but in silence he grumbled and gritted his teeth, before leaving with an unconvincing bow.

The young girl felt a deep unease when she heard the rattle of keys and the locking of bolts.

“My name is Mardri Formaxim. I presume that you are companions of the man with whom my father will be talking business tonight?”


((I posted this again with the edits and second part, since, well, instead of doing this November 26th, I waited a whole month. Wow. Well, I'll introduce more about Mardri in the next one. Merry Christmas!))

[Rajani Aishwara]

Rajani’s shoulders bounced from side to side in the crowd of whose who of Salvar, something he was used to. It was no different than weaving in and out of the crowded decks and corridors of his ship during the busiest moment of the day. Their destination was a luxury box on the far opposite side of the hall, which was barely visible from here. Formaxim only occasionally looked back as they plowed through stationary cliques.

“You know, what you did earlier was quite rude.” Rajani looked over his shoulder to see the same russet haired elf from the church earlier in the day. “And I was about to tell you exactly what I meant.”

“Leave me be, ruby elf.” Rajani said with a hand out to shoo Senex away. “More pressing matters demand my attention, much more pressing than your absurdities in spoken word.”

“And what matters would those be? To dance?” Formaxim and Rajani broke out of the standing crowd and onto a hardwood dance floor where couples spun about a whirlpool current of feet. The two of them followed the line of dance so as not to disrupt. Suddenly a body collided with his. Rajani’s vision was covered in embroidered fabric, but when he’d cleared himself and apologized he realized that he was apologizing to Senex. “If you wanted to dance with my partner you need only ask.”

How did he? It was physically impossible to move the way Senex did, to start behind Rajani then end up so far ahead of him that he was intercepted on the dance floor. Perhaps Senex was a figment of his imagination, or perhaps he was an illusionist attempting to make Rajani look insane in this critical moment. With such possibilities in mind the entrepreneur decided not to acknowledge the elf’s existence any longer. He simply placed his eyes on Formaxim and kept walking.

After a lengthy trip through the dance floor, behind the loud band, and past the tables of food, the two finally came to the opposite side of the hall, where countless flights of stone stairs stood between massive columns. By coincidence only, Formaxim chose the shadowy one, and Rajani followed in stride.

[Ataraxis]

Lillian had chosen to sit on a ruddy chair where she remained stiff-backed and silent, stealing glances at on ornate pendulum clock on the other side of the room every now and then. Mohana and Mardri were engaged in a mute war, the former with arms and legs crossed, entertaining an unnatural interest for the wooden carvings on the ceiling, the latter with both hands slumped on her swollen stomach, staring absently through the latticework of her closed windows.

‘How long until the captain is done?’ she queried with a sudden desperation, giving the old timepiece an almost pleading look. It was most unfortunate that no more than five minutes had gone by since they had presented themselves – the five most painful minutes of her life. ‘Sir, please fetch us soon...’

Unable to bear this maddening silence any longer, Lillian swallowed what had been lodged in her throat, threw caution to the wind and tried her hand at breaking the ice. “W-When is the baby due, miss Formaxim?”

Mardri remained unmoving, eyes still riveted onto the snowy vista beyond the castle, beyond the latticed bars. “Soon,” she answered curtly, without even turning back to face the teenager. Lillian nodded as politely as she could, hiding the droop of her head as she scolded herself for being such an inept conversationalist. It was then that, against all expectations, the noble’s daughter carried on. “And I will be on my own when it comes.” As if guessing the befuddlement on Lillian’s face, Mardri sighed and shook her head, sending soft ripples through her flaxen mane. “My dear, a ring is not the only thing I lack.”

“Oh.” Lillian slumped on the plump upholstery, shrinking as she looked up to the other teenager. “I... I am very sorry.” Her fingers rasped against her joint knees after the apology that seemed to go unheard. Mohana, save for the intermittent tapping of her feet, made no sound or sign that she would jump in to save the poor little girl. “Who is... who is the father, if I may ask?”

Mardri spun back so fast that it frightened Lillian. First, because she was afraid the noble might have twisted her neck by doing so, second, because the placid emeralds of her stare seemed to radiate a newfound rage that had chosen her as scapegoat. When the girl winced and closed her eyes, however, Mardri hesitated, and the fire in her eyes was doused by a wave of sympathy for the gamine.

“I met him during one of those boorish winter revelries,” she answered in defeat, turning back to face the windows. “Tall and dark – a Drow, I believe.” Something sweet laced her voice, as if she could recall the way he spoke, his soft yet imposing face, his cording muscle and caressing touches; it was almost euphoria, but her tone soon fell to glum and remorseful. “It was only one night, yet it managed to ruin every one that would follow.” Lillian had wanted to intervene, but Mardri was now overwhelmed, as if the floodgates had finally burst open after so long. “But it will be over soon. Only a few more days, and I can forget. Everyone will forget.”

“Forget? Miss Formaxim, I apologize, but I highly doubt that–”

“I will not keep it!” she snarled, her whole body shaking upon the plush bed. “I have never intended to keep it. The servants will either send it to an orphanage, far away, or throw it into the catacombs! As long as I they keep it out of my sight... as long as they do that, I don’t care what they do with it!”

Lillian hadn’t seen her move. Faster than a blur, Mohana had peeled herself from her seat, circumvented the bed and stopped inches short of the Formaxims' daughter. Then, without a word, she slapped her. It was loud, like the crack of a whip, and from the sight of a crumbling Mardri, Lillian had gathered that it was also strong. “You...” The cook began, eyes squinted in fury as she tried hard to mince her words, tried hard to find a better fitting word. Alas, there was none more fitting. “Bitch.”

Mardri wailed, tears overflowing and soaking her cheeks. She stared at the Avalonian, eyes red and shimmering with contempt, for her and for herself. The teenager wept without cease, pain flaring on her cheek, within her heart, inside her belly.

Lillian averted her eyes, dejectedly watching the clock instead. Only ten minutes.

'Captain...'

[Rajani Aishwara]

The dark veil of shadows ended with a torch lining that led the two to a heavily populated room overlooking the party. It was filled with men of two races, Human and Drow clad in lavish colors and fabric. Rajani smiled knowing that his silk suit fit him into the scene like a perfect puzzle piece.

“Gentlemen.” Formaxim said in a calm but projected voice. “Shall we all take a seat?”

The men of the room did so, including Rajani, settling themselves around a giant table that almost ran the length of the room. The Salvarian noble gave a faint smile as his nose pointed to the North Star. “Might I begin this meeting by expressing my deepest contentment for this holy union of the two states of Salvar and Alerar. That very union is being celebrated below us as we speak. Music is playing, people are dancing, the royalty of both nations intertwined. There is, however, much work to be done even in the midst of these festivities. We will begin tonight with an appeal from Rajani Aishwara of the Peregrine, but before you drill down to business, allow us to get to know you better with an open questionnaire. It is custom in Salvar to begin as such.”

“Very well.” Rajani barely stood up before someone spoke.

“I have a question.” An elf of charcoal skin and silver hair said. “How old are you,?”

“Young enough to garner skepticism in every land it seems.” He followed the statement with a light hearted smile, which queued the other men to laugh. He waited one more moment to give a real answer. “Twenty two, but I assure you this is not my first endeavor.”

“Your accent is peculiar.” A Salvarian in bronze embroidery said. “Where do you hail from?”

“The island of Avalon”

“Really? We have a notable minority of nobles from Avalon here. At one time it was a trend among young Avalonians to take their trust funds or birthday money and come here to set themselves up as nobles. Are you following that trend, my boy?”

“Hopefully that will be the least of my achievements.” The men nodded in admiration, and Rajani knew what they were thinking. They were wishing their spoiled sons were more like him, and that was exactly what he needed them to think. “Shall we proceed with the proposal?”

“A little hasty, but if you insist.”

“Allow me to begin by informing you gentlemen that you have all been exposed. Your plans are public and all the world knows…” The room fell dangerously silent. All that could be heard was the band in the distance. Then he said with a smile “I speak of course of the rail system. From the information I have gathered that this is yet another technological feat for Alerar and both nations will reap the fruits of this innovation. I simply felt it necessary to congratulate the two nations.”

For the next three hours Rajani presented the plan he had discussed with Lillian so many times over earlier that day. After enough probing Rajani gathered exactly what the rail system was. Before then all he knew was it was a fixed land path that ran cargo. The entrepreneur then played to their competitive nature, constantly mentioning the industries and economies of Corone, Salvar’s rival human nation, and Raiaera, Alerar’s rival elven nation. The statesmen bought into it and seemed to take a liking to him, but never did he see the king of either nation. He finally decided to ask and the answer wasn’t to his satisfaction.

“I’m going to be honest with you, young man.” An old human said with a solemn face. “Neither king cares to give you audience, which is common of them.” His face took a quick change to a wrinkled smile. “They do care to speak to us, however, and we will present your case with enthusiasm.”

Rajani nodded and smiled hoping to cloak his disappointment. Beyond the murmur of masculine voices there came a hasty pitter patter of feminine footsteps from the dark flight of stairs. The servant girl dressed in Formaxim colors of gold and white made a straight line for her master and pulled close to his ear.

“Aishwara, come!” Formaxim said with a troubled look on his face.

[Ataraxis]

It was a cry of pain that tore Lillian’s eyes from the hypnotic swings of the brass pendulum, from those three hours of unbroken tension. Mardri. Chairs were loudly flung to the ground as both Lillian and Mohana hastily stood up. There was a rattle on the other end of the door and a terse cranking in its lock before the wooden panel hit the bricks and mortar in a loud thump. Irvan, the vertically-challenged servant to the Formaxims, had barged in with eyes wide and nostrils flaring, shaken by the abrupt wailing of his lordship’s daughter.

“What have you done?!” he shouted atop his tiny lungs, terrorizing in spite of its shrillness. Mardri had nearly fallen from her bed of down, catching herself on the edge with one arm while desperately holding onto her belly with the other. Her body jerked as she let loose another scream, letting go of the beddings, but the women had caught beneath the shoulders in the nick of time. “Wha-wha-what are you trying to do? Take your filthy hands off of–”

“She’s in labor, you pompous lawn-gnome!” Mohana snarled, motioning the librarian to carefully pull the girl back onto the bed. The brownish beads in his eyes shrank, his pursed lips quavering like strummed cords. Vainly, he mouthed fragments of words that strung into nothing more than nonsense, the bald little man having long lost his unflappable mask of professionalism. “Feel free to be utterly useless and go boil a bowl of water; that, or go alert someone who actually knows what he is doing!” The servant whimpered, the greasy hair on the back of his skull flying as he glanced from Mardri to the corridors, then back to Mardri again. “Just get out! GET OUT!”

Tears welled in the corner of the child’s eyes, budding tears of shock and terror, but also of gratitude. “Thank you… I never liked that creepy little man,” she muttered weakly, her dampening face alit with a faint smile, and the cook grinned back in spite of herself. Understandable, how she had no desire of seeing him slither around anywhere near her and her privacy, at this critical time especially. She was, after all, a teenager before all else. A teenager. The emeralds in Mohana’s eyes dimmed and faltered as she looked down, biting her lower lip in shame: she had been harsh, far too harsh. “I don’t… I don’t want to do this. I’m scared.”

“You have to.” The voice was strong, unfaltering, surprisingly assuasive, but strangest of all, it did not belong to Mohana. “Mardri, listen to me,” Lillian continued, hands like silk pressing lightly on either side of the other girl’s lean neck, pressing calmly, warmly, steadily. “Everything will be alright. Mohana and I will stay at your side while help is on the way, okay?” There was something, just something in her affectionate voice, in her warm-hearted smile that soothed the Mardri. Slowly, she nodded, her wheezes toning down to slower, deeper breaths. “Good.”

When the filigreed hour-hand reached the top, the timepiece had begun its ten chimes; at once, Mardri cried murder once more, her breaths thinner and thinner as they were cut by the pain. “Breathe deep, Mardri, breathe deep. When it happens, breathe…” Lillian paused, leaving one hand still placed reassuringly on the girl’s collar, the other at chest level, palm rising up and dropping down as she inhaled and exhaled. “…deep. There you go.”

When the panting girl had recovered her composure, Lillian’s blue eyes, fraught with both resolve and gravity, wandered back and angled to catch Mohana’s alarmed gaze. The Avalonian woman noticed that her smaller companion was staring at her intently. She stood at attention, the look on her face laden with countless questions, of which only one the librarian had spared the time to answer, hiding from the girl in labor the cold sweats that broke on her forehead. “Less than two minutes in between contractions… it’s coming, Madame Colville. Soon.”

Lillian was overwhelmed with relief when the thundering of footsteps echoed from the glum hallway. It grew louder and louder, until at last, a familiar visage of rugged caramel peaked over the doorsill, a futile look on his countenance as he looked at the librarian and cook with his wide, warm, chocolate eyes. Soon, there was a wave of a few featureless heads bobbing near his, their bodies colliding into one another at the threshold, a disorderly cavalry but a still-welcome reinforcement.

They all receded back in a fluid undertow, while the figure of a ruffled Alan Formaxim moved in. Stepping unsurely after them was Rajani, standing next to the servant girl that had alerted Mardri’s father and the sniveling Irvan, who had apparently delegated his task to a workmate. Though their faces were as unalike as a falcon is to a doe and a doe is to a frog, the expression that pasted them was the same blend of worry, disbelief and helplessness.