Grey

[The Wizard]

Right, here is a new story I wrote with all the imagination that flowed in my mind in a lake that had formed behind the dam that is my writer's block of Eve of Battle.

It's based on Black and White II, titled 'Grey' because it centers around man in relationship to the petty feuds between Gods.

GREY

Chapter I, part i
I awoke.
Everything hurt, inside and out. I didn't care where I was, all I wanted was for someone to come and stop the pain Oh, the pain... Everything was dark. Through my pain, I could feel I was lying on my back, on uneven ground. Then, as suddenly as I awoke, I felt the warmth of sunlight. Oh, the joy of sunlight I had in those days...
I heard a faint, oh so faint sound, far away from where I was lying, paralized by the burning, seething pain. After what seemed to be a lot of time, I realized it must be a voice. And apparently, it was calling out to me. I opened my eyes, but immediately I closed them again because of the blinding sunlight. I could make out - faintly - words in the voice. It seemed to be crying out to others, but I didn't know and certainly didn't care. Stop the pain I want it to stop By the Gods, let someone aid me
“’Oy You Are y’awake or not? Ye jus’ moved, so I be bettin’ ye be awake now By the Gods of goblins, ye’ve been out fer at least.. er... well, weeks, anyways” The voice sounded distant, faint. Yet close. A greasy, yet firm hand shook the man on the bed, trying to wake him up.
“Oh, fer cryin’ out loud, wake up already”, the fat, but jolly man standing over the bed said. His clothes were greasy, yet he had a friendly, warm look in his eyes, that seemed to clean his appearance. Apparently, the two were in an old, run-down room on the second floor of some building in a city, with one small window allowing the light of day to make things visible within the room. Finally, the unknown man on the bed woke up. The fat man standing over him sighed.
“Tell meh, boy, what yer name is. Mine be Ergo, and I be the inn keep of yon inn ‘cross the street, and I care fer the wounded that happen t’ be brought int’ this here hospital.”, Ergo said, sincerely. For a time, the man remained silent. Apparently, he didn't know what to say.
“... Ehm... well... to tell you the truth, I don't know what my name is. I just can't remember. Do you know what it is? And where am I? How did I get here?”, the man said, distraught.
“Eh? Ye don' know yer own name? Well, that's logical, where ye was found... lemme tell y’ then. Ye were found in the ruins of the abandoned temple, in th’ west o’ the temple district. Th’ night b’fore, massive explosions had taken place thar, and it had collapsed. Y’ were the only thing left inside, boy, lying b’tween the rubble on a slab o’ stone tha’ seemed t’ be cut out o’ the floor. Ye’re god blessed lucky, me friend.” The man stayed silent for a few moments, apparently choosing his words one by one, trying to piece the strange recollection of the innkeeper together.
Finally: “... Er... so, do you know my name? And what is this town?”, the stranger asked, wonder in his coarse voice.
At this, Ergo's face contracted a bit, but he seemed an eager talker, so he answered the stranger. “... Well, me friend... I dunno yer name.. for all I know, ye be nameless”, at this, the fat innkeeper laughed, making the squabs of fat that were his cheeks jangle. It looked funny, yet the stranger remained unfazed. “... So... if ye don’ have a name, I’ll happily give ye one.”, Ergo said, chuckling. “Ye look like... well... let's see... I’ve always been good at givin’ people names. Yeah... ye look like... yeah.. I’ll tell ye this, stranger, I think th’ name that be suitin’ ye the best be ‘Gavin‘. Yeah... Gavin Ye look like a Gavin alright, mate”, and at this Ergo laughed again.
“.. Oh, by th’ way, about the town, ye’re in Kalontis, the City of the Tower, as they seem t’ call it... no-un knows why, there nay be a big tower here in this city t’ give it that name... ah well, ‘tis no matter.”, Ergo said, his eyes looking past the newly-named Gavin and out to the window.
“Well,“ said ‘Gavin‘, weakly, “if you say my name is Gavin, it is probably so. I think I feel fine now, I think I’ll be going.” he said resolutely, and stood up.
“’Oy Wait a minnit thar, we found these here bodies around where ye were lyin’ -”, but Gavin was already down the stairs. Ergo sighed solemnly, but then seemed to give up on it.
Once outside, Gavin took a moment. He was dizzy, and very confused. He had left Ergo in his hospital so abruptly because he couldn’t contain all the information the well-wishing innkeeper had spilt over him. He didn't know who he was, what he was doing here, why he was here. Such a crisis leaves a man in deep despair, and that was the situation Gavin found himself. He walked weakly across the street, where he saw a well with water in it, where he could get some water to wash his face and drink some of it, to clear his mind.
The street he found himself in it was neat and orderly, for a town of the caliber of Kalontis. It was an effened dirt road, for it was just another usual road for the peasantry, not a main avenue of the city. Gavin heard gulls overhead, and he smelled the scent of salt in the light sea breeze that wafted through the street, cleansing it of any unclean odors that permeated the street as one walked through it. He knew then that he was in a port town.
The houses were made of wood, built on a foundation of stone. The second floor of the houses were usually more elaborate than the first floors, because these were usually used for stores and stands. They looked tidy, not dirty and ramshackle as most houses built by the ordinary people in a city, as if the people paid more attention to the look of their city than the usual people in a city of that time.
Gavin decided to explore the city and see if any part of it could repair his shattered memory or at least bring him solace or a goal to live for, besides trying to take the pieces of the puzzle that Ergo handed him and try to make them fit together. He walked from the street where the little hospital was, following his nose to where the salty breeze was stronger and the sights and sounds of the great Harbor of Kalontis began.
The Harbor of Kalontis was one of the biggest districts of the city. It smelled strongly of many things, and at first it was quite a gruesome experience for Gavin’s nose. The whole place smelled of the sea, rotting fish, dung, body odors - some more pleasant than others - and it didn’t stop there. He walked over the bustling quays of the Harbor, where many men were busy with loading a great myriad of goods on and off of the ships of many shapes and sizes that lay there. The Harbor was shaped like a crescent, where the inside of the crescent faced the sea. The many docks were built to meet the sea, and along them many ships had anchored. Great sea ships and their multitude of masts from which great sails billowed in the wind, galleys of frightening length with too many oars to count on many decks, even a very strange ship, of which the deck balanced in between two sleek hulls, and each of these hulls had its own sail - all were docked in the Harbor. It was clear to Gavin that this was a great port city, but what was not clear to him was where to go, what to do to get something to hold on to in this strange world where he had no sure reason as to why he was there. He had no history, no identity.
He walked to one of the gates of the ancient wall that stood around the harbor district, built in a time when all that the city was, was what was now the Harbor. There, next to the gate itself, was a tavern, built into the wall, its façade sticking out. It was called, simply, “The Gate”. He went in, hoping to get some information on the ‘explosions in the Temple District’, as Ergo had put it.

[frogbeastegg]

Black and White 2 isn't out yet, is it?

Regardless this is a good beginning, and being trapped between gods who play with fireballs and throw sheep about the landscape is going to be... well for lack of a better thing to say

[The Wizard]

Well, the game isn't out yet, no, but I am inspired by the myriad information on Black and White II, which adds to Black and White armies, great cities, sieges, battles, assaults, navies, exploration, imperialism, and much more It is enough for my imagination to know that, I can take it from there



~Wiz

[The Wizard]

edit:: reworking part ii...

[The Wizard]

Chapter I, part ii

“… really the one we’re lookin’ fer?”
“I’m pretty sure, he was talkin’ ‘bout the explosions in the abandoned temple…”
Gavin woke up with a start. He was in a dark room, lit only by the light of a torch near the door. It was damp and musky, and he was lying on a bed made of stone. He didn’t have any memory of why he was here, and he wondered why exactly he had to have the bad luck to be of interest to clandestine groups.
In the same room, two hooded figures were talking to each other. They took notice of his waking up.
“He’s awake at last.”
“Yeah, ya were out fer a long time. Heh heh, I guess me blow was a bit hard.”
“Shut up, Jon. We’re supposed to get the chief, remember? Go get him, while I try to get a bit more out of him”
“Pffft, have a good one, Ridley… I hope he escapes an’ cleaves yer skull in two”
“Get a move on, you big lug, and get the chief, before I decide to kick your arse”
With that as encouragement, Jon left the room grumbling, leaving Gavin with Ridley. The latter turned on Gavin, looking at him, his eyes shining intently in the dim torchlight.
“Tell me, what were you doing in the Gate askin’ ‘round ‘bout the disaster in the temple district?”
Gavin realized the last thing he could remember was walking into a tavern, where he asked around about what Ergo had told him of his history.
It hit him, suddenly, that he had been kidnapped by these men. They had probably taken an interest into him because he was asking about the events in the temple district
But Ridley had seen Gavin’s eyes widen at this realization.
“Yeah, we kidnapped ya, we’ve been lookin’ for a guy that knows more ‘bout this…” Ridley was over-eager to tell of the plans of he and his cronies, “The Inquisition’s apparently lookin’ for guys like you, askin’ ‘round ‘bout the events there. Since they ain’t involved here in Kalontis, they hired us. Easy as pie.”
At that moment, the door opened, and Jon and a tall, unhooded man walked in. Gavin guessed this was the ‘chief’ that Jon and Ridley had been quarreling about. He was scowling. He grunted a few things to Ridley, who had stopped his triumphant report of what brought Gavin in this dungeon and was now standing next to Jon obediently, and then turned to Gavin.
Still scowling, he said: “Well, you certainly have a big mouth, and that’s why you’re here. Luckily for you, you’re no longer needed here. Otherwise, you’d be screaming your lungs out while we tortured you until you made sense,” he grinned wickedly. “We’re sending you on a one-way trip to the Inquisition, and they’re giving us quite the sum. I dunno why they care so much about you, and I don’t care either.”
He turned away, scowling again.
“You two dogs Get him on the ship by three, and then get your stinking hides back here on the double We’ve got more to do”, and with that, he disappeared out of the door and into the hallway beyond.
Gavin was left with Jon and Ridley. He felt hopeless. He had a history veiled in mystery, which he desperately wanted to be solved. And now, he had been captured by an unknown organization which was selling him off to another organization called the Inquisition… he didn’t know what it was, but it sounded bad.
He weighed his chances, and leapt off the stone bed, careening straight into Ridley’s scrawny body. He landed a hard punch on his captor‘s nose, and to his surprise, he crumpled to the ground. But the next second, the burly Jon hit him hard on his jaw, and he fell onto the ground. Jon kicked him in his side so hard it sent him slamming into the hard stone wall of the dungeon.
“Ya damn son of a bitch I’m gonna make ya hurt a lot more than the last time I had to hurt ya”, grunted Jon.
Gavin got on his feet, and wondered what he could do to bring the big man down like his friend.
He looked around the cell for anything he could use. He had luck, for next to his bed was a pot containing a few torches. He lunged at them, but Jon was quick on his feet for a man of his size, and tackled him. Gavin wrestled from Jon’s grip, and stumbled to his feet as he took hold of the pot. He threw it blindly in the general direction of Jon, who was coming on again, screaming, fist raised, ready to smash an unlucky bone in Gavin’s body.
The porcelain hit him square in the face, and shattered into a thousand pieces. Jon was out cold, his face bleeding from cuts. A potsherd was sticking out of Jon’s right eye. Gavin turned away, nearly throwing up from the sight.
He ran out of the cell as quickly as he could, and down the corridor, the opposite way from where the ‘chief’ had walked off to. He turned around the corner and …
He ran headfirst into the chest of a guard, who grunted a loud “Umpf” before falling over on his back. Gavin had fallen over onto him, and for a moment thought he had great luck.
But then, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, and all went black again. The guard he ran into hadn’t been alone.


Excuse me for the bit of swearing, but I felt it was... necessary.

Also, I felt I had to rework part ii because the first version was done when I was feeling down and was trying to get rid of that by way of writing... sometimes that works, other times it doesn't, and this time it was the latter. Personally I think this has much more to do with the story and Gavin, and I hope you guys think so too



~Wiz

[frogbeastegg]

Now I have read your reworked part II I can't remember what the original was like, so I think you did a good job.

[The Wizard]

II

A breeze… a light, salty breeze…
I can still smell that breeze, in Kalontis. It was unique to the city, for only in Kalontis could you smell that particular odor, the odor of a sea that seems to have submitted to the will of great merchants and adventurers-at-sea.
But they were taking me away from it… away from that odor… to a land which I did not know anything about, to hands that did not sound friendly nor seemed to have anything good in store for me…
Gavin was sitting at the prow, below decks. Sulking there calmed his mind a bit, and seemed to make the pain of the lashes he had received for trying to escape.
He was sitting in the hold, below even the rower’s decks, and he was there with nothing but goods, a parrot who would squawk an occasional “Scurvy Dog”, and another man. The latter was a big, broad man, with jet-black hair and menacing eyes, even when his face was calm. He had reddish skin and several tattoos on his face and arms. His face was set as if it had been carved out of stone. He hadn’t said a word all journey, and it seemed to Gavin that his tongue had been cut off.
Suddenly, he could hear the loud thumping of the first mate’s boots on the stairs leading to the hold. By the sound of it - and he had heard the sound several times on this journey - the first mate was in a bad mood, and in a hurry.
As he descended down the steps into view, Gavin could see his pretty short legs, and powerful torso. The man was tanned from many travels at sea. His face was broad and menacing when he scowled, and worn by sun and salt. His nose stood out, the broad wings sniffing haughtily as he turned to Gavin.
“Hey, you”, he called from the stairs. The silent man looked up, but Gavin’s eyes were already fixed on the first mate.
“No, not you, the other The scrawny one,” Gavin stood up. “Yeah, you. The cap’ wants you on deck, we need to…” he hesitated, and sniffed with his broad nose, adorned with two rings. “… discuss some things.”
With that, he went back up the stairs. He stopped just before disappearing from view and motioned for Gavin to follow him.
Gavin obeyed, got up, and followed him up the stairs to the top decks. The wood groaned as the ship was toyed with by the waves as it moved along. So did the men at the oars of the galley. Gavin wondered what made him so special that he didn’t have to row to the beat of the drum. He knew he was important because of this, and he wasn’t the only one, for the silent man that had sat in the hold with him wasn’t ordered to go and row either. He wanted to know why he was so important that he didn’t have to do the work of ‘normal’ captives.
When he got out on deck, he saw the first mate standing with a large group of men near the latch covering the entrance to the lower decks. They were standing opposite of a smaller group of men surrounding the captain, whom Gavin had only seen when he was being carried onto the ship. The captain was a stocky man, with a slim face and a large, hooked nose that dominated the rest of his features. A well taken-care-of black beard adorned his chin, and the look from his eyes betrayed his towering rage. Gavin could practically smell the tension on the deck.
The first mate gestured to Gavin, presenting him to the group of sailors around him.
“This, lads,” he said, triumphantly, “is what we’re risking our lives for here in the Ashburn straights. Take a good long, look, and see if I’m right, or if the cap’s right.”
Both groups of men fixed their gazes on Gavin, and instinctively he took a step back. Their prying eyes seemed to check every part of his body for a speck of something they disliked.
Finally, they turned away. Relieved, Gavin stepped into the shadow of the sail billowing from the sole mast to remain as unobvious as he could manage to be.
“Well, as you’ve all seen, this landlubber is what is sending us through the most dangerous straights in the wide world. Cap’, I always liked you, but you’ve gone to far this time. I’m not gonna go and risk my life and the ship and all the goods in here just to get two men across the Ashburn straights. How ‘bout you, boys?” and the men around him cheered. The first mate looked back at the captain triumphantly.
The captain glowered back at his dissident first mate, and the men around him joined in. Though they were of smaller number than the sailors following the first mate, Gavin could tell that they were better off on the ship than the normal sailors.
“You know what, Rigs?” the captain’s voice was ice cold. He was fiddling with the hilt of his curved sword. “I never liked your swashbuckling bravura anyway. You were a maggot when I took you in, but you were never thankful. Never. I guess it’s just in your filthy humanistic ways, you piece of dirt” and he spat on the ground.
The captain drew his sword, and the men around him did so as well. Shining metal had been drawn upon the deck, and it was going to come down to a bloody man-to-man fight to solve the issue.
“Cap’… you never took notice of my admiration for you,” replied the first mate, Rigs, after a while. “You never did that for anyone here. Now, you let it come to this, and we’re gonna pay you back in kind.”
At that moment, Gavin felt a hand grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging on it hard, pulling him into the hatch down to the lower decks. He rolled down the painfully hard stairs, landing on his back, hitting his head against the wooden floor.
“Are you crazy? Sitting through a mutiny like that?”
“W-what?” Gavin replied.
“Yeah, a mutiny. Up there on upper decks they’re going to kill each other for control of this ship, and they weren’t going to see you for the captive you are, oh no.”
A skinny man was standing over Gavin, and he could tell it was one of the rowers. There was a look of anxiety on his gaunt face.
“Don’t look stupid and get up,” he ordered. His voice had an authority one would not expect from a simple rower on a galley. “They’re probably fighting over the fact that the sailors don’t want to go through the Ashburn straights to get to Taerg quickly. Bunch of no-good, superstitious cowards… back in the day… yeah…” and Gavin frowned. “Oh, right, wandering off again… Well, best ye be getting back into the hold until all that” – the sound of sword upon sword could be heard on the deck above – “is over. And I best be getting back to the rower’s deck… I was able to slip out when the drummer and the whip master were confused about the situation above. Lucky I found you, boy… a man without a head is not much use.” He chuckled, and went down the stairs to the second rower’s deck. Gavin rubbed the back of his head, where a large lump was forming, frowned, and followed him.
Once back in the hold, he found the silent man with the face cut from stone leaning against a stack of crates. He could tell that he had been awaiting him.
“You know,” he said, “I can tell what is happening above decks, but not why. Care to tell me?” His voice was deep and resonant, and piercing. Gavin was surprised that he was inquisitive and talking,
“Well,” he replied, “even though I was thrust back onto this world with no memory, I do know how to hold a conversation, and that is not by talking about important things with people you don’t even know the name of. So, if you will, introduce yourself, or do not expect an answer.”
At this, the red-skinned man frowned, but he answered. “A strange way to answer, but fine: the name I had amongst my people you would not understand should I speak it, so you can call me Chief Running Bull, Chief of the unified Western tribes and defeater of the Nordic invaders.”
“It does me pleasure to know your name, esteemed Chief. My own is Gavin, and that is all I know.”
Running Bull’s eyes betrayed surprise, even though his face remained emotionless. “All you know? Why, a man should know his name, lest he have no identity”
“I have none, none I know of. Of my true history I know nothing, and before I had the slightest chance to find out, I found myself here.” This conversation reminded Gavin how much it really hurt that he knew nothing of his true history and purpose on this world.
“Your story saddens me. If we ever manage to get out of this situation unscathed, I would like to help you –” Suddenly, Running Bull stopped talking.
“What?”
“Shh Listen.”
“I can’t hear anything.” Gavin said, wondering what Running Bull meant.
“Exactly. They’ve stopped fighting.”
The rest of that day and the day after, the ship sailed on, but Gavin nor Running Bull were able to discern if the ship had turned or not. They did not speak many words to each other, for Gavin was wrestling with the fact that he had no identity, an idea given to him by his conversation with Running Bull, and the latter had once again turned into a silent, brooding figure. None of them knew who had come out as winner of the struggle upon the upper deck.
On what was to the outside world the evening of the second day after the mutiny, the first mate, Rigs, came into the hold, after the ship had come to a halt and was gently rocking from side to side. His broad nose was wrapped in a bandage and he was missing an eye. They knew then who now had control of the ship.
He didn’t say a word, but motioned for them to follow him to upper decks. They did as he ordered, and went up the creaking steps.
Having arrived on upper decks, they saw that the ship was anchored not far from land. At once, they both understood why they had been led here, for they were being marooned here.
“You were the reasons of our near deaths,” said Rigs. “But it was not your fault, and therefore we will not murder you but maroon you here on the Salty Ford.”
With that, they were rowed to the nearby beach. This beach of dirty-white sand lay on an island crested by a forest, with great shallows in the sea allowing one to get to the mainland. They were given rations lasting two weeks, and they thanked their former captors for their kindness. What they did not know, was that they had been marooned in a land of war and strife…
“You left me to find out what the reason for the mutiny was,” said Running Bull, chuckling. “But I shall keep my word and help you recover your history. Come, let us travel to the Salty Ford, as the pirates call it. We shall see where your history leads us, my new friend.”
With that, they set out into a land they did not know and which harbored many dangers and many challenges, but also their fate. The Gods in their home in the Ethereal would know these two mere humans.




Sorry for the bit cheesy Tolkien-esque end, but I couldn't think of anything better...

[The Wizard]

No comment? That's really too bad..



~Wiz

[frogbeastegg]

Quote[/b] (The Wizard @ May 16 2004,21:31)]No comment? That's really too bad..



~Wiz

I'm still trying to think of something to say, commenting is even harder than writing romantic mush

The ending was a bit Tolkienesque, but the rest was much better. Since Tolkien sold in millions maybe resembling him slightly isn't a bad thing?

[The Wizard]

Ah... my little ploy worked...

Well, yeah, couldn't really think of anything better, and I'm now thinking of good situation to continue the tale. Adventure, war, battle, glory, love, here we come



~Wiz

[Ludens]

Very interesting, Wizard. I especially like it that you don't know where the story is going to lead to. The bit of drama at the end certainly didn't hurt .

[scooter_the_shooter]

hay i really liked this story

[The Wizard]

This week and the next are two very busy weeks, for I'm in the middle of my exams for the year. Tommorrow I'll probably (finally) finish chapter III, because it's an easy day (for me at least): English and history. But don't expect anything soon after that; I'll be not only busy, but once I'm finally done I'll be requiring a bit of a calm period to recover.

So nah



~Wiz

[The Wizard]

III

“Nothing like gleaming spear and shining sword to light the way.” ~ Magi proverb

“My God…” swore Running Bull, “You have taken me straight into a village of Northmen!”

“What’s the problem? They do not seem to have anything against you…”

“I told you that I have fought these vile barbarians. I hate them for all that they’re worth, and it would do me good to see them rot in the city of Dys But you bring me here! I might as well walk straight into the opened maw of a great bear!”

Gavin was frank, “Look, do you have a better idea? This is the only settlement in the wide area and we can’t afford to go look for a settlement of people you do like, when all that we’ve seen are Northmen in these lands.”

“Unfortunately, you are right,” replied the chief, sadly, “I know these Norse settlements. Up there, at the top of the hill,” – he gestured to a great longhouse built on the highest point of the hill upon which the village had been built – “is the hall of the local ruler. By the looks of it, he is a jarl. Good… he can’t recognize me, he is probably content to sit in his hall of mead and drinking Norse rather than to go out and fight.” Running Bull spoke as if he was spitting out food that contained arsenic. Gavin could easily see the hatred that Running Bull had for these people. For a fleeting moment, he could see the experiences of the chieftain that had made him so bitter, or so he thought.

They made their way through the settlement, built onto the largest hill of the ridge which stood at the edge of the coastal plains, through which Gavin and Running Bull had made their way after they had been marooned at the Salty Ford by the pirates. The houses, looking like not much more than long tents made out of wood rather than canvas, were built on those places where the ground was flat enough to support their weight. The streets were filled with people milling about in everyday activities, from trading livestock to watching street plays, to the arrest of a criminal by a couple of burly, spear-armed Northmen. Passing them, Running Bull quickened his pace, his face set as stone once more. One of the men looked up at his passing, only to turn back to the criminal, landing a harsh kick in the man’s stomach.

They reached the hall, and one of the guards at the door stepped forward to them as they climbed the steps to the door of the longhouse.

“State your business in the mead hall,” the tall, fair-skinned man demanded in a harsh accent of the Common Language, “And tell me what this… redskin is doing here.”

Running Bull started, but Gavin laid a hand on his powerful shoulder.

“We are here to see the jarl, guard. We ask if we may see him, to ask for aid,” he said, calmly, picking his words carefully. He knew full well that one false word might mean a sword in his gut.

“And the redskin?” the guard demanded, rudely.

“He is my… captive.”

“Captive? Why haven’t you sold this piece of dirt as a slave yet?” At this, the great Indian chief started again, but managed to get himself under control just before smashing the Northman’s jaw.

“He is worth too much to sell him here. Now, open the doors.”

The guard shrugged, and swung open one of the doors. Immediately, a waft of cooked meat, mead, and the sounds and sights of a feast greeted them heartily as they entered the drinking hall.

Wider than one would expect from the look outside, the hall was filled with smoke, merry sounds, music, and above all, people. It seemed as if half the village was now in the longhouse, feasting to their heart’s content.

The hall was built around a great fire pit, and braziers kept it warm, but filled the room with smoke and grit. Above the fire pit, the roof opened up to let the smoke out. Opposite to the door, behind the great pit, was a throne of exquisitely carved wood and upon it sat a burly, red-haired, bearded man. A guard was leaning over him, gesturing towards the door, where Gavin and his ‘captive’ were standing.

The jarl gestured to the people feasting, and a hush fell over the rough assembly at once. An uneasy feeling crept over Gavin, and he looked to Running Bull for support, but his face had become of stone and ash once more.

“Tell me, stranger, what do you desire from an old man like me?” said the jarl, standing up. “Come over, and tell me what you seek, and why you deemed it useful to bring this redskin into this hall.”

Stern faces followed Gavin as he moved forward to the fire pit, followed by Running Bull, who looked more like a noble lion rather than the humble companion he had been the last days.

“We’ve come here to ask your help in reaching a city, named Kalontis,” said Gavin, standing opposite to the jarl, “We were… shipwrecked at the Salty Ford, but we managed to reach your hall, and now we ask your aid in reaching the city.”

The jarl laughed. “My aid is not given to the first peasant that asks for it! My aid needs to be deserved. So, prove yourself, stranger.”

“How?” Gavin replied, immediately, distraught by the demand of the noble. He had not thought of such a situation at all.

At this, the jarl conferred with the people around him in low, hushed voices. He stood up from his throne and said, in a loud voice, “You must prove yourself. You must prove to me, to us all, that you are worthy of our aid. You must defeat my champion!”

Mutually, the hall emitted a gasp, and people muttered to each other in surprise. A duel! Such a thing had not been seen in this sleepy village since the days of the jarl’s grandfather!

“Who is your champion, then?” replied Gavin, hesitantly. He exchanged worried looks with Running Bull.

A guard next to the jarl stood up. He was nearly twice as tall as Gavin himself, and his strength rivaled that of a bear. Gavin instinctively took a step back, but he found himself stopped by Running Bull, who whispered, “Come now, do not be scared. The larger they are, the harder they fall, as these people like to say. Your speed will outmatch his strength. Go!”

This surprisingly comforting speech by the Chief encouraged Gavin to stand upright, fierce and ready. He could see the amused surprise in the onlookers’ faces.

The two were led to a ring marked by sand. Gavin was given a sword and a buckler, while his opponent had a large round shield which was to him a buckler, wielding a hand axe large enough to be a double-handed one. Gavin tried to gulp down the lump in his throat, and his hands were sweating from fear. He had never fought before. How could he possibly defeat this giant?

The jarl made a swift movement with his hands. His champion raised his axe menacingly, and started circling Gavin. Realizing he would die if he did not react, Gavin mirrored the Northman’s movements. Suddenly, catching Gavin by complete surprise, the Northman lunged forward, swinging his axe in a wide arch, attempting to sever Gavin’s head from his torso. Instinct set in as all thought was abandoned, and Gavin found himself fighting for his life, blocking blow after blow by his mighty opponent, trying to parry with his sword but every time his moves were simply swept away by the fury of his fair-skinned enemy. Nothing but extreme luck – or was it skill? – was keeping him from getting wounded by the fury of his foe.

With another furious attack, the Northman swung his axe over his head, in a blow which would have certainly broken Gavin’s shield and severed his arm, were it not for that fact that as he raised his axe, Gavin saw an opening, bashing the great man in his face with his shield, sending him reeling.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Gavin closed in upon his foe and, with all his might, forced his sword into the gut of the strong Northman as far as its hilt reached. Groaning, the great man slumped forwards, dead.

Dead silence gripped the hall. Even Running Bull stood silent, a hint of surprise showing on his usually expressionless face. The jarl stood, astonished, gripping his throne, looking at the corpse of his champion and the pool of blood that was flowing from it.

Frowning deeply, the jarl broke the silence, “You killed my champion, Habsbjørn… he was the greatest of my warriors…”

The nobleman looked at his guards, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to send them to arrest Gavin and Running Bull. But the jarl reconsidered, realizing that doing so would anger the crowd. He had too great a knowledge of how to rule to make such a mistake.

Stepping forward and making a gesture of friendship towards Gavin, he said, “You are a great warrior to have defeated my champion in such a manner. Are you perhaps a professional warrior, or an experienced adventurer?” While the tone of his voice was polite, a hint of deep irritation was in it, and his eyes looked at Gavin with a fire in them that did not betray friendliness.

But Gavin was still too absorbed in the fire of battle, preserved by the adrenaline coursing through his blood, to notice. Taking a slight bow before the jarl, he threw the weapons he had been given before the ruler’s feet.

Several creases on his forehead still betraying his anger, the jarl continued, in a calm, controlled voice, “Very well then… since you have survived my test, in a most unexpected way”—Running Bull noticed the red-haired Northman clench his fists in an attempt to keep his rage at bay—“you will be granted a place to rest here, in my hall.”

At saying this, the great man turned around, looking in expectancy at his guests, to see if they were satisfied with his reward. Running Bull regarded the moves of the jarl with suspicion. Gavin did not notice; if he did, he didn’t give a sign that he cared.

The crowd was not satisfied.

“Gifts! Give him a gift!” came the shout from the crowd.

This was followed by a hearty agreement by the rest of the crowd, eager to see the unexpected victor in the oh-so-rare single combat graciously rewarded.

Clenching his teeth in anger, the nobleman turned back to the inferior, panting figure of Gavin.

“As the crowd demands,” he said with irritation clear in his voice, “so shall you be rewarded.” With that, he stalked out of the room, flanked by his guards, making a gesture for his guests to be led away to their quarters. A last, angry remark reached the ears of Gavin and Running Bull, who had come to stand next to the former, through the clamor that had once again started as the people inside the hall had picked up the activities they had been undertaking before Gavin and Running Bull had entered the drinking hall.

“Your reward will come… tomorrow.”

* * *

An uneasy silence had fallen between the two companions after Gavin’s victory over the Northern warrior. Running Bull had once again hidden his face behind the stoic mask that Gavin had first seen, his eyes looking at places far away from where they were at the moment.

And so, since there was no room to discuss anything, to ask questions, to know more about his silent friend, Gavin had followed Running Bull’s example and had laid down on the hard mattress of his bed to sleep.

Hours later, the Indian chief screamed out into the night as he awoke with a start. Gavin sat upright in an instant, looking around wildly, trying to discern what evil had caused the powerful man to cry out in such anguish and fear.

But he saw nothing. Their room was empty and silent, but for the quick breathing of the man in the bed on the other side of the room.

“I always hated them… always,” Running Bull said after a while, more to himself than to Gavin.

He turned to the young man, and Gavin could see that the stoic mask was gone. Sorrow, anger and exhaustion had left their marks, and these were clearly visible on his pale face, making him seem much older than he really was.

“Now they come back to me, after I saw you slaying that giant,” he said, trying to sound calm. But fear had seeped into his voice, and he wasn’t able to rid himself of it.

Gavin, taken aback by the look on the chieftain’s face, asked him silently, “What did you dream of?”

Running Bull’s face darkened. After a few moments, he replied, “I dreamt of my past… of the Northmen as they invaded my land, leaving behind a trail of destruction wherever they went…” he paused, his eyes once again staring to lands far away, and Gavin guessed he was seeing what he had dreamed once more. The tall Indian started to shiver uncontrollably.

“They came to our village, demanding our surrender,” he continued, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking. “We had heard tales from refugees that had come to us in their flight from these merciless marauders, and we knew that this demand was only a trick to get them an easy entry into a village. We refused the demand.

“By way of their siege weapons, they were able to easily breach our meager fortifications. We fought bravely, but they—they—” he broke off, unable to continue. Gavin walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder to lend the proud chieftain silent support.

After an inner struggle, Running Bull was able to continue, “My warriors were cut down, the children slain, the women raped. Everything I had known all my life went up in flames, and I was the only one to survive, having been captured to be interrogated by a mysterious organization, calling itself the Inquisition—”

“The Inquisition!” gasped Gavin.

“What about it?” asked the Indian, his face darkening.

“I—err… nothing.” replied Gavin, avoiding the eyes of his friend. He decided to go back to the topic at hand, “So that is how I met you on that ship?”

[scooter_the_shooter]

its even better now yay

[frogbeastegg]

Good luck with your maths
This story's progressing nicely, you managed to keep your interest in it going; we must have told you some good tips in that thread on motivation

[The Wizard]

Thank you all

Now, to think of the events and fitting scenes to continue the story...



~Wiz

[The Wizard]

IV

Looking into the polished bronze of a shield leaning onto the wall, he saw a young man, his face adorned with fair features, two dark brown eyes staring back at him. His wavy chestnut hair stood up at the brow, falling past his ears and into his neck. A beard was starting to form on his cheeks and chin.
“You know,” said Knud, in his deep voice which pierced Gavin’s thoughts and brought him back to the world at hand, “I sincerely doubt if you are ready for the task at hand.”
“I said I was, and I answered truthfully,” replied Gavin, “Why would I lie?”
“Because you do not understand the dangers that lie ahead, not those of your journey to Jarnborg, nor those on the way to Kalontis.”
“Maybe so, but I am ready to face them.”
“Your courage is admirable, but naïve. It is exactly what I said when I left home, a young, brash man, and followed a hersir over the sea. But I am now successful, and I hope you will be the same.” and he put his great hand on Gavin’s shoulder.
“Come now, my friend, before you leave, you must be outfitted” Knud said, looking up suddenly.
Gavin followed the red-haired Northman through the mead hall. Once outside, they walked over the courtyard of the hill fort which crested the village, to the personal armory of the noble.
Inside, a vast amount of weaponry greeted the eyes of Gavin in all their glory. Swords, axes, helmets, spears, shields, mail, even a few cuirasses of lamellar – all were present in the richly stocked armory of this Nordic lord.
“Impressive, no?” asked Knud, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“… Quite,” Gavin replied, hesitatingly, “I am getting some of this? Now I understand why you were so generous.”
“I have too much to keep for myself, son. Now, I know exactly what a warrior like you needs.”
Knud sent for several of his servants, and quickly they came, bringing pieces of equipment for Gavin.
His tattered clothes were replaced with finer fabric. A thick, quilted tunic reaching to his knees embraced his torso in comfortable warmth. Perfectly fitting shoes, their knobbed soles reinforced for marching, held his baggy trousers, their color the same of the deep sea, from the ankles down with their laces. He was given an embroidered, dark red traveling coat which reached until below his knees, protecting his body from the elements. Over this he put on a tunic of strong mail, which protected him from the neck to his thighs. His hands met the comfortable embrace of woolen gloves, their palms strengthened by leather. He was given a double belt of ox-hide, from which his sheathed sword rested on his thigh. A bearded axe rested on his other thigh, and the whole of his impressive look was crested by a strong helmet, which also protected his neck and cheeks with metal.
“These,” said Knud, looking fondly at Gavin’s outfit, “were my grandfather’s. He was an Islander, and you look much like one. That is why I’m giving you his equipment. Use it wisely.”
With his great hand, the red-haired Northman grabbed a small shield from the weapons rack next to him. Its boss was gilded, and from it gilded streaks of bronze ran to the rim of the red shield.
“Your grandfather’s as well …?” inquired Gavin.
“No, yours.”
With that, Gavin met Running Bull on the courtyard and they were both led to the stables of the great hill fort. There, an assortment of horses stood ready for any rider which needed them.
“I advise you,” said Knud, walking into the stables leisurely, “not to take the black mare. She doesn’t take kindly to anyone but Habsbjørn.” He added, with noticeable scorn. Quickly he made up for it, “You being his replacement, I am giving you the finest of my stallions.”
He gestured at a chestnut pony, which was lazily eating. The black mare looked far more noble and fine than this creature to Gavin.
“What is the mare’s name?” he asked, not taking his eye off of the horse.
Looking at the mare with absent-minded grief for the loss of his finest warrior, Knud replied, “He called her Gudrun. Are you sure you want your hand at taming this horse?”
Gavin said nothing, and walked up to the mare. She snorted indignantly, but let him put his hand on her shining back.
Knud looked in surprise, and was not able to bring out a word for a few moments, until, “You have your ways, son…”
Running Bull took the horse he liked most, a rough grey pony which was slightly smaller than the proud black mare which Gavin had mastered.
They saddled and packed the two horses, Gavin taking off most of his armor, preferring his cloak and his quilted tunic to the heavy burden of the mail.
They set off later that morning, out of the village in the direction of mountains, towering over all else in view, foreboding in their greatness.
Standing on the battlements of the palisade which surrounded the village, Knud’s green eyes followed Gavin and his companion as they made their way over the path, the great mountains in the distance walling off the horizon.
“I hope the little bastard’s killed by some creature,” he said viciously, “and that damn
Redskin is torn apart by the worst of this world. No-one insults my honor.”



Small part, view this as part one of Chapter IV, several more coming up, this chapter is important for a chunk of the next excitement arch (or whatever the translation into english is), and this part is more like a romanticized inventarization of Gavin's equipment.

Go on, take a guess at what's gonna happen.



~Wiz

[scooter_the_shooter]

i dont get the last part when he wants him to die. plz explain it to an idiot like me.

[frogbeastegg]

Quote[/b] (The Wizard @ June 22 2004,11:30)]Go on, take a guess at what's gonna happen.

Hmm...oh, I know I know - there's going to be a big tea party and Edgar the duck gives everyone a bar of chocolate, then they sing the fluffy bunny song and everyone goes home as the best of friends

Or not.

[The Wizard]

You give approximately the same ending to the story a friend did.

Well, caesar, Knud didn't like Gavin - he killed his champion, something Knud though impossible. Knud had to hold true to his word and had to humiliate himself to his guests by making this stranger part of personal retinue and even giving an Indian (another people in Black and White) a horse Norse hate Indians, therefore he was greatly humiliated.

I thought that reaction up as I was writing, and I think i'm going to do something with it.



~Wiz

[scooter_the_shooter]

ahhh now i get it i dont play that sereies so i didnt know that

[scooter_the_shooter]

has this book been abandoned i was quite hoping to see it finished wizard

[The Wizard]

Whoa... err, been a while, eh? Well, finally got my motivation and my imagination up and running again to work on this story again. Guess my motivation wasn't all that up to par after all, eh, froggy?

I could supply so many vain reasons as to why I stopped, but that's not very useful. Methinks it would be better to just continue where we left off...



~Wiz

[The Wizard]

IV, part ii

“We must get Gavin!”

“Come! You must come, now!”

With that, the woman, screaming in anguish and sorrow, was dragged away by the man who was standing in the doorway. The house was left, burning away, silent but for the roar of the fire and the cries of a baby left in its bed.

A dark, hooded figure silently stood over the small child’s cradle. His great hand reached out suddenly from under his robes, going for the baby’s small head…



Gavin woke up with a start. Cold sweat running down his back, he propped himself up, looking up into the sparkling stars in the night sky.

“What nightmares plague your rest?”

Startled, Gavin recognized Running Bull’s voice, and looked around. He found Running Bull in the shadow of one of the trees of the forests where they had decided to rest, near the horses.

Answering Gavin’s unasked question, he said, “You were thrashing about.”

“I don’t know… what I dreamed was vaguely familiar, yet something blocks me from understanding it.”

“You needn’t elaborate… memories of horrid events of my past plague my dreams, as well,” the chieftain replied, calmly, “In this way, your spirit deals with them.”

Leaving Running Bull to his unnerving stoicism, Gavin lay his head back down onto his makeshift pillow and tried to sleep.

What could these dreams mean? He thought. Could this be a part of my past?

As he replayed the dream in his mind over and over, he was plagued by such a tantalizingly familiar scene for the rest of the night. Running Bull remained standing, looking calmly into the cool night.



Thwack!

Gavin’s peaceful rest was rudely disrupted by the sound of an arrow, embedding itself deeply into the bark of the tree, as if in frustration at missing Gavin’s head so narrowly.

Jumping up in total surprise and fear, Gavin looked wildly around him for any sign of the attacker. Where was Running Bull? Was he fighting the attacker already? Or was he—

“Gavin!”

Gavin spun around to the direction from where the call had come. What attacker could know his name? Could his captors have followed him here? His heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

Running Bull was walking over to him at a leisurely pace. In one of his hands, he held a young, small deer with an arrow or two sticking out of its side.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He said, bemusement in his deep voice, looking intently at the arrow stuck in the tree.

“I guess I’m just a bit nervous… especially when I wake up with an arrow sticking out of the tree I’m resting on!” Gavin said, looking back at the arrow.

Running Bull said nothing in reply, but started smoking the deer he had caught. The thick smell permeated the small clearing they were in quickly, and the smoke made Gavin’s eyes water. Nevertheless, he ate the meat eagerly when it was ready.

“Tell me something about your homeland.” Gavin could no longer resist the question.

“Tell you something? What?” Asked Running Bull, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“Anything… the people, the history, the religion… anything!”

“Ah, the religion… the religion of my people. Many good has come from it, but much evil as well.

“We believe in a single, powerful entity, a God. Our name of this God is too complex for you to pronounce, and different to each believer: religion is, of course, a personal affair. But, to those that do not believe, and other outsiders, He is known as Iacobus.

“Our relationship to our God was free, individual and happy. He was frequent to appear amongst us, in His ancestral form or in the form of a human or animal. He helped us, taught us, cared for us, and tried to protect us. He was benevolent and just, and the realm in which belief in Him was practiced was prosperous and advanced. Ah, you cannot imagine how much it hurts inside me, in my spirit, my heart, that those times are gone!”

Pain in his eyes, Running Bull looked through Gavin, into a past that had been lost to him. He remained silent for a while, and even nature seemed to respect the sorrow of a true believe over the fall of his belief.

“But our happiness, our prosperity, it attracted those that were jealous, and lusted for those things that we had in our possession. Our fertile lands, our rich cities. Of all the warlike, aggressive peoples in this world, it is my true belief that the Northmen, who believe in a God commonly known as Magus, are the worst.

“They descended down on our lands like a furious thunderstorm, pillaging, stealing, ravaging, burning and killing as they went, leaving a path of destruction like a glacier leaves a valley when it is gone. I—I cannot describe the extent of the pain and sorrow I felt when I saw my homeland burn in agony, and the temples of Iacobus be torn down, the priests murdered, the priestesses raped on the altars.”

Again, he stopped, but this time, the pain had been replaced by the fire of a furnace, burning furiously as Running Bull continued to describe the horrors he had experienced at the hands of the Northmen.

“But no! As if their desecration of the one defining element that bound my people together surely, like a mother embraces her children, they went further. Instead of granting me the warrior’s death that became me, they took me captive, and sold me as a slave! Now, I am forced to live with the horrid memories of the fall of my home. I do not even know if belief in Iacobus still exists at all. Questions like this plague me through all of my existence.”

The sun shone brightly, high in the sky, as if to emphasize the fact that it was near noon. Running Bull had fallen silent, and was staring grimly ahead, into the depth of the forest. Gavin left him be, thinking that he must be getting his feelings back in a neat order again.

“Come, it is noon,” said the stern-faced Indian, as he suddenly got up, “We must leave.”

With that, they packed up their belongings once again, and rode away, down the path which had led them to this clearing in the soft embrace of the many leaves in this forest. This clearing, in which Gavin had suddenly understood much more of his companion’s stoic composure.

The arrow stuck out from the tree, fiercely meeting the sun’s rays, like a banner fluttering defiantly in the breeze.

[Monk]

yay!! The Wizard has returned welcome back to the Mead Hall!

It has indeed been sometime, but it's good to have you back. Strange i have not commented on this til now...err, yes..well... i like it

I admit it's been so long i've had to go over most of what was already posted...because i've forgotten

[The Stranger]

good story wiz, maybe you could drop by at the last empire and give some comment. because somebody else is too busy

[The Wizard]

Thanks very much for your kind comments! I apoligize for being so long with the next chapter...

Currently working on the next chapter... rest assured, it'll be a good bit longer!



~Wiz

[The Stranger]

seems like you're doing a hard time in the Erasmiaans Gymnasium. the story is good, i like it. keep it up Wiz

[The Wizard]

V

“What?! What do you mean, the prisoners escaped! How is this possible?!”

Iskander was furious. Not only had he today been awoken by falling out of his bed onto the hard stone floor of his residence, now this fool, this first mate, had come sailing into the port to tell him the prisoners he had promised the Inquisition had escaped!

“I am very sorry, lord Iskander. There was a—a mutiny amongst the galley s—slaves on board,” Iskander’s anger was somewhat alleviated as he saw this idiot cringe and stutter under his rage, “and we concentrated… on them. There… is little wind at sea at this time of year; we need the slaves badly. T—they must have escaped then.”

Iskander studied the man while he pretended to slowly digest this information. He was a sailor, with a broad face, short legs and a powerful torso. One of his eyes was bandaged, and the other looked upon the Inquisitor with easily noticeable apprehension, even fear. A sheen of sweat made his tanned forehead glisten.

Ah—he was nervous. Not just because of Iskander’s anger, but for another reason as well. Iskander set his devious mind to work. He stole a look at the man’s idle hands, of which the movements always give away some kind of thought. They were twitching! He was nervous indeed. Was he perhaps lying? Whatever the case, Iskander needed to keep up the pressure.

“The wind?! You worry about a little flow of air, while two dangers to the order of the world, our great religion, are within your ship’s hull?! You fool! Are you telling me you did not even post guards near them?”

He did not care much for the sailor’s response. He studied the man further while he tried to answer comprehensively, looking for more signs to prove that this man was lying or trying to hide the truth from him.

While the first mate was struggling to find good words to fill his sentences with, Iskander saw that his lips twitched, ever so slightly.

One step closer to knowing if you are lying, my less than intelligent friend, thought the Inquisitor.

Then something struck him. This man was first mate of this ship—where was the captain? He said there had been a mutiny on the ship. Sure, the captain could have gotten killed by the mutineers, and that might explain the bandaged eye—

The bandaged eye! That was it!

Interrupting the sailor’s blundering answer, he said, “My friend, what, in Magus’ name, has happened to your eye?”

Startled by the robed man’s sudden interest in his wound, the first mate answered, “Uh—err, that happened in the mutiny, sir… damn slaves, heh heh…”

Somewhat irritated by the man’s crude humor, Iskander inquired, “Can I see what is beneath your bandages? Perhaps I could alleviate your pain, or even heal you—I am, after all, still a cleric of Magus.”

Without waiting for the man’s answer, Iskander took a step forward and lifted the man’s bandage. What he saw beneath was grotesque—dried up blood, an empty eye socket, and the gash which had ruined his eye. Obviously a cutlass wound.

Wait—a cutlass wound? What slave would carry a cutlass? Had the first mate not just said the mutiny had been limited to the oar deck alone? No slave could have gotten a cutlass there; Iskander knew sailors kept mutinying slaves at bay with spears and pikes. Damn it, he was lying!

He spoke a few words of prayer to Magus to clean up the sailor’s wound; he then put the bandage back in place and pondered the right course of action.

The man had obviously mutinied against his captain, and received the wound in the struggle. That was criminal enough to have him arrested and thrown into the dungeons for a couple of years; he was a pirate and a mutineer now, according to Magi law. But what about the prisoners? What had happened to them?

Perhaps he was telling the truth about them. They could have escaped during the confusion of the mutiny. But he doubted it. He knew of how superstitious sailors tried to avoid the straights of Ashburn at all costs. He also knew that, to reach this port of Tarq, or Taerg as it was called in the common language, this ship had to go through the straights of Ashburn.

Probably, the mutiny had started over going through the straights. The reason? The prisoners. Knowing of the practice of leniency amongst sailors towards those that were the subject of the mutiny, but not the cause, Iskander finally understood.

He turned around, gestured towards his guards, and then turned back to the first mate.

“Master Rigs, our business is concluded.”

With that, the first mate was seized by Iskander’s men, all the while loudly protesting, pleading, trying to get out from under it. Iskander did not care—he had his revenge now, for this treachery. The sailor would be executed, the ship and its cargo seized, as payment for trying to deceive the Inquisition.

His anger was cooled, however, by the thought of the fact that the prisoners he had promised his superiors were not here. They would not be happy.

* * *

“What?! Are you telling me that the prisoners you, Iskander, were supposed to bring to trial here have not arrived? And even worse, that they have escaped?”

“Yes, lord Bagoas,” replied Iskander, not happy with how this conversation was going. It was becoming more and more like an interrogation.

“That is… a disappointment, certainly. Your agents were not able to keep them from escaping, I understand?” The deep frown on Bagoas’ sharp face was more of an insult to Iskander than if the Grand Inquisitor had called him a son of a whore, or an unbeliever.

“I have discovered the fact that there was a mutiny on the ship which was transporting them to Tarq, where I was supposed to rendezvous with my agent. My agent, also the captain, was killed. As is the custom with sailors, the cause of the mutiny, the prisoners, were released.”

“And the mutineers…?”

“The chief mutineers have been arrested and will be executed on the shortest notice.”

“Good, good…” A few moments of silence ensued as Bagoas seemed to ponder the situation and Iskander’s words. Finally, he seemed to agree within himself.

He was no longer frowning as he said, “As far as this incident is concerned, you have done as well as you could, brother Iskander. I will meet the other Grand Inquisitors to see if we will send an agent retrieve the prisoners. You may return to your studies.”

“Thank you, brother Bagoas,” replied Iskander, showing his gratitude by indicating fraternity. He exited the room, to go to his own chambers.

He had walked the hallways and the various halls of the Arq-e Inqustam, the headquarters of the Inquisition of Magus, many times before in his life, and did not take in the surroundings as he made his way to his own residence; he had seen it all before many times.

The Arq-e Inqustam, or ‘the Ark’ as it was known amongst the common folk, stood proudly as the greatest bastion of the Magi religion in the world. Towering over the city of Tys, its great spires, domes, arches and pillars had been added to the original building over the centuries, like rivers deposit sediment onto the seabed.

Built upon an island in the river Goran in a time when belief in Magus was just another one of the many obscure religions of the Persian people, the city of Tys had been built around it as the faith spread further and further, like the changing of seasons, so inevitable. When the island became too small to contain the greater and greater space needed to accommodate the clergy of Magus, the Ark had been built ever closer to the heavens, and its great height was a testimony to the power of Magus.

Its many halls and chambers, used both for the uses of the Inquisition as well as for preaching to the believers, were connected by great spans, arching across the sky, making the Ark look as if it was light as a feather, as if the only thing holding it up was faith. Faith in Magus, of course.

Believers, priests, clerics and Inquisitors who crossed the spans to get to one part or another of the great building could see the city of Tys sprawled out below them. The great city, every stone of its thousand thousand buildings laid down by the faithful, was like a pearl shining in the light of late fall, a pearl somehow lost out in a great, rolling plain, bordered by mountains where the sun went under, and descending to the sea where it was born again.

The center of all belief in Magus was here. A palpable fact, as the citizens of Tys were proud as a mother is of her children of this. Tens of thousands of pilgrims came here each year to visit this foundation of the Magi religion and look in awe at the many monuments of the city, all the while being harried by seemingly equal amounts of merchants from all corners of the world trying to sell their wares.

All of this, however, passed by Iskander like an elephant might ignore a bug, for he was deep within the Ark, finally turning into the hallway in which his chambers were. He planned to read into a book called Swordsmanship amongst the Magi, a book written by one of those backward, yet somehow militarily effective Northmen. Skill with the sword had become a keen interest of Iskander over the years as a cleric of Magus, as were the other skills of war. He was respected amongst the Inquisitors as a good warrior, and he took great pride in his war skills. Such skill at arms was well appreciated amongst the clergy of Magus.

However, as he lifted himself from his thoughts to open his door, he saw a friend of his, Shapur. Clad in the red robes of an Inquisitor, and wearing the midnight sash of an Inquisitor who has proved himself many times, he seemed to be waiting for Iskander, for the moment he saw Iskander approach, he drew back the cowl of his robes.

“Hail, brother Shapur. It is good to see you again! What brings you here to my room? Please, come inside and have some a drink with me.”

“No, brother Iskander, I have not come for pleasantries, not today.” Although Shapur’s smile was warm, his tone was serious, the kind of tone he struck when he would make a point in earnest. Iskander knew he was probably bringing a message from the Twelve; Shapur was well-connected with the Grand Inquisitors.

“Then for what have you come, Shapur?”

“To tell you that the Twelve have reached a decision over the incident with the prisoners which were supposed to be put on trial here.” Iskander liked to be right.

“Ah! Why have you come to tell me this in person? Surely it is not that important?”

“Actually, it is. Although Bagoas thought that there was no blame to come to your actions, the rest of the Twelve did not think so.”

Surprised by this response, Iskander inquired, “And this means? Am I to be punished?” He did not like this prospect, especially since he shared Bagoas’ sentiment.

“No… you are to find out where these prisoners went. Apparently, the Twelve think these men are sufficiently criminal that they must be tracked down by an Inquisitor personally.”

Iskander groaned.