[Mkguild] MK: A Pack of Secrets (3/13)

[Hallan Mirayas]

   "Daydreaming again?!"  Alan Snow lashed a cane down across his young son's shoulders.  "You lazy slacker!" he yelled down at the cowering boy.  "When will you get your head out of the clouds?"  A broad, soot-stained hand crumpled a scribbled drawing and tossed it into the forge's fire.  "Honest hard work is how you make your way in this world, not pie-in-the-sky ideas."

   "But Mama said-"

   Alan Snow's face became, if possible, even more red and furious.  The cane lashed down again, and he roared, "Mama's not here anymore, and no son of mine is going to waste his days dreaming!  Now get back to work!"  The cane lashed down a third time.

   Drift jerked awake with a yelp.  Since he was traveling with Long Scouts and dire wolves, that yelp woke up half the camp and he spent the next few minutes apologizing.  Fortunately, there was a rock close at hand that he could pitch into the darkness and say that it had a sharp point that he had rolled onto in his sleep.  Better to be chided for not properly clearing his sleeping area than to admit to waking everyone over a "bad dream".

   He stayed awake for a while afterward, unsettled.  Ever since he'd let Misha talk him into pursuing his inventions, he'd felt like he was being pulled in six directions at once.  If he was going to be supporting Alexis and her refined tastes, he would need a solid, dependable job.  Depending for his daily bread on the income she made, however lucrative, just didn't sit right with him, and neither did continuing to depend on Misha's largesse as an investor.  Smithing was a solid money-maker, it was the family tradition, and it was sometimes enjoyable, but shaping metal all day didn't leave much time for anything else.  On the other hand, he truly enjoyed creating new things and new ideas, but inventing wasn't exactly a financially secure path.  Inventions had to work, something that wasn't guaranteed, and people had to be impressed enough to buy them.  If they weren't, then it all came apart.

   Drift already knew that someone didn't want him to succeed.  The price of nails, already high from the demand of all the rebuilding, had gone through the roof just as his icehouse had started construction.  Tools and supplies had repeatedly gone missing.  Ropes that had been thoroughly examined for soundness at purchase as early as the day before their use (or been made by the workers themselves!) had split and snapped with abandon.

   He'd switched his plans to mortis-and-tenon construction to compensate for the shortage of nails, a slot-and-post construction style that dated back into antiquity but that still worked well.  Tightly fitted wooden pegs secured each joint so that it wouldn't pull apart under stress.  He'd hired guards to watch over the supplies when work wasn't being done.  He'd even designed a new type of scaffolding that didn't use any rope at all to hold it together and used geared chains for pulleys.  Even so, what should have taken a single month was now approaching three.  The Watch believed a black market in building supplies was to blame caused by the high demand of Metamor and Euper's massive rebuilding effort.  Drift had come to think otherwise.  This stank of sabotage.  Every time he overcame one obstacle, another appeared.  He could almost feel opposing forces building up against him. 

   But if it really was sabotage, then who was doing it, and why?  If he decided to continue inventing, what was to keep someone from stealing his designs and selling them as their own?  If he stayed a smith, how was he to deal with the never-ending troubles in his metal supply and the constant, malicious rumors being spread about his skill?  More importantly, how was he to put a stop to it?  The heavens knew that the Watch, that group of incompetents, wasn't likely to be of any help in finding out that, of course.  How could he expect them to find a saboteur when they hadn't even been able to hang onto a petty thief, much less find his father's killer?

   That brought to mind one final thing to consider, and Drift laid his hand on Whirlwind, resting beside him, to reassure himself that it was still there.  During the attack last winter, he had felt absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but hide and pray that he wouldn't be found.  Whatever path he chose to follow would need to leave time for him to train, because he never wanted to feel that way again.  Never.  And he would do just about anything to avoid it.  He was finally getting a family back.  He would not fail them this time, whatever the cost.

   With that thought in mind, he shifted down into full canine form, curled up against the night's chill, and went back to sleep.

-----

   Arkos Linafex tucked his daughter into bed in a new-built house near Metamor's curtain wall.  Using the back of his fingers to keep his claws away from her soft skin, the red-furred canine Keeper stroked her long black hair as she slept.  As he did every night, he leaned down and kissed his child's cheek with the tip of his tongue, committing the scent of her once more to memory with the keen nose of a Southlands hunting hound.  

   He and his wife had had such trouble having a child.  They'd had one miscarriage before the Curse, and then two more after.  That the Curse had changed his wife into a long-necked swan had not made things any easier.  Mariah had come only when they had almost given up hope, and he had promised her as he cradled her newborn form in his arms that he would do whatever it took to give her a better life than his own.

   That promise was proving very difficult to fulfill.  It had taken years of effort and finally a deal with a daedra lord to drive his competitors out of business and ensure a monopoly in the smithing of light metals.  If he could get that, and keep it, he was certain that his daughter would be able to marry into a higher station when she came of age.

   He was so close now.  So close… but for that damned Snow!  He wished a curse on that entire family.  He'd been able to encourage all of his other competitors to relocate to other towns within the realms of Metamor, but not the Snows.  What was it about them that kept them standing in his way?  He'd tried persuasion, he'd tried threats, he'd tried robbery, bribery, everything, but he'd finally had to kill that damned goat in order to get him out of the way.  And now the son, whom he had been sure wouldn't be trouble after that fire scare he'd arranged, was an even worse obstacle.  The elder Snow at least had been antisocial and easy to coax customers away from.  His son, on the other hand…

   With an effort, Arkos pushed his irritation aside as his daughter sensed it and stirred in her sleep.  "Shh, shh," he said, stroking her hair and humming a soothing lullaby until she slept peacefully again.  His sharp ears pricked at the sound of a chill breeze outside, and he glanced to the window near her bedside again to make sure that it was securely and tightly sealed against the coming winter cold.  No harm must come to this child, he thought.  She must have only the best, the very best.  He would make sure of it.

   He nearly snarled aloud as the special moment with his daughter was marred by the sound of footsteps in the hallway.  Only one creature allowed in his home sounded like that when it walked, and at this moment it was most unwelcome.  His canine muzzle wrinkled to bare sharp teeth, and he quietly rose and strode from the room.  The moment he was out the door, his hand was on Thestilus' throat, lifting the imp off the floor and pinning it to the wall.  The imp was currently in his disguise of an age-regressed Keeper, and made very satisfying choking sounds as Arkos throttled him.  "I told you," the canine Keeper growled low in his throat, "never to come near my daughter, especially not when she is sleeping."  He drew himself up to his full height and loosened his grip just enough that the little brat could talk.  "There had better be an excellent reason for this intrusion," he growled.

   "Report," the child-creature gasped.  "Report on Snow."

   Arkos was certain the little imp was putting on more of a show than an actual struggle for breath, and he tightened his grip a little.  "I have a lot of questions for you, you infernal wretch.  Why isn't his icehouse a pile of ashes yet?  Why am I still hearing comparisons between his work and my own, favoring his?"  He put his face close, laid his ears back, and snapped, "And -why- isn't he out of business already?  That mongrel's family has been a thorn in my side for far too long and, as per my agreement with your lord, I want him gone!  Why is he flourishing, when he is supposed to be /suffering/?"  The last word, whispered only for his daughter’s sake, still ended with a click of his teeth from the force of his snarl, and it gratified Arkos to see the child-thing flinch.

   "Snow has- urk- has powerful allies, milord," Thestilus gurgled, but inwardly he reveled as Arkos tipped his ears forward in interest.  Linafex was reacting just as the imp had predicted he would when provoked by an approach near his daughter.  /Alexastra isn't the only one who can play a mortal like a harp/, he thought with smug satisfaction.  He tugged ineffectively at the red canine's grip and continued, "They have done much to shield him from our initial tactics."

   "Who are they?"

   "Misha Brightleaf and Xavier Marcus bankroll him and his fiancée Alexis Nightwind is countering most of our efforts to disrupt his supplies.  The woman is a fiend of logistics.  I'm amazed that Metamor's army leaders haven't asked her to join their quartermasters."  The child-creature scowled for Arkos' benefit as he wove truth and lies into highly tempting bait.  "She is also hampering our rumormongering.  That woman could sell water to -fish-."  The imp gave another ‘ineffective’ tug at Arkos’ hand to keep the fool’s ego sated.

   Arkos' muzzle rippled in a snarl of disgust.  "Women have no place in the field of business.  Their purpose is to tend the home and the children.  Damn Nasoj… he's turned proper society on its head."

   Diplomatically choosing neither to criticize nor defend a former tool of Lord Ba'al, Thestilus continued as if he hadn't heard.  "His curl-horned lackey- Wolfram, I think his name is- has broken up several of the fights and brawls we’ve fomented around him or provoked him into and even Kyia-" Here the imp spat, as if in loathing.  "Even she protects him.  With his home and forge inside her bounds, it is much more difficult to sabotage or burgle them.  Believe me, sir, I have tried."  He waited just a few moments more, watching Arkos add up the numbers, and then added the final twist.  "I regret to say it, master Linafex, but the forces arrayed against you are many and powerful."

   Arkos cursed, his face twisting in frustration and anger.  "Just once, I’d like to be the one protected by those in power instead of having to claw against their efforts."  As if moved by an afterthought, the canine Keeper set Thestilus down.  Smoothing out the clothes his grab had rumpled, Arkos turned on the full measure of his charm as he shepherded the disguised imp down the hallway toward the living area of his home.  "My dear friend," he said in his smoothest and most gracious tone.  "I apologize; you know how my temper can get away from me.  It has been a stressful day, and I appreciate having at least one person I can count on."  Gesturing to a cushioned chair, the desert hound invited Thestilus to sit and he poured wine into two small glasses taken from a mahogany cupboard nearby.  He gave one to the boy, paused to light a small stick of incense, and then settled down on another chair.  "So," he said, swirling the wine gently in its cup as magic-imbued smoke wafted up from the burning incense to block any scrying spells that might be watching.  "You've spelled out the difficulties facing us.  Snow has allies.  Clearly, this presents a problem.  Do you and your lord have any advice as to how this problem might discreetly be…" He paused, as if to consider the most appropriate word.  "…handled?"

   Thestilus smiled.

 		 	   		  
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