[Mkguild] Justice in Vengeance Refrain (3)

[Ryx]

            The pews were arrayed outward from the central dais in concentric 
circles and it was down an aisle between them that the acolyte silently lead 
them.  Here and there other acolytes cleaned or prayed or conducted other 
studies in a hushed quiet broken only by small noises; the hiss of a scrub brush 
or leather soled shoe, a stifled cough, quiet whispers of topics not even the 
mage’s keen ears could discern.  They passed the dais upon which was an altar 
and podium before crossing toward a single door in the far wall.  Upon reaching 
in the acolyte rapped lightly with his knuckles.
            The door was drawn open and the acolyte withdrew, as did the page.  
The two guards moved forward to take up posts at either side of the door while 
Murikeer and Elvmere proceeded into the foyer beyond.  One of the muscular 
guards from the Lothanasa’s retinue waited until they passed him before quietly 
closing the door.  With a heavy but noiseless tread he led them down the short, 
wide hallway that served as the foyer to the Lothanasa’s private office and as 
they stepped into the large room smoothly drifted to one side to take up a post 
opposite another likewise muscular guard.  Neither of them uttered a word.
            “Cuialye lothan, gentlemen.” The  Lothanasa said in greetings as she 
rose from behind a vast table created from a single slice from some great tree.  
She swept a large arm to indicate the chairs near the table opposite her own 
throne-like chair.  “Please, be seated so that we may talk.”
            Murikeer noted that her eyes were a strange hue; a pale blue that 
almost seemed silver.  Her look was kind, but it was penetrating as she gazed 
over both of them.  “Cuialye lothan, your grace.” The skunk replied neutrally as 
he slid into the chair carefully.  Furniture south of Metamor had never been 
designed with any thought that any of its future occupants might have tails so 
he had to employ some care when he settled himself into it.
            “First, let me assure you that your master is safe and well.” She 
offered after they had seated themselves and she resumed her own seat.  She 
rested her elbows upon the arms of the huge chair and laced her fingers together 
upon the table.  “He has been offered food and water as well as a basin to 
cleanse himself.”  Large fingers flexed in a brief gesture of helplessness, “He 
refused the food claiming hardships from the liquor he imbibed during your 
caretaking.” She smiled slightly.
            “When might we look in on him, your grace?” Elvmere asked with some 
concern.
            “Soon.  Tathim wishes to speak with him first, to ascertain his 
temperament and learn something of his person before he allows visitors.”  She 
leaned forward slightly and fixed her gaze on Murikeer.  “Secondly; you two, and 
your master, keep secrets.  I can see about you considerable magic, and you,” 
one finger motioned toward Murikeer, “are a mage of some competence, no mere 
minstrel’s apprentice.”
            “It is a necessity, mistress, to preserve our safety.” Murikeer 
explained carefully.
            “Indulge me, if you will?  Remove the amulets you wear.”  He voice 
was gentle but even, brooking no argument.  While she may have couched it as a 
gentle request neither of the two foreigners before her imagined that the burly 
guards would let them leave before their priestess released them.  Murikeer took 
a long breath and closed his eyes for a moment before reaching up and drawing 
his amulet from beneath his shirt.  Elvmere did the same with a silent prayer.
            As the amulets were drawn over their heads the illusions faded to 
reveal the truth that the magic hid from the world.  Murikeer laid his amulet 
upon the table but Elvmere kept his clutched in his hands to hide it from the 
Lothanasa’s regard.  The woman leaned back in her chair, clutching at its arms 
with suddenly tense hands as her eyebrows lifted with surprise.  Silvery blue 
eyes darted back and forth between them for several moments before she blinked 
and wrinkled her nose.
            “Ach.” She huffed with a moue of consternation as Murikeer’s scent 
reached her nostrils, “The amulet hides your looks and your scent?  You are like 
those imprisoned in the wagons?”  Her voice was strained slightly but she did 
not move to cover her nose against the acrid bite of the skunk’s natural musk.  
Her upper lip lifted slightly and she unclenched her large hands from the arms 
of her chair, visibly pushing back her shock at the sudden presence of two very 
non-human looking creatures seated in her private demesne.  At their back the 
two guards shifted slightly in place, hands dropping to their swords, but 
remained where they were at a brief flick of the Lothanasa’s pale eyes.
            Murikeer twitched his ears rearward briefly at the sound of the 
guards moving but when they stilled he swiveled them forward once more. “Cursed, 
as they are.”  His voice was once more the tenor churr which the illusion had 
made a more masculine baritone.  He did not make any attempt to conceal his 
scent with more temporary magic lest the casting of any spell, even one so 
simple, cause the guards to react.  Thus far they had not so much as moved a 
muscle though Murikeer had been listening for some sort of response from them.  
“We hail from Metamor in the north, which came under powerful curses some years 
past.  The reasons for our southerly travels are not for any evil designs, your 
grace.”
            The woman continued to study them for some long moments as she 
nodded, “All kingdoms have those of their people who journey.  Metamor would not 
be any different, I imagine, if its people may find such travels difficult.  I 
have heard some small bit of the place, and its curse, but the stories are 
seldom complimentary.”  One eyebrow quirked slightly, “Of late it has been said 
they were responsible for the assassination of the Follower’s high priest.”
            “They were not!” Elvmere blurted before Murikeer could speak, the 
vehemence of his words surprising them both.  “With due apologies, mistress, but 
they were not.” He shrank back to in his chair, mortified at his own outburst.  
Murikeer reached across to lay a gentling hand upon his arm.
            “The Patriarch of the Ecclasia traveled to Metamor, yes.” The young 
mage explained with a slow nod, “But it was others not of Metamor who 
perpetuated the wholesale slaughter of his retinue as they were returning 
southward, just beyond the range of the curse.”
            The Lothanasa nodded sagely, “And sought to direct blame upon 
Sathmore, yes?  Or Metamor?”
            “Metamor by proximity, and Sathmore with the weapon used to slay 
him.” Murikeer conceded.
            “Those magic-dead blind old men ever have been more than willing to 
lay blame on Sathmore, or anyone, for that matter, not of their closeted faith.” 
She groused irritably and shrugged her broad shoulders.  Dropping one hand down 
out of sight she retrieved something from some storage below the table and 
brought it up into sight.  A long arrow of polished black wood fletched with 
black feathers.  A gleaming steel arrowhead caught the sunlight as she set it 
upon the table between them.  Elvmere groaned softly and Murikeer sighed; it was 
an arrow of the Yesbearn, knights of the church who attended the Questioners.  
“This we found in the ruins of a nearby village that was razed two days ago.  No 
one escaped alive.”  She glared at the arrow as if it, alone, were responsible 
for so many deaths.  “They slew even the livestock and poisoned the wells with 
manure.”
            “That,” Elvmere jabbed a finger at the arrow, “was not done with the 
writ of the Church.”
            The Lothanasa raised an eyebrow and fixed her sharp gaze upon the 
raccoon.  “How would you know this, apprentice?” she accented the word heavily, 
“How would a raccoon from a cursed dukedom on the furthest end of the civilized 
world understand what the Church wishes to do?”
Elvmere drew himself up in his seat and extended his hand outward over the 
table.  Uncurling his fingers he let his amulet fall upon the table.  Gleaming 
gold and gems caught the sun with a brilliant flash as the Tree of Yashua 
clattered upon the age polished wood.  “Did you not imagine that any of the 
Patriarch’s retinue might have survived?” he hissed angrily as he glared back 
across the table at her.  “That the only place that they would find succor might 
be cursed and that they would suffer it?”
“Romors of traitors within the church abound.” The woman smiled laconically as 
she leaned back in her huge throne-like chair.  She steepeled her fingers under 
her chin and shifted her gaze back and forth between them.  “Most interesting, 
indeed.” She chortled deeply, almost sinisterly.  “A mage of at least master 
rank, a highly ranked survivor of the old slaughterer’s retinue, and a minstrel 
far too skilled with a sword all traveling together.  This, truly, is a queer 
world we live in.”  One eyebrow twitched again as her smile broadened even 
further.  “A mage, and a patildor, arm in arm?”
“Why we travel, and in whose company we travel, is none of your concern, 
Lightbringer.” Elvmere snarled and snatched up his Tree.  Convulsively he jerked 
it back over his head and became a man to all but touch once more.  “The fate of 
our master is our concern; our only concern.  If you’re concerned only with past 
wrongs then I believe our audience here is at an end.” He crossed his arms over 
his chest and glared witheringly at her.
“I met him, too.” Murikeer offered blandly, likewise leaning back into his 
chair.  “A slaughterer you may call him, but I spoke to him in the last days of 
his life.  What he was in the fire of his youth was a regret that weighed 
heavily upon him.”
“He condescended to comport with a mage?” The Lothanasa’s brows beetled up on 
her broad brow.
“He spoke with me.” Murikeer corrected, “He did not bandy about the secrets of 
his faith or my own over our cups.  He sought to understand, not condemn.”  The 
skunk heaved a sigh and stared at the gleaming steel tip of the arrow.  “And it 
is likely for that moderation of his past views he was murdered.  I saw that, 
too.  Would you like me to show you?”
The woman blinked across the table at him before slowly shaking her head.  “The 
both of you speak with the vehemence of true believers, though I find that 
rather amazing of you, young mage.  Are you not of the Light?”
Murikeer rolled his eyes and let a hiss escape past his sharp musteline teeth.  
“I am, yes, of your faith.  I stand in Artela’s sight, but I have also learned 
that my companion’s faith is no less worthy, and certainly not blind nor 
false.”  Reaching out he retrieved his own amulet and slid it back over his 
head.  To his perceptions nothing changed but he saw the monochromatic 
reflection in the steel of the arrow pale to the hue of flesh.  “And as he said, 
not the concern of our present situation.  You know, now, our secrets.  Is that 
all that you wished, to satisfy your curiosity?”
“I know not why your master acted as he did.”
“The men he slew raped someone he, we, loved.  The showman, Maxamillian, caught 
her and had his men rape her for days on end in a vain attempt to break her so 
that she might be added to his menagerie.”
“Two yet live, though are still incoherent from their injuries.”
“So long as you do not tell me in which hospice they are being kept.” Murikeer 
pitched his voice low and level.  “I was only told long after the event of what 
happened.  Our master witnessed it more directly; he helped her recover from 
it.”
“If they do not awaken we have only the word of your master.  I daresay the 
testimony of the accused will not stand with any strength under the Earl’s 
inquiry.”  Her eyes shifted to the glowering priest and back, “I can bear 
witness only on the actions I saw yesterday.  That was wonton slaughter, despite 
whatever your master claimed; Justice unfulfilled demanding its due.”
“That I will let him explain, mistress, for my knowledge is years old and second 
hand.” Murikeer shrugged with a sigh.  “His actions aside, those he had 
imprisoned in those wagons were innocent of any wrongdoing.  They were people, 
not beasts, merely cursed as we are.  For that alone I can hold no guilt against 
my master.”
“I saw that they were very heavily taken with magic as well, but the nature of 
it was hidden by the spells laid upon those wagons that held them.” Her broad 
shoulders rose and fell slowly, “But that crime is moot, the man his minions are 
dead or nearly so.  The manner of their demise is all that concerns the Earl.”
“The immediate events, yes.  What is your position concerning this?  Other than 
prying out our secrets, I am not clear what you intend.” Murikeer asked once he 
had tucked his amulet back into his shirt.
The woman shrugged her broad shoulders, “My intentions are merely to give an 
account of what I witnessed, in the present sense.  That is all I can do.”
“And what of our… secrets?”
“Not germane to the issue at hand.  I have told the Earl that there are 
mysteries about you and if he asks further I will inform him of this news.  It 
has some bearing on the issue of your master’s violent justice, but only 
concerning the man and his prisoners, not the rape that you contend.”  Her acute 
gaze shifted from mage to priest and back slowly, “Your master is, likewise, a 
beast of some sort concealed by your magic?”
Murikeer nodded slowly, “Revelation of this in the public eye will be poorly 
received on any account so we would rather avoid it if at all possible.”
“As said, it is not the issue before us.  I see no reason to reveal it to 
others.”
“We thank you, mistress.  Malger’s actions took us as much by surprise as it did 
everyone else.  They were just, in my view, if far too publically expressed.”  
Murikeer turned his head slightly to glance over his shoulder at the silent 
guards.  “What of your worthies?”
“They will say nothing.”  Rising from her seat she rested her hands on the 
tables and gazed down at them, neither smiling nor frowning.  “My curiosity has 
been satisfied and, I trust, your mysteries are no danger to us.  If you will, 
the Temple does require my presence for certain functions.”  Slowly she raised 
her head in a nod back toward the door, “I believe there is little more to say, 
or ask, gentle – men?”
Murikeer pushed himself from his seat and Elvmore did as well with all due 
haste.  The one-eyed mage bowed briefly, “Yes, your grace.  We thank you for 
your discretion concerning our mysteries.  Until the day our Master faces what 
reckoning the Earl may decide, fare you well.”
~~
            The Ruby Heart had been a family heirloom which the late  Imalshan 
heiress had cherished greatly.  The day she had gotten it, a mere week before 
her own death, she had shown it off to her friends with great pride.  Malger had 
been among them and well into his slow seduction of the heiress.  Indeed, of 
those gathered in the solar only two had gracefully spurned his advances and 
one, the Lady Imalshan, was wed and thus not an object of conquest.
            The lady Shifanii dan Imalshan was well aware of Malger’s advances 
toward her daughter and, though she was arranged to marry a young baronet of a 
prominent Silvassan family, wholeheartedly approved.  The foppish scapegrace 
duke’s son would have proven a worthy instructor to show her daughter the myriad 
ways of the bed.  The woman laughed off Malger’s concern that the young baron 
might be displeased that his wife was not a virgin.  Such things, it seemed, 
were not terribly important when placed against knowledge.
            Now it was a marker for Malger’s sybaritic life.  He had caused her 
death by mere acquaintance and that weighed heavily upon his heart.  He turned 
the ring slowly upon his finger until the sound of footfalls crossing the 
parapet above reached his ears.  He looked up as a shadow crossed the mid 
morning sunlight spilling into his cell from the open grate above.
            “Are you well, minstrel?” a confident voice called down from above.  
Malger held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sunny glare but could not make 
out his questioner.  “I do apologize for the necessity that your actions have 
required, for it has been many long months since we enjoyed the visit of any 
entertainers.  We are, after all, somewhat far off the beaten path.”
            “I live.” Malger grunted at the shadow.  “Whose shadow addresses 
me?”
            “I am Tathim, master of this demesne.” The shadow replied affably, 
“I am given to judge your actions and would treat with you that I might 
understand the why of your choice to slay three well armed men.”
            “I’ve little to say on the matter, sire.” Malger sighed as his weary 
arm tired from being held before his face and he dropped his hand to back to his 
lap.  The exertion only caused his multitude of injuries to ache unmercifully.  
“As much as I would wish to share pleasantries I must admit that my injuries 
make looking up considerably unpleasant.”  He nodded his head toward the heavy 
door at floor level, “Come to the door?”
            The shadow chuckled softly but not with venom, “For the security of 
my house, minstrel, I needs must not partake in undue risk.  You are, as yet, an 
unknown.”
            “I bear no ill will toward you or yours, milord.  I acted in justice 
long allayed, not out of cold malice.”
            “Much as the Lothanasa explained to me.  I know not the veracity of 
your justice.  Other than the noisome reputation of the deceased I know nothing 
of his past crimes.”
            Malger sighed and leaned back against the cool stone of the wall.  
“Would that I could easily give you to understand the depths of his crimes, 
sire.  I fear I haven’t the words.”  Canting his head back he gazed up at the 
shadow.  “All I can say is this; the man and his worthies, those who fell to my 
swords, captured and raped someone dear to me.  That she survived was testament 
to her strength of will, for her body was savaged by their lusts.”
            “I have but your word on that.” The Earl replied from above.
            “T’is all I have to offer.  One of my pupils, the lad with the 
missing eye, was also close to her.  She told him of the assault, but he only 
knew her some years after its happening, long after I helped her regain 
herself.”
            “I shall inquire of him, as well those who survived your justice and 
the men who arrived with you.”
            “They yet live?” Malger tilted his head slightly, “I would hope that 
they have many long crippled years ahead of them to enjoy their infirmities 
while hale men scorn them.”
            “Such venom, minstrel.” The Earl chided lightly.
            With a frown Malger turned the new ring on his finger, “Forgive my 
ill grace, sire, my dreams were troubled and I ache terribly.”  The fact that 
his dreams played out behind his eyes each time they drifted closed troubled him 
more than slightly; memories tumbled about within his mind like pebbles in a 
cataract.
            “That seems to have been the lot of many this past night.” Tathim 
sighed from above, “The attack on Woodton has left everyone unsettled.  Even my 
own dreams were restless and dark.”  With the scuff of booted feet on stone the 
shadow turned away.  “Food and drink will be brought, and water to bathe.”  
Without further comment the shadow withdrew.  Malger listened to the scuff of 
the Earl’s soft leather boots and the heavier tread of his personal guard walk 
away.
            Different strides, different weights.  None of them were his 
assassin come to gloat again.  Malger slumped back against the wall with a huff 
of breath, exhausted beyond measure but scared to sleep lest another vision of 
past pains shared come unbidden upon him afresh.
~~
            After leaving the Temple they wandered out into the main courtyard 
commons with their two guards in tow to enjoy some of the mid-morning sunshine.  
While Murikeer admired the sweeping grace of the slender towers around the main 
spire Elvmere sighed irritably.  “I often miss the tolerance of Metamor.” He 
groused as he, too, gazed up at the arches of the buttress towers.  “It is all 
too easy to forget the ignorance and bigotry that abounds beyond its reach.”
Murikeer brought his gaze down to the priest and quirked a slight smile from one 
corner of his muzzle, “Much of which I would wager you will find within the 
walls of Yesulam herself.” He pointed out gently, but with some humor.  Elvmere 
chuffed with a sardonic nod.
“I fear I shall.” He shook his head.  “Beautiful architecture, though.” He 
nodded his chin toward the slender arch from buttress tower to main spire.
“Elvish, and old, but I know not what function.”
            “It used to be an observatory.” A man’s voice interjected with the 
air of a scholar.  Murikeer and Elvmere turned toward the speaker as one while 
the two guards attending them, simply for the sake of propriety as the Seneschal 
had explained the night before, only stopped when their charges did.  Familiar 
with the scholar they paid him no heed.  “For the study of the skies.”  The man 
was whipcord slender and ancient, his balding head gleaming in the morning sun 
as if polished.  His eyes were twin chips of malachite under bushy white brows 
and bored into them with intense curiosity.  “You’re the lads who came with the 
unfortunate soul the Earl locked away?”
            “Aye.” Murikeer said with a nod toward the elderly man.  “You know 
anything of his fate?”
            With a shake of his bald head the man shrugged, “Nothing, lads.”  He 
thrust out a gnarled hand toward Elvmere who stood closest to him.  “I am 
Thomas, Earl Tathim’s archivist.”
            With a slight shake of his head Elvmere clasped his hands over his 
breast, “I fear I am disallowed contact with another, good sir.  Our master has 
us on a quest to prove our worth, and such is one of its stipulations.” He 
explained gently with a bow, “I am Elvmere and this is my friend, Murikeer.”
            Falling in step with them the man bobbed his head with affable good 
humor, “Travelers, a rare treat.  Can  you tell me aught of the world beyond 
these walls?  It’s been many a year since I was fit to travel.”  One aged hand 
waved vaguely toward the northeast, “The biggest event we’ve had in years has 
been naught but tragedy.  Is war in the offing yet again?”
            Elvmere sighed and Murikeer nodded slightly, “There are some strong 
tensions between the faiths right now.  They’re spilling over to more worldly 
tensions.”  The youth nodded his chin in the direction the scholar had indicated 
a moment before, “I fear that this Woodton is but another sorry victim in the 
first blush of a greater conflict to come.”
            The man bowed his head and sighed, smoothly sketching a sign of the 
tree across his breast and brow.  “Eli forgive men their blindness.”
            “Dominus Tecum.” Elvmere replied with a nod and a slight tilt of his 
head.  Were he not hidden under a veil of illusion his ears would have been 
pinned forward in acute surprise.
            “Ah!” Thomas exclaimed with a bright, child-like smile that lit up 
his face, “Another of Eli’s scholars is among us.  Well met, good sir, well 
met!”
            Murikeer cracked a sardonic grin, “After our discussion with the 
Lothanasa I confess myself surprised to find another of the Way here.”
            Thomas waved a dismissive hand, “Damnant quodnon intelligent.” He 
intoned pedantically with a wry smile, “She is not a bad person, but she wears 
blinders like a cart horse.  Mind her not, my brothers.  Now, tell me of what so 
occupies the lands of Man that they send Yesulam’s best cavorting about the 
countryside fomenting murder and strife?  I’ll tell you a bit of my home, as 
well.  The tower, yon, was erected some three centuries before Yashua walked the 
land.  The scrolls of E’Ishemni, chief architect, were found in a sealed 
scriptorium below the Temple some thirty years ago by Earl Tathim himself 
shortly after he was deeded the land.”
            “Your indulgence, goodman Thomas, but we were hoping to meet your 
Earl as swiftly as we might.” Murikeer cautioned as they walked slowly across 
the main courtyard under the brightness of the late morning sun.  “We are keen 
to look in on our master.”
            “Ach, tut tut, lad.” Thomas shook his head with a chortle, “The 
youth are ever impatient.  I daresay our good Earl has a full trencher before 
him this day, organizing the local levies in response to the sacking of 
Woodton.  With luck he will grant you an audience tomorrow.”
            “Tomorrow?” Murikeer coughed, aghast.  “He has injuries that require 
attention!”
            Thomas bobbed his head and waggled a skinny old finger toward his 
nose.  “Listen and learn, lad; Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.  Heed well 
that lesson, yes.”  Catching his hands at his lower back Thomas rocked on his 
heels and grinned as if addled.  “Tathim has lost a good ten score or more of 
his vassals within a day’s ride; that has taken his attention.  Kindly bear him 
no ill will.” His bushy white brows rose above those intense, alert green eyes.  
“Ahh, how well I remember my youth; such impatience to do and see and live it 
all.”  The old scholar sighed, “From the Palaces of Yesulam to the edges of the 
Desert of Dreaming to the ports of Suttaivasse I have traveled, sneaking through 
the old brigand’s lines by the dark of night.  I have even perused the fabled 
libraries of Metamor before it was destroyed.”
            That brought Murikeer up short with an arch of his brows, 
“Destroyed, you say?”
            “Eh, well, such would the few minstrels we have entertained in the 
past five years would have one believe.” Thomas shrugged and lead them in the 
general direction of the main manor house.  “I was there, oh, say… some fourty 
years agone now, when Tathim and I were just wandering vagabonds.”
            “Metamor still stands.” Murikeer laughed.
            “Fourty years?” Elvmere interjected, “The man I saw hardly looked to 
be out of his third decade!”
            Thomas waggled his brows again and opened one of the manor doors, 
“Your eyes do not deceive you, yet they lie nonetheless.  Come, come!  Let you 
come to know this that is the Observatory of E’Ishemni”
            “I am sorry, I do not understand.” Elvmere scowled as he followed 
Murikeer through the door.  He felt the brush of the skunk’s invisible tail 
against the front of his knees.  “How can he be as old as you yet as young as he 
appears?”
            “Your friend had the right of it when you came from the temple, 
brother Elvmere.” Thomas drew the door shut and secured it before sidling past 
them in the cool narrow stone corridor.  Elvmere was careful to tuck his tail 
close behind his own legs as he pressed back against the wall.  “Who built 
yonder tower?”
            “Murikeer said it was of Elvish origin.”
            “Aye, indeed.” Thomas piped over his shoulder as he led them down a 
long, narrow stone corridor toward a light some distance ahead.
            Murikeer chuffed a short laugh, “He did not have the look of an Elf 
when we saw him.”
            “Nor you the appearance of beasts, yes?” Thomas glanced over his 
shoulder with a merry gleam in his eye.
            “Sir??” Murikeer gawped in surprise and Elvmere staggered into his 
back when his steps faltered.
            “Nice lady, not too bright sometimes.”  Thomas continued his walk 
leaving the momentarily halted duo behind a few paces.  “Tends to forget that 
her little palace has windows!”
            “So, you’re saying he’s hiding his age behind illusions, then?” 
Elvmere hazarded once they had resumed walking.  He swatted at Murikeer’s unseen 
tail as it brushed his chest.
            “Oh, nae, he’s just as you saw him.  He’s just… well, he’s got the 
Blood in him is all.  Father’s side, so he tells me.”  Thomas led them out into 
a small library beneath a domed glass solarium.  The room was crowded with books 
and tables, every inch of wall space not occupied by a door or casement crowded 
tightly with books, scrolls, and all manner of oddments collected over the 
scholar’s lifetime.
            “Just how old is he, then?” Elvmere asked.
            “Hmm,” Thomas pondered a moment as he wandered over to the only 
un-cluttered chair in the room and settled himself into it.  “Near as I can 
figure a couple centuries or three.   Elves do age considerably slower than we 
hot-blooded humans, after all.”
            “Astounding, but – ah – what does this mean for us or our master?”
“That he’s older than the lot of us, and a fare share wiser.  Give him his 
time.”


      

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