[Mkguild] Heading to All Tomorrows (1/6)

[C. Matthias]

Gah, this story has been bedeviling me since 
February.  This story has given me more trouble 
than any other lately.  I very much hope that 
with this one complete I'll be able to do the 
next few I have in mind much faster.

Anyway, here is my next tale in the saga of Metamor Keep!

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Metamor Keep:  Heading to All Tomorrows
by Charles Matthias


March 26, CR 708


The gray-cloaked figure strode along the main 
road overlooking Lake Bozojo and its many ships 
with an almost palpable ring of emptiness 
surrounding him. Though the roads were crowded so 
close to the city, merchants, soldiers, 
missionaries, pilgrims, and other travelers alike 
skirted around the enigmatic figure whose cowl 
enveloped his angular face within shadow. The tip 
of a jeweled scabbard was visible beneath the hem 
of his cloak, while a well-worn traveling pack 
adorned his back. He did not use any staff to aid 
his steps, even over the rough terrain along the 
Marchbourne's northern flank, but walked as 
steadily and as purposefully as a monk at daily prayer.

As if in a dream, Andares-es-sebashou passed 
through the opening made before him as the other 
travelers all parted around him like a wave 
around a stone. His return to Bozojo, a city 
overlooking a vast lake whose far side could not 
be glimpsed, was one that he'd long looked 
forward to. Though it had been well over a year 
since his previous visit, it felt only yesterday 
that he'd trod upon the Suielman stone road upon 
the incline toward the city's western gates. A 
small smile played at the edges of his lips, and 
his nose delicately sampled the intense odors of 
fish, wharves, offal, sweat, livestock, perfume, 
and spices that mingled together to create a 
fragrant chord that could only answer to the name civilization of man.

What did differ, that Andares noted with a 
mixture of approval and also a tender anxiety, 
was the new banners flying atop the city gates 
and also the castle and the wharves. Gone were 
the once familiar wolf's head that spoke of the 
city's former allegiance to the duchy of Kelewair 
to the south. In their place were depictions of a 
falcon whose feathers, beak, and talons were of 
such delicacy and familiarity that it buoyed 
Andares with reminisces of his woodland home – 
these were the touches of his Elvish kin in 
Quenardya, passed down amongst the Fennasi in 
gratitude for the centuries of benevolent rule 
only slowly given into the hands of men.

But it had been centuries more since such arts 
had been seen flying from the battlements of 
Bozojo which had been conquered by Suielman 
armies long before Andares's birth. How had the 
falcon chased out the wolf? How had the Fennasi 
of Salinon come to rule in one of the most 
important trading cities of the Southern Midlands?

He had recollected hearing the stories in his 
travels from Metamor, though only in the last 
week as he had left Elarial behind had they been 
more than just whispers, grunts, and fearful 
questions of war. Now he had come face to face 
with the reality. Bozojo was no longer a city of 
the Southern Midlands, but the newest daughter of 
the Outer Midlands and the westernmost port of Dûn Fennas.

The wharves of Bozojo passed by on his right as 
he continued toward the massive western gates. 
Shouts, laughter, and song echoed up from the 
gently creaking wood as sails snapped in a firm 
easterly breeze. Armed guards and compliments of 
soldiers moved along the stone piers inspecting 
wares and accosting foreign merchants from time 
to time. They also patrolled the roads leading 
west and north in large numbers. Knights and 
other horsemen were visible as they ranged in the 
rolling fields, pastures and farms to the 
northwest of the city. Along the battlements 
Andares spied archers and crossbowmen. The blue 
and green fish livery of the Calladar family was 
brightly visible against the darker pennants of the Otakar family.

The western gatehouse was wide enough to allow 
two wagons to pass side by side, with three 
massive portcullises one after another, providing 
ample opportunity for those archers to skewer an 
army foolish enough to besiege the city. The 
gatehouse passage was so long that torches had to 
be lit every twenty paces to keep it bright 
enough to see the way. Laughter echoed through 
the passage, and Andares's slight smile 
broadened. His light step made no noise even in 
the still cold puddles where the tight-packed 
stones had worn down over the centuries.

Beyond the gatehouse he found a wide courtyard 
lined with warehouses and Inns to welcome the 
weary traveler and the anxious merchant. One of 
the warehouses had been turned into a set of 
barracks while a second had been converted into 
an extensive network of stables. The sound of 
several blacksmith hammers resonated from beyond 
the interwoven complex on his left. The blue and 
green fish banner dotted the buildings, always 
beneath the black falcon crest of Salinon.

Despite the almost universal presence of 
soldiers, the populace that Andares saw seemed 
generally content, busily pursuing their lives 
without concern of bullying or braggadocio from 
the militia. Nor did any of those soldiers come 
to accost him about his business; they gave him a 
wide berth, as if sensing his foreign nature came 
from more that just a different nationality. But 
with his cowl, and his mostly human stature, he 
doubted that any would have guessed that he was one of the Åelf of Ava-shavåis.

Bozojo was organized like an onion with the 
innermost ring on a rise to the northeast where 
the Calladar family castle and Lothanasi temple 
towered over everything else. Beyond that a ring 
where the wealthy and notable citizens made their 
homes as well as the establishments of the most 
prosperous of merchants. The outermost ring in 
which Andares walked was filled with laborers, 
fishermen, sailors, soldiers, and the rest of the 
merchant class. And it was to a modest Inn that 
his feet carried him, one overlooking the wharves 
and wide harbor that provided the city with its lucrative trade.

Lake's Head Inn was announced with a wooden sign 
painted with a picture of the harbor, the lake a 
deep blue beneath a bright summer sky. The 
exterior walls were fashioned from a coarse gray 
stone plastered over and then fixed with wooden 
supports recently painted a rich mahogany, with 
wide windows in front, all opened a crack to let 
in the cool early Spring air. The second floor 
also featured opened windows, and a tall pointed 
roof that permitted a few wealthier tenants 
privacy. Hanging from a long gutter was another of the black falcon banners.

Andares noted the familiar as well as the new 
with some relief. He stepped through the door and 
was greeted with a quiet commons. The candelabra 
were lit and with the open windows both on the 
main level and in the loft to one side, it 
brought a diffuse orange glow to nearly every 
corner. This early in the afternoon the only 
patrons within the commons were a trio of 
merchants discussing their plans over a bit of 
wine and cheese. A few youths on the cusp of 
manhood busied themselves cleaning tables, 
floors, and any other surface that needed it. The 
merchants glanced at him briefly before returning 
to their grumbled argument, but one of the boys, 
a lanky boy with a mop of blond hair and a 
veritable mask of freckles, rushed up to him and 
bowed his head. “Good afternoon, Velelya. Have 
you traveled far? Are you in need of refreshment?”

Andares marveled at the Fennasi word, derived 
from the Quenardya words for a traveler of 
distinction and honor, so dutifully pronounced by 
this youth, his pronunciation forced but 
passable. He had never heard it spoken in this 
city before, though it seemed so familiar as if 
it were an echo of a previous encounter. His lips 
and angular cheeks betrayed his delight.

“Thank you, Nessë. And I will require lodgings. 
Tell your Heru Benlan Rais that I would 
appreciate his attendance to some personal matters.”

His silken voice made not only the other youths 
but also the merchants lift their heads and 
regard him with curiosity. His use of more of the 
Fennasi dialect bewildered the mop-haired youth 
who clearly was not comfortable with the ancient 
language. Seeing the boy's confusion, he repeated 
in the more familiar terms. “Thank you, young 
man. I have traveled far, and I welcome your 
offer of refreshment. I will also need lodgings, 
and I require the attendance of your Master 
Benlan Rais to see to some personal affairs.”

The boy's face brightened and he bowed his head 
again, hands wrapped tightly about a broom 
handle. “Of course, Velelya.” He then half-turned 
and led Andares toward a secluded table beneath 
the stairs leading to the loft. “What can I bring 
for you... Heru?” Andares nodded to assure the youth that he'd spoken properly.

“Whatever you have ready at this hour will suffice, Nessë.”

The boy frowned, his freckles seeming to multiply 
in his embarrassment. “We don't have much at this 
early hour. The evening meals won't be prepared for another two hours.”

Andares smiled as he settled against the wall, 
gloved hands resting on the table before him. “It 
will suffice for now. Just pass my message along to Heru Rais.”

The freckled boy nodded, and carrying the broom 
with him, ran off into a back room behind the 
wide counter at the far end of the commons. 
Andares listened to a bird singing just outside 
one of the windows and noting the enthusiasm of its melody while he waited.

A few minutes later, the merchants having 
returned to their private discourse and the 
lonely bird continuing its plaintive cry, a 
short, balding man that was nevertheless no older 
than either Charles or Lindsey emerged carrying a 
small plate with bread, a small bowl of honey, 
and slices of cheese. These he set before Andares 
with a light tilt to his head, eyes appraising 
him with warm regard. “It is a great honor to 
have you in my home again, Master Sebashou. I 
apologize that I cannot provide you with more 
than this, but I will have a hearty meal ready for your tastes this evening.”

“Master Rais,” Andares replied, using the terms 
he had come to expect from the people of Galendor 
to show respect. “I am delighted by whatever you 
could provide. Can you join me for a few moments?”

Benlan Rais, proprietor of the Lake's Head Inn 
nodded his head and drew another chair close by, 
sitting down with one leg crossed under the 
other. “I have a few minutes for such a 
distinguished Velelya as yourself. It has been 
some time since we have seen you here. I trust all is well?”

“All is well,” Andares replied as he sampled the 
bread and honey. It was sweet with a subtle tang 
he did not recognize. “At least all is well with 
myself. But what of you and your city? How came 
you under the banner of Salinon? And why have you 
been using the old language left to the Fennasi by the Elves?”

That Andares-es-sebashou was one of the Åelf was 
a secret known only to a few on his travels – 
Benlan Rais was one such man. On their first 
meeting, Andares had been forced to disarm a 
drunken knight who'd tried to strike him. Benlan 
had seen his strange appearance and guessed that 
we was of the ancient fair ones, and so Andares 
had felt no compunction about revealing even 
more, though he had never stated his mission in 
any terms that Benlan could reveal. Still, this 
young man, this hard-working and good man, was 
one that he trusted and whose confidence he treasured.

“Baron Calladar has wisely chosen to ally with 
the house of Otakar in Salinon. Duke Verdane 
demanded tribute, taxes, and our soldiers. But he 
was a man who could not defend his people. Duke 
Otakar can, and with his protection has flowed 
many goods and peoples.” Benlan laughed lightly 
and leaned closer. “And with the new merchants 
and the many dignitaries come to pay court here 
in the last six months, our wealthier citizens 
have flocked to their culture and ways, and so 
even we humbler men have found them favorably 
upon our tongue.” He laughed again, more 
boisterously this time, and shook his head, the 
few strands of hair he had left above his ears 
falling forward to brush over his eyebrows. More 
quietly he added, “Those few words we know at 
least. So they do indeed come from your people?”

“My brothers and sisters did live amongst the 
Fennasi for many centuries, teaching them and 
building up leaders and institutions for them. 
But it has been centuries since these words were 
ever spoken in this city.” He smiled and added, “This minassë.”

Benlan leaned back a moment and then lowered his 
eyes. “I will have to ask you to teach me more, 
Velelya. Will you be staying long?”

“A few days,” Andares replied. “A private room 
with a view of the lake would be my preference, 
but if none are available, I will accept whatever you can provide.”

“Have you business then in our... minassë?” 
Benlan paused and spoke the unfamiliar Elvish 
word carefully so that he might not leave out the slightest inflection.

“To gather supplies for the next portion of my 
journey. I head east into Dûn Fennas and beyond.” 
An fluttering echoed in his heart. “I wish I 
could stay longer of course, but I have my responsibilities.”

Benlan Rais nodded, frowning for the first time. 
“Tomorrow, there is a man I will introduce you 
to. After seeing all that we have in the last few 
months, I think you will be very interested in what he has to say.”

“I will not be difficult to find,” Andares 
assured him with a smile. “I would be delighted 
to meet your nildo... your friend.”

Benlan nodded, before standing and putting the 
chair back in its place beneath the nearby table. 
“Then I shall go prepare your room, Velelya 
Sebashou. Welcome back to Bozojo.” And with that 
Benlan Rais departed through the back room, 
leaving Andares to eat his bread and cheese with 
only the chirping of the lonely bird for company.


Lake's Head Inn saw a steady stream of patrons 
begin to come only an hour later. Many were 
foreign merchants, some Fennasi, others from the 
Ellcaran coast, and even a few from Giftum and 
other cities sworn to Metamor. Many others were 
laborers searching for a good, warm meal to end 
their day. A minstrel, a lindalnér as he called 
himself, arrived with dusk and he entertained 
everyone with several ballads in the ancient 
tongue. Andares had to resist the temptation to 
correct both his pronunciations, which were 
passable most of the time but atrocious in 
several key places, and his melodies, which 
lacked the aetherial grace and bittersweet sorrow 
that should have left all in tears even before 
the words had begun to glide from his tongue.

Unsurprisingly, the evening meal proved to be 
perch, but seasoned with a delicate blend of 
cumin, curry, and mint. Thin noodles complemented 
the fish and a rather tart wine washed it down. 
Andares savored the taste, all the while 
pondering what intricacies of flavor, what tales 
the meal could tell, what intimacies and secrets 
it could share, if but these ingredients were 
handled by one of his brother Åelf. There were 
suggestions of the art his brothers in Quenardya 
had left behind amongst the Fennasi, but it 
seemed only that, a suggestion whispered at the edge of wakefulness.

He did not have another chance to speak with 
Benlan Rais, but he was able to listen to men as 
they gathered, their voices rife with business, 
trade, and delight in their new eastern friends. 
He heard whispers of the the latest haul of fish, 
how rich the forests had become with game, and 
the good health in all their livestock, all of it 
sweet and grateful bounty from the pantheon for 
their faithfulness. There were a few unpleasant 
words in the mix, but they were complaints not of 
ill-treatment from the many soldiers or of any 
strange order coming from Salinon, but of a 
subtle dissatisfaction that they sensed but could 
not name. Times were prosperous in Bozojo, but prosperity wasn't enough.

Andares could not help but wonder what it was 
they lacked, but could not name an answer. He 
dwelt on the question from the time it first came 
to him until all the lindalnér had finally quit 
the stage and all of the laborers who had come 
only for a meal finally departed for their homes. 
All that remained were those deep into their 
cups, and even these seemed subdued, brooding 
despite their otherwise garrulous manner.

Shortly before the small clock atop the mantle 
and beneath the stag's head struck midnight, 
Andares retired to his chambers. As he'd 
requested, they overlooked the lake, and were set 
all the way at the end of the hall past several 
empty rooms. The accommodations were not 
palatial, but neither were they modest. A wide 
canopied and curtained bed occupied the wall 
furthest from the two windows. One window with a 
bench seat overlooked the lake, shining bright 
with a waxing moon whose reflection made the 
gentle waters appear as silvery as a mirror. The 
other window opened over the kitchen and so the 
rich scent of his meal and the many others cooked 
that day percolated outside, and were carried 
within when the breeze shifted. A large bureau 
was positioned between the door and the second 
window, while a writing desk with lion's paws for 
feet awaited the writing of correspondence 
between both windows where the writer could 
choose between a vista of the lake or the 
delectable aroma of a well-staffed kitchen.

Andares took the time to unpack his belongings 
and put his clothes and toiletries in the bureau. 
His sleeping cloaks he briefly considered 
dangling from one window to let them air out, but 
decided it was still too cold at night to risk; 
instead he refolded them and placed them in the 
bureau with the rest of his things.

Satisfied, he sat upon the bedside and rested in 
his lap the ivory-handled blade Anna-ithil-årda. 
He ran one finger along the length of its silver 
tang, noting the notch near the tip that it had 
suffered in Marzac. It would take a decade to 
repair, but repair him, this blade of his ancestors, he would.

After singing a soft hymn of his people, a lament 
for Qan-af-årael and then one for the lost lands 
in which he now trod, he sheathed the blade, and 
then retired for the night. He cast one last 
glance through the window at the moon before 
drawing the curtains about the bed tight. It was time to surrender to dream.

----------

Andares awoke to his first full day in Bozojo 
just before the rise of the sun. After his rising 
prayers of thanksgiving, he donned his traveling 
gear, his ivory-handled blade, and his money 
pouch. He enjoyed a simple breakfast of eggs and 
a fatty meat, washed it down with juice from a 
fruit he did not know, and then left to wander 
the merchant district to find the familiar shops and stalls he would need.

There were several squares in the city where 
merchants gathered to sell meats, cloths, fruits, 
perfumes, cheap jewelry, and of course fish. The 
fish markets were particularly loathsome in odor, 
and so he kept clear of them, preferring those he 
could find within the second bailey where the 
richer families made their home. The streets were 
quiet at that hour despite the number of 
merchants already at their businesses and 
beckoning to all who passed by; apart from the 
soldiers going about their duties, there weren't 
that many walking the streets yet.

Like the outer sections of the city, he saw 
numerous falcon banners thrust upon the roofs and 
windows of homes and storefronts. One thing he 
didn't see that he expected was the Ecclesia 
church that had nestled near the gatehouse to the 
outer district. Where the church should have been 
was an empty pile of bricks, some tumbled, other 
fresh. It was as if someone were in the midst of 
tearing it down and starting to build something 
else in its place. A handful of soldiers lingered 
nearby dressed in the blue and green fish crest 
of Calladar and they gave Andares suspicious glares.

He moved past there, noting that some of the 
homes near the remains of the church were left 
empty as if the previous tenants had simply never 
come home from the market. Plants withered in 
their plots outside the dark windows, while 
cobwebs were visible within. Andares wondered 
what could have happened to make those people 
leave so suddenly. Had they been loyalists to the 
Verdane house? The changing of rulers was never 
easy, and he had long heard stories of humans 
punishing their enemies mercilessly if they thought they could do it.

Still, he tried not to let what he saw upset him. 
He continued on his way until he came to the 
markets selling the sort of food he could easily 
store for a trip. He bought a few fruits that 
would keep for a week, but mostly dried and 
salted meats as well as small loaves of bread 
which would last him at least three weeks, more 
than long enough to bring him to the last human 
city before he crossed the plains of Yerebey.

The merchants appeared uninterested in talk of 
anything other than their wares, and so Andares 
did not press them to learn why the church had 
been destroyed, or why there were a handful of 
empty homes in a city that clearly was full of 
people. They made no note of the presence of the 
soldiers, as if they were some exotic animal 
caged in a corner of their home whose novelty had worn off.

It took a few hours to find all that he would 
need, and after he had done so, his purse was 
somewhat lighter and his pack was much heavier. 
By mid-morning the streets were filled with 
people tending their daily business. He could 
hear Lothanasi hymns chanted in little shrines 
dotting the district, most to Wvelkim and Artela. 
He could also hear musicians practicing lute and 
lyre as he passed beneath the high loft windows 
of well-to-do homes. He could hear the clop of 
horse hooves in every direction, and the creak of 
wagon wheels followed quickly behind. Voices 
conversing in laughter, whispers, and shouts 
surrounded him. Several times he was pressed at 
on either side as he wove through particularly 
tight roads on his way from shop to shop. Even 
the soldiers, begrudging in their duty early in 
the morning, now saw to their tasks with verve 
and sometimes lighthearted smiles.

Andares felt somewhat comforted by this, and so 
listened to what he could hear of the Lothanasi 
chant on his way back to the outer district. By 
the time he passed through the gatehouse he 
couldn't hear the melody anymore, and so hummed 
one of the chants of his own people under his 
breath. He reached the fourth stanza by the time 
he returned to Lake's Head Inn and lingered 
outside in the cool Spring air until he had finished all nine stanzas.

Within he found the boys sweeping the floors and 
readying the commons for another evening. This 
time he saw Benlan Rais directing a pair of lads, 
and he caught the balding man's gaze. Rais smiled 
to him and nodded toward the table beneath the 
loft stairs. What few times Andares had been in 
Bozojo, Benlan always seemed content to seat him at that table.

The Innkeeper stood in front of the table with 
his hands on his hips and smiled, “What may I do 
for you today, Master Sebashou? Did you find all 
that you need for your journey?”

“I believe that I have. The markets here are 
diverse and seem to be well stocked even so soon after the end of Winter.”

“Don't say that,” Benlan warned him with a slight 
laugh. “We've been known to get a few storms even 
this late. If the wind sweeps off the Barrier, 
then we can get a foot of snow, even in April!”

“Then we must trust that Dvalin will keep the winds blowing east instead.”

“Aye, for that we always hope! So are you leaving tomorrow?”

“I do not wish to leave so soon. There is much to 
see in Bozojo. I hope to see the great Temple ere 
I depart at the very least. I have never had the 
time when I came through before.”

Benlan nodded and sucked on his lower lip for a 
moment. “It is magnificent, though I'm sure you 
have seen far greater temples than our own.”

“Each has its own beauty. One of the lessons my 
people teach is to see the beauty in even the 
simple wild flowers that blossom without any to 
tend them. Some are allotted to be roses, 
exquisite, fragile, with a scent equally as 
delicate. But many are wildflowers, and their 
beauty is always a surprise and a delight.”

Benlan laughed lightly at that. “I like how you put that, Master Sebashou.”

“I do have a few questions for you if you have 
the time, Master Benlan. There are some things I 
saw in your city that caught my eye today.”

Benlan grimaced and leaned in more closely. “What sort of things?”

Sensing a need for discretion, Andares whispered 
of what he'd seen, the church that had been torn 
down, the homes nearby that were empty, and the 
withering gazes of the soldiers when he'd come 
too close. Benlan listened with a careful 
expression, before nodding his head and 
whispering back. “The church was torn down the 
week after Otakar's banners were raised. There 
were never many Patildor here, but the wolf Duke 
insisted a church be built. The homes you saw...”

“Yes?”

“They fled as soon as they could. Some say they 
were spies for the wolf Duke. Others say they 
were Patildor afraid of the soldiers. No one is 
exactly sure, but flee they did.”

“So why leave the homes empty?”

“They haven't been,” Benlan replied with a shrug, 
and a smile that only touched one side of his 
face. “Many have been sold and filled by 
merchants and well-to-do families from Linduin. 
Some came to stay a few weeks, then returned home 
to their city.” Benlan grimaced and then let out 
a long sigh. “We are still learning what it means 
to be Outlanders here in Bozojo.”

Andares wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but 
tilted his head in surprise. “You mean Fennasi?”

His host chuckled. “That too.”

“What else can you tell me of the many changes 
taking place? I see many soldiers on the streets 
and in the fields surrounding your home.”

“Lord Calladar is doing all he can to protect 
Bozojo and the many merchants and travelers come 
to our city.” Benlan's half smile creased his 
face again as he leaned forward and whispered, 
“And to make sure we people stay loyal. Not 
everyone is happy with being Outlandish... 
Fennasi... what have you. Salinon has sent 
advisers to Lord Calladar and rumor has it that 
they have taken to managing the daily affairs of the city.”

“Why would they do that?”

Benlan leaned closer, though not so close out of 
respect for his Åelvish friend. “To bring us into 
Out... Fennasi society more completely. We here 
are their newest and westernmost province. Their 
goods have flowed through our markets and across 
our lake for centuries now; this is but one more 
import. But the rumors – Ah the rumors! – they 
say that the advisers are here to insure 
Salinon's control in case something foul should befall our noble liege!”

“From the Wolf Duke?”

Benlan stood back up and shrugged his shoulders 
with a wide exaggerated posture. “Ah, who can say 
such things! I am but a humble Innkeeper and would not know of them.”

“Then neither will I speak of such things,” 
Andares replied, a sense of disappointment 
filling him. Why did men have to play at such 
intrigue all the time? Were not their short lives 
miserable enough without heaping more misery on 
themselves through constant squabbling for 
position, prestige, and honors which were no more lasting than grass and straw?

He lifted a pearl-gray finger and beckoned the 
retreating Innkeeper closer. “There is one thing 
I must know, if you know. How did this changing 
of the banners come to pass? Surely the wolf Duke 
would have come here with his armies if there were not some terrible cost.”

Benlan's frown turned into a nervous scowl, and 
he rubbed one hand over his bald head. “They have the wolf's whelp... hostage.”

“Who?”

Benlan swallowed heavily, and he shut his eyes 
tight, not daring to look over his shoulder, half 
afraid he would find somebody listening to his 
words. Andares asked again, more gently. “Please, it is important that I know.”

In the faintest of whispers, but one that his 
pointed ears could hear, Benlan breathed, “Salinon.”

Andares nodded slowly, eyes sweeping quickly 
across the commons behind the Innkeeper. The 
young boys continued to run about their errands, 
cleaning tables, chairs, and the floor, as well 
as managing the handful of merchants who had come 
for something to eat and to rest their legs. One 
of the merchants kept looking at the Innkeeper, 
but his expression was more of impatience than of curiosity.

He was grateful that the door did not open just 
then. A loud noise or even a blast of cold air 
would have startled the good Innkeeper out of his 
wits. The Åelf stood from his table and bowed his 
head low, replying in a measured voice, one loud 
enough that any who might have been trying to 
listen would certainly hear. “Thank you, Master 
Rais, for you have set my concerns at ease. To 
know that the road ahead is safe and well 
protected by Bozojo's knights and soldiers, as 
well as those of Linduin, comforts me greatly.”

Benlan nodded exuberantly, smiling wide and 
slapping his thigh once. “And I as well, Master 
Sebashou. I dearly hope to see you grace my 
humble establishment with your presence again.”

“It is my fondest hope. I think I shall retire to 
my quarters now. But I will be supping here again this evening.”

“I will have personally see to the cooking 
tonight knowing that you will sup from my table. 
May the gods bless you and yours, Master Sebashou.”

Andares bowed ever so slightly, then left the 
commons without another word. He kept his cowl up 
as he glided up the stairs to the long hall that 
led off in either direction. His rooms were at 
the far end, perched over the kitchens with a 
view of the lake. They were modest and private, exactly as he wished.

He closed the curtains over both sets of windows, 
then doffed his cloak across the bed. He 
unsheathed the ivory-handled blade, and standing 
in the middle of the room, he began to practice 
the ancient techniques of his people, moving 
slowly, so slowly that it took all of his 
concentration to fix in place each of his muscles 
and each strand of black hair trailing down his 
neck like a stallion's vibrant mane. And all the 
while, he pondered what could be done, if 
anything, about the ruling house of the Fennasi, 
one that had wandered far from the good earth his 
brothers and sisters had planted only a few centuries ago.

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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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