[Mkguild] Snow Storm- Part 2

[Hallan Mirayas]

February 20, 708

 

    Xavier picked his way reluctantly amongst the
gravestones of the Metamor Ecclesia, arrayed in long rows just outside Euper's
northwestern walls.  His breath plumed white in the morning air, and he
rubbed his gloved hands together against a chill that was more than physical.
 As a follower of the Lothanasi faith, he had been raised with the
tradition of immolation rather than burial.  The thought of all of the
dead bodies beneath his feet, awaiting their... resurrection?  Revival?
 What did they call it?  Wouldn't that make them zombies?  The
leopard-man shook himself to throw off that train of thought.  It was
disrespectful... and unsettling.  This was not the time for such concerns,
and he cast them aside with an effort of will.  Finally, rounding the
corner of a small mausoleum, he found what he'd been seeking.  "Are
you nearly finished, Drift?  It's time."

 

    Kneeling in the snow before a quartet of
gravestones, the samoyed Keeper didn't look up.  "Hello, Xavier."
 He slowly traced his fingers over the lettering of one of the stones, his
voice soft and thoughtful.  "I'll be done in a moment."
 Xavier watched Drift's lips move, whispering something over the graves.
 A prayer, he guessed, although he couldn't be certain.  Manipulating
the weather was child's play compared to reading the lips of a canine Keeper.

 

    The leopard-man waited until Drift finished and
then helped him to his feet.  They walked in uncomfortable silence: the
past month had seen a long string of arguments between them regarding Drift's
decision to shutter his smithy.

 

    Drift shifted the hefty traveling pack slung
across his shoulders, then winced and pulled loose a tuft of fur that had
tangled itself into a buckle.   He let the silence linger for a
moment and said, "You know, it surprised me when you'd asked to go on this
patrol.  We haven't exactly been seeing eye to eye lately."

 

    Xavier took his time replying.  "No,
we haven't."

 

    "Then why?"

 

    The leopard paused again.  Then, as if to
make up for the brevity of his earlier remark, he began, "I still think
you are making a mistake shutting down your forge so that you can dabble at
inventing-"

 

    Drift frowned.  "I'm not dabbling-"

 

    Xavier continued as if he hadn't heard.  "I
also think using yourself as bait is foolhardy in the extreme.  If
there is a conspiracy and if they hear about it in time and if
they decide this isn't an obvious trap-"

 

    "Are you going somewhere with this, or are
you just going to insult me again?"

 

    Xavier seized the samoyed's arm in a grip that
threatened to hook him with claws if it proved necessary, and pulled him to a
stop.  "I wasn't finished," he said.  Dropping the volume
of his voice so Drift had to raise his ears to hear, the leopard continued.
 "If they decide to strike, then I intend to be there waiting.
 I owe you my life, Edward Snow.  I would have died on that
trip to Ice Lake were it not for your steadfast loyalty."  He let go
of Drift's arm and started walking, looking away as if slightly embarrassed by
his own candor.  Somewhat awkwardly, he added, "I value such
qualities."  That said, he cleared his throat a bit more theatrically
than necessary and changed the subject.  He seemed to relax slightly as
they left the graveyard. They walked alongside Euper's curtain wall rather than
backtrack to a gate just to exit again further down.  "We should
hurry.  You're not going to believe who Patrolmaster George has arranged
to escort us."

 

    "Who?"

 

    The leopard's whiskers lay back, and his eyes
half-lidded with the smile of a self-satisfied cat.  "Let's just say,
if Wolfram's jaw had dropped any lower, I could have had it used for a shovel."

 

    "You're not going to tell me?" Drift
asked, having to step up his pace to keep up with Xavier's longer legs.

 

    "And miss the chance to see your reaction?"
 The leopard fairly preened.  "Not likely."

 

    Drift didn't disappoint, gasping with delighted
disbelief when they rounded a corner and he saw.  "Misha?!"

 

    The battle-scarred fox looked up from rubbing a
piece of wax against the bottoms of a pair of skis and wagged a smile.  "Good
morning, Drift.  I thought I'd tag along...  hope you don't mind!"

 

    Drift glanced over at Wolfram and Xavier to
make sure he wasn't the target of some elaborate practical joke.  Despite
having arrived earlier, Wolfram looked even more staggered than Drift, and
Xavier, aside from looking insufferably amused, showed no trace of guile, which
left only one conclusion.  Stepping closer to Misha and lowering his
voice, Drift said, "I'm really very flattered, Misha, but aren't you busy
enough already?  Surely there must be something more important-"

 

    "Than helping a friend get a measure of
closure?" the fox replied, fixing Drift with a warm, level gaze, not
bothering to lower his voice at all.  "No."  Misha clasped
the samoyed's shoulder.  "To be honest, I'm actually a bit hurt you
didn't ask me immediately.  I consider you a friend.  I hope you do
the same."

 

    "I do, Misha, but you're a busy man.
 You're an elite warrior, and you're responsible for the first line of
defense for all Metamor Valley."  Drift looked down, his ears dipping
in a momentary hint of... shame?  "It doesn't feel right asking you
to take time from that just so I can take a trip to Glen Avery."
 Knowing Drift's upbringing, Misha had a very good idea why Drift might
think that a shameful thing to say, but the samoyed turned sharply away and
sniffed at the air before Misha could box his ears for being ridiculous.

 

    "Jasmine," the samoyed said, more to
himself than anyone else, and sniffed the air again to be sure.  "Alexis?"
he called, louder, stepping away and looking around.  "I can smell
your perfume.  Where are you hiding?"

 

    "Right behind you."

 

    All four men turned toward the new voice as
Alexis dropped from the crenellated wall turret.  Flipping in midair, she
folded her wings back into her white mink cloak when she landed, giving it a
flutter to settle its edges.  Even bundled thickly in furs against the
cold, she somehow managed to maintain her exotic allure: earth-brown eyes set
in a foxish face peeked out from beneath the cloak's hood, sparkling with
characteristic mischief.  The silver-gray fur of her cloak, lush and dense
as it was, wasn't quite up to concealing the supple sway of her hips when she
walked.  Walk she did, right past an impressed Misha, a startled Xavier,
and an openly admiring Wolfram before stopping in front of a completely
speechless Drift.  She paused as if waiting for him to say something. Her
smile grew larger with each moment of flustered silence, and she flicked her
ears to spill the hood artfully onto her shoulders.  "They're hips,
dear," she said finally, her smile going downright impish as a rampaging
blush exploded across his face.  "Deal with it."

 

    "You-" Drift stammered.

 

    Misha's smile tilted with wry amusement and he
drew Wolfram and Xavier aside to give the couple some privacy.  More
accurately, he drew Xavier aside and then reached back to pull Wolfram along by
one of his horns.  "Come on, you two.  It's not getting any
earlier, and I still need to see if either of you can ski."

 

    "You need to look up more," Alexis
said once they'd gone, poking Drift in the chest with her finger.  "Especially
if you're going to be out in those woods.  Misha and Wolfram both spotted
me five minutes ago."

 

    "I wasn't here five minutes ago."

 

    Alexis rolled her eyes and smiled.  "My
point remains."  She rose onto her tiptoes and pulled him down for a
kiss, and then leaned her head against his chest.  "Just be careful,
okay?  I don't like this idea of..."  Her voice trailed off into
a surprised question mark and she pulled back, leaving one hand on his chest
and one on his side.  "You're not soft and fluffy," she said,
half a question, half a protest.

 

    Drift smiled and gently pulled down on the
collar of his coat, revealing the shiny top rim of a full-torso chest plate
over heavily padded cloth.  "Just being careful, like you asked."

 

    Alexis smiled and rewarded him with another
kiss before leaning back against his chest.  "That's my smart and
handsome husband-to-be."  After a few more savored moments, her
expression sobered.  "Still, please be careful."  She
tapped her clawtips against the armor through his coat.  "A good
crossbow can still punch through this."

 

    Drift glanced over at Misha and Wolfram, who
were trying to teach Xavier the basics of skiing.  "I know.  At
least if the worst does happen, I know that said crossbowman won't live
to boast about it.  Nobody evades Misha.  Ow!"

 

    Alexis jabbed Drift hard in the side, just
below the armor.  "That," she growled, "is not the right
way to reassure your fiancée."

 

    "Sorry."  He kissed her.  "I'll
be careful."

 

    "You do that.  I love you."

 

    "I love you, too.  See you in a few
days."

 

    "Hey, Drift!" Wolfram yelled.  "Quit
making gooey eyes at each other and let's go!  Misha says if we make good
time we can get to the Glen before dinner!"

 

    Drift chuckled, and leaned down to nuzzle
Alexis' forehead.  "You be careful, too, love.  I'll see you in
a few days.  If Eli wills, I'll be able to put all of this behind me."

 

    Alexis gave him 'a pinch for the road' and
watched until they were out of sight before turning back toward Euper and her
own plans.  Reaching the top of the wall, she dusted herself off and
straightened, then paused to shoot a steely glare at something above and to the
left of her, something only she could see.  Then she spread her wings,
glided down to the streets below, and disappeared into the busy morning
traffic.

 

-----

 

    Raucous laughter echoed off the walls of
Agemnos' throne room, and the Lord of Avarice scowled at his black-armored
companion as the man pounded his hand against the ruby-rimmed golden scrying
bowl with enough force to bend it.  "Restrain yourself, cousin,"
he said, his voice sharp with an exasperation he found impossible to completely
control.  "That is expensive."

 

    "Bah!" the black-haired man replied,
his face flushed from the force of his laughter.  "You say that about
everything here, you priss.  Get over it."  Sweeping his hand
above the bowl, he reset the scry to the point where Alexastra had glared
directly into it.  "She's got spirit!  I like that in a minion."
 His hand dropped to pat a spiked chain hanging coiled at his belt and his
lips parted in a cruel smile.  "I'd whip it out of her soon enough,
of course...  but not too soon."

 

    And you wonder why you're surrounded by
idiots, Agemnos thought, but he restrained a disdainful scowl.  "That
is competence you're seeing, cousin, not just rebellion.  She
spotted the scry, no easy feat, and she wanted me to know she'd spotted
it."  He banished the image, returning the basin to just a bowl filled
with fine red wine.

 

    "Hey!  I was watching that!" the
armored man protested, but Agemnos ignored him and settled down on his throne,
stroking his golden-bearded chin.  What had she just told him by
deliberately noticing the scry?  That she could have spotted it was a
given- he'd trained her himself.  That she would reveal that knowledge was
surprising, given her habit of keeping her cards close to her vest.  The
only time she didn't-

 

    An agonized bellow from outside broke Agemnos'
concentration.  "What is that crazed minion of yours doing now?"
he asked, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice despite his best
efforts.

 

    Cocking his head momentarily for a better
listen, without even bothering to look the armored man replied with the certainty
of long experience.  "That would be the sound of a balrog having its
limbs burned off one by one, and then being slow-roasted from the inside out,"
he replied, his grin widening with cruel amusement and a hint of pride.  "It
sounds like Pyre is getting bored."

 

    "Well, tell her to stop before she sparks
a riot among the damned.  It's messy to clean up and it throws off the
processing schedule of the soul tar factories."

 

    The armored man rolled his eyes in disdain for
Agemnos' processing schedules, but walked over to a window and threw it open.
 "PYRE!" he roared in a voice that could carry over the din of a
pitched battle, easily out-bellowing the suffering balrog.  "QUIT
TOYING WITH THAT THING AND GET IN HERE!"

 

    "But I was just getting to the fun part!"
a female voice whined in protest, but the armored man steamrolled right over
it.

 

    "NOW!"

 

    The balrog's last scream ended abruptly in a
flash of light and a wave of heat that washed up into the throne room
accompanied by shouts of alarm and pain.  Agemnos rose to his feet just as
the first sounds of riot broke out, but the armored man shouted again before it
could gain momentum.  "PYRE!"

 

    "What now?!"

 

    "Make a few examples before you go."
 The man leaned against the side of the window frame and turned an
insolent smirk toward Agemnos.  "Our host is complaining about the
noise."

 

    "With pleasure!"

 

    Several more flashes and screams followed, and
Agemnos came over to watch once the maniacal laughter started.  "She
certainly enjoys her work," he observed.

 

    The man shrugged.  "She takes after
her mother."

 

    "Ah.  So she -really- likes fire."

 

    The armored man nodded in reply, grinning with
approval over the carnage below.

 

    Agemnos watched for a while as well, occasionally
waving away a cloud of ash.  "As
much as I can appreciate her efficiency at putting down riots, if she continues
to incinerate the guards as well, I'm going to take their revival cost out of
what I'm paying you for that blade."

 

    With a sudden glower at the spoiling of his
fun, the man grumbled a surly 'fine' before snarling out the window.  "PYRE!"
 Agemnos flinched away from the bellow and grimaced, rubbing his ear.
 "That's enough!  Get in here!"

 

    The armored man reached out to slam the window
shut, but Agemnos stopped him with an upraised hand.  "Miroweke!"
he called to an imp that was trying to sneak away without being seen.  The
imp flinched and turned, face pinched with the displeasure of knowing what was
coming.  His master didn't disappoint him.  "Clean this mess up,"
he ordered, and then closed the window.

 

    The imp grimaced and went in search of a broom
and shovel.  "Why do I always get the dirty jobs?" he whined,
starting in on a pile of ashes nearly twice his height.  It was one of
many.

 

    Pyre strode into Agemnos' throne room like she
owned it.  Wild gray hair swirled like a cloud of ash around a grubby
urchin's face; her tattered rags the color of burnt timbers.  "Why
did you make me stop?" she complained.  "I was having fun!"

 

    The armored man backhanded her into silence.
 "Your 'fun' nearly cost me a deal.  Give him the sword."

 

    Pyre rubbed her cheek where the man had struck
her and shot him a resentful glare, but she obeyed his command without
hesitation.  From beneath her ragged clothes (from precisely where Agemnos
decided he didn't want to know) Pyre produced a wooden case nearly the length
of her arm and handed it over.  "Better you than me," she opined
unbidden.  "Swords kill too quick for my taste.  They don't hurt
enough, either."

 

    "Thank you for that expert analysis,"
Agemnos replied dryly, but in the interest of cultivating a potentially useful
tool he took the sting off the insult with a compliment.  "You displayed undeniable talent out
there in the courtyard.  Should I ever require the services of a
pyromancer, I will certainly remember your name."  Pyre stepped back,
mollified somewhat by the ego-soothing compliment, and Agemnos flipped the box
open as an unpleasant suspicion hit him.  Resting inside, nestled in a bed
of red velvet, lay a faintly bloodstained short blade in the lutin style, of
mediocre quality and craftsmanship and lightly pitted with age and use.
 In short, exactly what he had asked for.  So why had the fire maniac
called it-

 

    He looked up from the blade, his eyes narrowing
slightly.  "Pomp and ceremony isn't like you, cousin," he said.
 "Why bring her instead of handing this over yourself?  More
importantly, why would she call it a sword when I very specifically requested a
long knife with exact requirements for its properties?"

 

    Agemnos' armored guest leaned against the rim
of the scrying basin, an exemplar of unconcern.  "Relax," he
said.  "It'll do what you want.  Did you really think I'd attach
my own essence to a sissy little pigsticker like that?  Nah, I just
limited one of my own swords and disguised it in illusion.  It'll pass
inspection for anything you're even remotely likely to meet up with, but it
knows its owner.  The illusion will drop if I pick it up again.
 Sure, it's not exactly what you asked for, but look at it this
way: if something goes wrong with this plan of yours, you'll have extra power
already there to deal with it."

 

    Behind gritted teeth, the Lord of Avarice
nearly screamed at him over the introduction of unwanted variables into his
plan, especially at this late in the game.  You idiot!
 Addle-brained fool!  Imbecile jackass with half the sense of- I
wanted it that way for a reason!  "How thoughtful of you to
prepare for unforeseen contingencies," he said aloud.  "I will
see to it that your payment is delivered as soon as possible."  He
held up a hand to stay an explosion of temper from his guest over the delay.
 "I would have it complete already, but the last installment is
currently part of the ash pile out front."  Sitting down on his
throne, Agemnos relaxed into his best salesman's smile and echoed back the
armored man's earlier unconcern.  "Don't worry."  His smile
crept a fingernail's breadth up his bearded cheeks.  "I'll make
certain it's worth the wait."

 		 	   		  
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