[Mkguild] To Scorn the Flight of Doves 2/7

[Radioactive Toast]

“Murazin is not the only one we must worry about,” Parnsus muttered, gutting whatever satisfaction the moment held.

    “Unfortunately, no,” Karonsus stated with a sigh, eyes drifting to the ground as if fate would magically produce a solution from the earth like some crop springing from the soil.

    Zynaid’s horse grumbled and shifted under him as if feeling the undercurrent in the air.  “Have any of the official inquires turned up anything, or summoned more evidence?”

    “Hmph,” Tarsus grunted in frustration as an answer.  “Nothing official.  But no part of Yesulam is private for more than a few minutes.  It takes a pilgrimage for us to be free from prying eyes.”

    “I... am sorry,” Parnsus said, lowering his head in shame.  “If all this trouble is because of my choice of studies, I-“

    His apology was dismissed by a wave of Karonsus’ hand.  “It is not necessary, Elder Brother,” he said with a weak smile.  “Your abilities,” the use of the euphemism for Parnsus’ magic was almost grating, “serve only as one further excuse to persecute out family.  It no longer matters if there happens to be truth in the accusations leveled against us, and your abilities are only one of the several... trials our family faces.”  Of the nine Scolastin children there were numerous afflictions that marred them.  There was Parnsus’ tremendous affinity for the arcane, but there were also the other siblings.  One of the brothers, Wensus, was outright mad an often a raving lunatic despite the numerous attempts of priests from all over Ainador and then some to exorcise him.  Elender, the only daughter, was chronically ill and frequently bedridden, a state of affairs Zynaid couldn’t help but sympathize with.  And the youngest, Azurm, had been born completely deaf.  “Azurm, especially, has been used as evidence against us.”

    This peeked Zynaid’s attention.  “Evidence?”  Parnsus asked.

    “Evidence,” Karonsus echoed flatly, “Of our family’s sins.”

    “Wait, what are you talking about?” the mage demanded.

    He was met with a nonchalant shrug from his cool headed younger brother.  “It is just as it sounds,” Karonsus explained.  “Our family has been mired in sin and therefore Eli has punished us with infirmities, trials and financial hardship.  A campaign has started that has seen our name decried as equivalent to arrogance and debauchery.  One that started quietly but now shows every inclination to be as public as possible.”

    The sound of Parnsus’ jaw dropping could be heard for miles.  “What!?” he shrieked, “When did they stoop to such a low?”

    “[i]When[/i]?” Tarsus repeated the word incredulously.  “They never started.  They have [i]always[/i] whispered these things in secret when they believe us to be out of earshot.  If one went back to the hour Eli created man from the dust, dirty rumors of our family’s oh so terrible defects would be whispered through the air.”

    Despite his brother’s explanation, Parnsus could scarcely believe the situation he was hearing.  “But... what of all Father’s work, all the extra money he uses to keep up orphanages or his other charities?”  Corsa Scolastin was indeed a rather prolific donator to all things charitable, but his quiet demeanor and generally reserved nature made his actions less then visible to most, [i]especially[/i] when having to share the stage with his overbearing wife.

    “Unfortunately, no one seems to notice or care, “Tarsus explained with a sardonic mirth.  “It is rather like pissing yourself with dark pants on; a warm feeling, but no one notices.”  Karonsus’ eyes actually rolled, and Parnsus sighed deeply and looked for a hole that he could crawl into and die (this apparently being one penchant he didn’t miss about his brother).  For his part Zynaid had to try his damndest to keep from bursting out laughing.  Instead he contented himself with a wry smile that belied his amusement; that was a phrase he’d definitely have to remember.

    The colorful, forthright brother continued on as though he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary.  “Platitudes rule the day it seems.  They wish to keep on insisting there is sin, so they will keep on insisting,” he said with no small measure of frustration.

    This was not a sentiment completely shared by Karonsus, who turned to look at his brother with a pitying gaze.  “There is far more at work than tired expressions, Tarsus.  Much more important is the animosity and hatred that fuels it.”

    “I’ve found,” Zynaid cut in, “that platitudes can all too often become self sustaining engines that carelessly plow aside rationality.  Even when they don’t create problems, they can exacerbate them immensely.

    Karonsus gave him a certain amount of amusement.  “Only if ignorance and foolishness hang heavy in the air,” he said with the slightest whiff of complaint.

    “As if you can locate anywhere on the earth where they are not,” Tarsus said with a heaping helping of complaint.

    Zynaid shrugged.  “People are both stupider [i]and[/i] smarter than they seem at first glance.  Which aspect you encounter more is up to Eli than anything else.  Still, better to assume the worst and be prepared so you can be pleasantly surprised when you turn out to be wrong.”

    “True,” Karonsus nodded thoughtfully, “True, very true.”  A look of mild curiosity crosses his face, as though if he were wondering if the comment was meant for them somehow.

    “Um, so then,” Parnsus interjected.  “I hate to interpose on this conversation but there were reasons we came here for besides... all this.”

    “Ah yes,” Karonsus said and nodded to Tarsus, who reached into a bag slung behind him revealing a money purse.

    Tarsus did not hand them the bag right away however, instead feeling and running his fingers across it.  “I do wonder if it will make a difference at all if I give this to you directly Amadias, as opposed to if I give to my brother and you simply appropriate it all for your own needs later.”  Refusing to take the bait, Zynaid let his face remain impassive.  Finally, the loud noble tossed the bag to Parnsus who predictably fumbled like an old woman and nearly spilled the coins across the ground.  “Careful,” Tarsus warned with some measure of concern, “That is what you need to keep you going after Marilyth.”  Veiled not so subtly was a double warning; the Scolastins never truly trusted Zynaid with the eldest brother.  He had proven himself useful and generally reliable, but their suspicions about what had transpired in Marilyth were not the helpful kind, giving them more cause to doubt him, wondering if he was omitting facts when he said that it had just been a matter of the locals being disagreeable.

    Peering inside the bag, Parnsus seemed content with the amount, though he himself made a point of it that he knew next to nothing of finance and would rather other people handle the boring dreary work of accounting, a role Zynaid had accumulated some experience with his years traveling with Lorian, and the past three years traveling with Parnsus had been instructive as well.  And... the mage wasn’t exactly an expensive fellow either.  Aside from his enchantment and magical studies, which could on occasion become pricy the mage was decidedly apathetic to luxury and fine living.  Zynaid’s expenses, on the other hand, could be greatly unpredictable.

    Reaching over to hand Zynaid the money, Parnsus sighed.  “You are greatly needlessly embellishing things that are not problems, Tarsus.  Zynaid takes good care to keep me safe.”

    Tarsus was clearly unpersuaded by this admonition.  “I am sure what little this man informs you of his activities matches perfectly with that assessment,” he said as if Zynaid wasn’t even present.

    What followed was the closest to a glower that Zynaid had ever seen from Parnsus.  He needn’t speak, however, as a simple indecipherable gaze from Karonsus silenced whatever else he had to say.

    “We thank you then, Amadias,” Karonsus intoned politely, “for the shelter you have given our brother and for passing us the information about Murazin.  Hopefully we can now silence at least one of our family’s enemies.”  Watching Karonsus’ definitively unamiable smile Zynaid just had to wonder exactly what he meant by “silencing.”  A certain concern was allowed on the noble’s features, though doing so as he asked a very relevant question.  “Where shall you go now then?  I presume not back west to Pyralis any time soon.”

    Zynaid kept a scowl from crossing his face.  Was the noble acting on knowledge or fishing for a bite?  “Likely we’ll remain in Korazin for the time being.  If we do move we’ll inform you by the usual couriers... I assume you repeatedly vet them, correct?”

    A simple nod was the only reply from Karonsus, a very firm and however, one that spoke volumes about the man’s steel, even though he was some years Zynaid’s junior.  Karonsus was the do-er of the Scolastin family.  He knew full well of what he spoke of, but always lingering in the shadows lurked the possibility that he was withholding information for whatever reason imaginable.  But that was exactly why Zynaid vetted couriers on his own as well.

    “When must you return home?” Parnsus asked his brothers.

    “Soon,” Tarsus replied, “Regardless of the fact that this journey was ostensibly a Yuletide pilgrimage, many in Yesulam are paranoid and watch us like perverts in a woman’s bathhouse.”  This time no one rolled their eyes; they just sighed.

    “If you are remaining in Ainador for a length of time,” Karonsus said, “We may have to adjust out methods of correspondence.”  He was referring of course to the manner in which Parnsus received his usual stipend, but also more general communication.

    Zynaid raised an eyebrow.  “Mayson doesn’t operate in Ainador?”

    “He does not, no.  Pyralis is what he is most familiar with, and he dislikes unfamiliar territory.  As well... he has had unfortunate incidents with many locals here, and his subordinates are like him in those regards.  Rather, you should seek out Therad in Korazin for the time being.”

    That was a name that was surprising to hear.  “Spoons’ man?”

    “Spoons?” Parnsus repeated incredulously.

    Karonsus nodded with subtle amusement.  “Spoons.”

    Spoons, of course, was the colorful nickname of an even more colorful man.  Bishop Bezm Kemsh would likely have been near the top of Zynaid’s list of most interesting people if he had one.  Unscrupulous and ambitious were words often used to describe him, even by his fellow bishops, to say nothing of non-Ecclesia.  During his younger years he had been involved in several small crusades in the Midlands in which he was often called upon to govern occupied cities, during which several controversial executions took place on the bishop’s orders.  His name was now legendarily infamous in Lightbringer lands; several temples, cities and lords had created a competition of boasts as to who would hang him the quickest should he fall into their hands.  And that was just over what was established as factual deed.  Rumors of countless more despicable deeds flowed like beer midst a sailor’s revelry, though the most popular one was Kemsh’s alleged habit of pilfering the silverware of Lightbringer manors in which he stayed during the courses of his military escapades, hence his ubiquitous nickname.

    Such a notorious name did not exactly sit well with Parnsus, who stared at his brothers with a mixture of disbelief and worry.  “Are you mad?” he said, nearly cracking his voice.  “You actually trust that [i]man[/i],” he added the last word as he would use a con-man’s alias, “with our family’s safety?”  It was not an altogether unfounded concern that Spoons was perhaps not the most trustworthy man to trust yourself with.  He was shrewd and rude beyond measure whenever it suited his purpose (which was 90 percent of the time, by most accounts).  But, on the other hand, his political sense was by no means something to be laughed at.  

    “You can say a many things about Spoons,” Tarsus interjected with dark mirth.  “But he does what you pay him for with exemplary gusto.”

    “It is not,” Karonsus said, “as though he would care intrinsically about the alleged ‘sinful’ nature of the family name.”  That was an understatement if there ever was one; Kemsh was the least ideologically motivated bishop in the whole Ecclesia.  His aforementioned shrewdness meant he put political pragmatism before all else, though his rude personality made it difficult for him to advance further in formal status.  “His interests have had a long... tie to our own.  As long as he is well nurtured, Spoons is a valuable ally to have.”

    Allies generally brought to mind trustworthy, indispensable men, things ‘Spoons’ Kemsh wasn’t generally associated with.  Political guile and shrewdness, however, could be most useful qualities in an ally, as long as you yourself kept on your toes.  And as long as you didn’t consider them a friend.

    “As long as you’ve taken care of sating him, I don’t foresee any problems,” Zynaid said as casually as possible.  

    Nevertheless Tarsus glowered at him ever so softly.  “Rest assured, Amadias; we know how to handle our politics.”  He leaned forward on his mount and eyed the commoner.  “We certainly hope that you are similarly blessed in you handlings in the future.”

    Rather than pretend he didn’t catch the aristocrat’s meaning, Zynaid simply nodded as dryly as he could and responded, “Duly noted,” as if the noble had given him interesting advice on how to forecast the weather.  Tarsus merely continued his glare.

    “Well then,” Karonsus declared, as if his brother and Zynaid had nothing to at all to say, “If we loiter around much longer someone might notice, even if it’s just a local peasant.”

    After a moment Zynaid belatedly realized the unintentional irony of that statement.  “If that is all we must discuss, we should take your leave then.”

    “Just watch out for our brother, Amadias, and it will be enough,” Karonsus said plainly.  Turning to his eldest brother, a small but sincere smile crossed his features.  “Farewell, Parnsus.  May Eli watch your path.”

    Tarsus let a wide smile of his own loose.  “Be sure to take care of yourself, eldest brother.”  Zynaid thought the talkative noble was going to spew another warning about trusting “the commoner,” but instead they got a “Try not to run into any dragons on your travels.”

    The comment caused Parnsus to visibly shudder.  “Ugh...  Please do not remind me.”  Zynaid didn’t shudder, at least not on the outside.

    With just a nod or two that was it; the two Scolastin nobles turned their horses around and trotted off, no doubt to link up with whatever lookouts they had brought with them.

    “I apologize for their behavior,” Parnsus said as the two of them themselves started trotting off, dropping back out of his aristocratic accent.  “They were just being rude.”

    Zynaid shrugged.  “It wasn’t unexpected.  They’re political animals out of necessity, and politics don’t engender trust.”

    Such a fact seemed so axiomatic that the commoner wouldn’t have even mentioned it had he not been prodded.  Parnsus, however political his family may have been (or perhaps [i]because[/i] of it), had the political acumen of a drunken hermit.  “And the fact that they don’t trust you doesn’t bother you?”

    Another shrug.  “Not really.  Why should it?  They were doing the competent thing to do.”  Even if, Zynaid thought to himself, Tarsus could use some work in his intimidation skills; he was about as intimidating as an uppity five year old in that he came off as far more annoying then genuinely daunting.

    Issues such as competence and managing risks and unknowns did not seem to register, or matter perhaps, all that much to the aristocratic mage.  “But here they were treating me civil and then they ambush you like you’re just as contemptible as the people who are against the family,” he spoke the rare conviction behind those words.

    That missed one very important detail, however.  “You’re family.  I’m not.  As far as the rest of your family is concerned I’m just a skilled commoner whom they are paying well to keep you safe.”

    “What do [i]they[/i] know about commoners?” Parnsus mumbled.  “You’ve been taking care of me for three years.  They should trust you as well by now as if they were your own family.”

    Zynaid stifled the sharp laughter that wanted to leap out of his throat.  Instead he shrugged.  “As long as they can maintain an equitable working relationship with me, such is how it is.”  The mage stared at him as if he were speaking some strange Irombian tongue.  He opened his mouth several times, but gave up each time.

    Finally after a long sigh he stared out blankly to the flat Galean Sea which lay below them.  “How much to you think they know about what happened in Marilyth?”

    “Enough to be suspicious,” Zynaid responded.  He would have preferred that the Scolastins hadn’t learned anything at all, but those kinds of wishes were moonshine.

    “Do you think they know that we were...” the mage searched for words, doubtless attempting to come up with an appropriate euphemism, and failing utterly to do so.  “Do you think that they know we were driven out of the city only as a second choice?”

    Despite how grim the situation had been and the messy consequences it had spawned, Zynaid found himself grinning with some mirth.  “I highly doubt that,” he said to the mage’s surprise.  “More like their third choice.  Second choice would have been to kill us, yes, but I think their first would no doubt be for Hell to open up and swallow us whole.”

    Parnsus nodded nervously and smiled his awkward smile that half the time Zynaid was convinced could just as well be permanently etched on the aristocrat’s face.  The idea of the world hating him with so much vehemence was one that not only didn’t sit well with the mage, it was also completely foreign to him.  Part of Zynaid thought Parnsus fortunate for that, but another part pitied him for the naivety it engendered. 		 	   		  
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