067 – Welcome To Shalaia

This attitude was particularly picked up on the next morning as there was no food provided ready for them to purchase of share, or place in evidence for them to prepare their own, as opposed to the previous places the three had stayed in. Rox and Steven quickly collected their animals, and with Caspian headed east across the river and into the terraces between the rivers, and soon found a reasonable place to prepare breakfast.

“Are all the elves like them,” Rox asked as she tended some shredded potatoes and eggs.

Caspian nodded. “Yes. They were actually nice compared to some. There are those who would not have let us stay the night under their roof. The locals have warned you about this.”

Steven picked up on this, from a recent movie line, affecting a scratchy not-quite English accent. “My son, we are pilgrims in an unholy land. We must be careful.”

Rox chuckled at the line, having found that movie entertaining. “I don’t think the Doctors Jones would find these locals as dangerous as 1939 Berlin.”

As usual, Steven’s sense of humor completely bypassed Caspian’s understanding.

The day was spent walking along cobbled lanes between terraces lined by stone retaining walls that averaged twice Steven’s height. Irrigation canals and gates were more evident than the homes of the locals. Each terrace was nearly level, and most of them covered by some crop or another. The similarities of vegetables between Terra and Tywacomb made the identification of most crops little more than a passing curiosity to Rox, who had spent some of her youth in Nebraska corn fields and her grandmother’s vegetable garden, and had proven her own brown thumb. Caspian was less interested, as he was a lowland farmer from the equatorial region, so none of the plants here were of use or interest beyond immediate and near future use. Steven was interested in growing things on the high desert of the Sierra foothills. The various plants were of interest and how they had got them to grow and through what seasons. Above the plant fields were interspersed stock fields surrounded by fences according to the particular animal they were designed to contain.

The traffic they encountered was mostly singular elves in the local equivalent of coveralls going about their business. The shortest of these elves was taller than Steven when mounted. All had the bluish base skin tone, and white mohawk with assorted means of dealing with the sides. Several wore hats.

At the top of one hill they were able to look across the local area and finally see their first evidence of local housing, sitting at the top of the nearby terraces on either side. Looking south across the valley the look was uniformly that of terraces covered with summer crops, with stock interspersed, the lanes winding between the rolls of the hills. Many of the terraces also had stands of trees; the top levels were the most common ones to actually be devoted to trees.

Far to the south, on their east was the plateau they were heading toward. Even from this distance there was the developing skyline of a city in several terraced levels up to and covering the plateau.

They got most of the way across this valley before the sun dipped behind the western hills between the peaks. Here they found a travelers hostel, with corral for their animals. Again they were looked upon as unwanted interlopers at best. This time they were not allowed to sleep within the structure, but turned out to a corner of the corral with their animals.

Journal of Steven Caplan: Day 111

Our journey is ended, for the moment. This day we shall enter the city of Rox’s progenitors. However, there is a feeling of unease. These locals do not look kindly upon foreigners or strangers.

In the morning they were able to use the last of their food to make breakfast. They then departed and headed for the city that dominated the view to the south east.

The road ran along the foot of the mountains. To their west were the terraces stretching across the valley, to their east were sharp rises to structures that reminded Rox of the temples and monasteries of the monks of the eastern traditions of her imagination. Caspian noticed when they crossed the actual edge of the magical barrier that had prevented their targeting a landing spot within its boundaries. He had been feeling the emanations of the barrier since entering the valley. It never occurred to him to ask Roxanne if she could feel the same.

For her part, Rox was still so new to sensing magic, that she completely failed to notice anything until she actually crossed the barrier, but had no idea as yet what it was she felt, and since Caspian made no comment, she let it go.

The road leveled off and was soon among the typical single story structures that lined the outer reaches of cities. But these structures were scaled to the locals, taller than was initially comfortable to the three. They had been seeing this scale for the last weeks as they made their way to this valley and city, but here it was in such concentration as to be disconcerting. Also there were few structures with any external timber; rather it was stonework that made the walls. There were trees and other bits of wild shrubbery scattered about but most had been removed.

The road turned between the mountains into the city proper.  Here they could be in any city they had passed through to this point, save for the scale of the locals and structures. The city dominated the terrain to the right, and climbed the mountainside to the left. After several smaller side streets, they turned on a larger main one that climbed up the two visible major terrace levels to the flat of the mesa. Several lesser levels of terraces could be picked out after careful consideration and examination of the city. The structures here were much more of hewn stone on stone, rather than using mortar to hold regular or irregular stones together. The stone color here was mostly gray granite, even in the age worn cobbles that lined the streets. Many large multi-story structures were interspersed between smaller structures. The windows usually had stained glass in the lower half and clear in the upper, which appeared to open for ventilation.   Gutters and drains allowed water and filth to run off the streets, with sidewalks provided for pedestrians. Local pine trees lined the streets at irregular intervals.

Unlike many of the smaller cities they had been in, there were a significant number of carriages and carts in this city, drawn by teams of animals. Once they turned onto the spoke road from the perimeter the carriages outnumbered the merchandise carts.

The locals were dressed in what appeared to Steven and Rox to be Hollywood-Ali Baba mixed with Hollywood-Elizabethan, without all the extra petticoats under the skirts. The local law enforcement males and females wore a burgundy leather surcoat with silver trim, and a badge on the left breast, shaved their soft hair and buzz-cut their mohawks. The trades all seamed to wear a slightly different costume as a uniform. Remembering the districting in Veradale, Rox and Steven both looked around for the similar sign posts, but did not see enough to be certain of what they saw.

As she looked around, Rox finally spoke of the question that had been bothering her since first seeing this place.

“Caspian, I do not understand this place. There is not another mesa around here. Did they just top this mountain, and dump all the dirt and rock around the sides?”

Steven had been wondering similar things. He looked to Caspian to see if he had an answer.

Caspian answered. “I suppose. I have only been here the one time before now. I have not really had any reason to wonder about its geography. To be honest, I would not put it past them to have done that. You remember Veradale; they were carving that whole mountain range up, starting at the north end, and working south. We did not get very far into it, but on the west side they were fairly deep into where the mountain had been in converting it to usable structure, while mining out the commercial minerals.

He continued. “The report is that this city has been here thousands of years. With the general lifespan of these elves being about eight hundred years, and several generations reported to have lived here, I am inclined to give any theory the benefit of the doubt.”

Steven picked it up first. “Eight hundred years? But Rox’s great grandma died not long after her husband.”

Caspian nodded. “Yeah. I have not talked much about the interactions between the races and their mechanics. I can go into better detail once we get too where we are staying tonight.”

Caspian was not going to talk about things like that where the elves could potentially hear.

Caspian lead the Caplan’s to the gate on the road that led up to the upper terraces of the city. There was no martial wall, there being little need because of the terracing and terrain. But two guard houses stood on either side of the road, manned by members of the local law enforcement. The elves at the gate also looked almost like typical guards. With a difference being the general appearance of these elves, and instead of plate metal, they had lacquered wood and hard leather. The Guards watched the local traffic go through, but moved out to intercept the visitors. Even mounted, Steven had to look up slightly at the guard standing at his side.

The leader stood by Caspian’s right, and spoke in Traders Cant. “State your name and business.”

Caspian addressed them in the local elf dialect. “Gentleman. We are here, bidden by the Clan Nidaer. They sit in waiting of our arrival. My name is Caspian. The female is known to them as their Lost Daughter; the male is her mate. We have traveled long and are here to treat with them, at their convenience.”

Rox understood all the words Caspian said, and after review she also understood the concepts of what was said. This included Caspian’s subtle undertone that until introduced to the clan, neither she nor Steven rated a name. Also that he sent no greeting or graciousness to the clan, but simply announced that he was here. She smiled slightly at the veiled insult of not sending greetings.

For his part, Steven did not understand a word said, but grasping the situation, sat as quiet and dignified as he could.

The leader turned aside and back into his duty station. After a moment he returned.

“Caspian the Mage, you and your party are free to proceed. We are instructed to direct you to your previous lodging. Provision is waiting for you there.” The elf appeared to be bored with his job, but still formal in his presentation.

Caspian nodded. “Thank you, officer. Good day to you and yours.”

Caspian nudged his mount forward with the Caplan’s following, leading their laden mules. A crew of street sweepers moved into their wake, as two of the animals had taken the opportunity while stopped to relieve themselves.

The road leveled off at the mid-level terrace, then continued nearly level for several intersections before meeting the edge of the terrace onto the top tier of the city.

The larger buildings here on the mid-tier looked to be carved by stone cutters from the local rock rather than constructed by masons, as the smaller buildings exhibited. Also there was a bit more space between the structures, and more size to the individual components. Caspian led them past two cross roads, and left on a third.

This road had a slight turn to it as it followed the approximate line of the original mountain around. Two structures seemed out of place as they traveled this street. First, an aqueduct crossed the road overhead and appeared to empty into a cistern. Second, they passed a park, with grass and non-native leafy trees. Families were recreating in the manner that families anywhere are want to.

They turned into a courtyard bound on all the sides by a single structure. A three tiered round fountain marked the center of the drive-around. Square columns lined the three side’s two stories tall, covering porches.

071 – Meeting the self-important

Steven found his experience with the local tailors to be just as disagreeable for him as Rox had found for her. On the other hand, Rox was able to assert herself sufficient to get one ‘tasteless’ gown made that she actually liked. She came home with two new gowns, and a few other pieces of clothing.

Journal of Steven Caplan: Day 114

The Tailors here are efficient and capable. But the formal costume they are building for me leaves much to be desired, by my own tastes. I look like a jester. Tomorrow we go before the Clan that seams to be in charge here.

We were told to make a bit of a scene, I presume without getting out of hand.

Caspian says he has magically given us the local language, but it may not last due to the various magic’s in the area interacting. We shall see. At any rate, I can understand the locals for the moment. 

Steven initially had to fight against laughing at their costumes. Rox wore a formal gown that looked made of Elizabethan Motley with a clashing translucent robe. Steven had baggy trousers that ballooned to just below his knees with cloth boots from there, and a crushed velvet vest over a linen shirt, again in colors that he would only have put together on a jester. Caspian was again in his despised formal.

The carriage ride was unremarkable, as they traveled around the mesa to the local equivalent of an office building and shown in. Steven whispered to Rox that the Swiss Guards at the Vatican would fit here without a second look. Rox responded that they would be the conservative looking ones here.

They were shown into a third floor room. The room was wider than it was deep, and on an outside wall. A curved table sat to one side with the windows behind it, facing the doors. The perimeter of the room had deep shadows despite the open plan, and open windows. A bench was set in the focal point of the table, where the three were escorted and allowed to sit.

It was all Steven could do to stifle his amusement at the theater of the situation. Sharlot had wanted a scene caused. Steven could cause one just by laughing at what he saw. Rox felt the weight of the situation how these people, these elves, were an impediment to retrieving her children. Caspian was initially bored, but got himself into gear as he was brought into the room.

Twelve high backed chairs were in asymmetric array around the far side of the table, three were currently empty. Caspian had warned that the pompous windbag sat at the center. The spare chair on the far left was the clerk, and therefore of slightly less importance than the rest.

The elves in their seats were back lit and had some what of a harsh shadow obscuring their features and dress. As Steven's eyes adjusted, he could see that there were more males than females, that they were in similar styles of costume to what he and his wife wore, and that they were all taller and some obviously heavier in comparative build than he was.

The clerk started the audience. “Mage, these are the parents of the Children of Prophecy, brought before us as we instructed?”

Steven did not let Caspian answer, but this was prearranged. He stood and spoke.

“I am Steven Phillip Caplan, Husband to Roxanne Clarice Caplan, Father to Diana and Alexander. What is it you want of us, that you delay us in retrieving our children?”

The pompous windbag spoke first. “We want your children safely returned to your care and to know that they are being raised to their proper destiny. You may sit down, human. Our Daughter, we understand that you have magical talent, it this true?”

Rox had thought about being as flamboyant as her costume, but instead chose to be her usual self. “Yeah, it is. But having only the last months to work with it, I am not certain what I am capable of. The Mage tells me that I have surprised him on several occasions.”

“This is all nice and well, Pervical, but that is just passing time.” Sharlot interjected from halfway between the center and the clerk. “We need to hear the report on what has been found surrounding the monarchs of Krogg. Mallob that was your responsibility.”

Another elf, from the other side of the table spoke. “Our overall information is limited, as the current monarchs have made a concerted effort during their reign to control information about themselves. We have learned that when they were wed approximately thirty years ago, there was a prophecy made that prompted the execution of the voice if it. Our records of what it says are third hand at best, and incomplete. We have learned, as the Mage said his sources report, that the children will play a roll in the violent succession of these monarchs. To this end, they have apparently sought to take control of these children’s lives. Our investigators are still working in the archives, and have sent to Krogg, to investigate further.”

Pervical, the pompous windbag sitting in the center, spoke. “So we can barely confirm what the mage has alleged, regarding the motives of Krogg. I still maintain that this is of lesser importance.”

Steven countered this. “Perhaps to you, but as the father of those kidnapped, it is nice to know that there is at least some kind of rational reason for this nightmare. How would you like your children kidnapped and not even know why, let alone where, or if you would ever see them again?”

Pervical’s oily tone in his response rubbed all the fur the wrong way. “The prophecies about the Chaos Bringer cycle, and its harbingers are relatively common knowledge to any even remotely versed in their history. That it happens to coincide with other happenings is hardly a surprise, as life continues.”

A female to Sharlot’s right responded to this. “If you happen to live in the right community. Go off this mountain, and you find that there are many such things as local prophecies that simply are not talked about or disseminated to outsiders, whether it be simply community to community, or world to world.”

Pervical was not going to be lectured to about his provincialism or preconceived stereotypes. “The point at hand is not what was prophesied by whom, when, or about what. It is about getting the Harbingers of the Chaos Bringer trained and ready to face it once it arrives.”

“You are talking about my children, then?” Steven interjected.

Pervical ignored Steven. “I am aware that the mood of this council is to provide any and all help to Our Daughter and her paramour, to retrieve their children. I have never had any argument against reasonable measures.”

Sharlot interrupted him. “No, you just want to keep them here, to personally oversee their growth to maturity. Rasgan, you are the one in charge of that. What have you got set up?”

Pervical agreed. “Yes, to see that they are trained as befits elves, from the earliest possible moment.”

Sharlot stabbed again. “And the parents can be returned to their home.”

Pervical answered this. “Yes, when they are ready to.”

“And if this is before the children are fully trained, the children will remain as the parents leave. Just as the conscripts of our own military are compelled to.”

“It’s for the best.”

Rox and Steven stood up, Steven a beat ahead. “Excuse me Humber Shroober, but NO! Roxanne and I will be taking OUR children Home!”

They were both at the center of every ones attention. Several elves were stifling giggles. Neither Steven nor Rox knew why; Steven dismissed the giggles and kept going.

“I thank you for your help, and all you will yet do to further this cause. But let me say one thing clearly. I am going to get my children back, and I am going to take them back to my house, where my wife and I will raise them. You can help, or stand aside. But I will not allow you to take them from me.”

Later Steven would recognize that this was exactly the scene that Sharlot wanted made.

As it was, the elves were alternately regaining control of their giggles, or sitting in stony offended pride.

After a moment, a male elf from Pervical’s left spoke. “Well, we see that they have the passion necessary to accomplish the task. It appears that they are ignorant of any kind of prophecy and don’t have much care of acting within or without its constraints. Personally, I would just as soon let them get about their parental business, and provide them with whatever help we can.”

Steven and Rox sat back down as the rest politely ceded the conversation to the new speaker.

“My agent has tested and evaluated Steven Phillip, and his equipment. His opinion is that the skills are in place, but some of his equipment is not up to the task of dealing with any magic that he may encounter in his travels. Another agent familiar with Krogg reports that the monarchs there have some fearsome magic to augment their skills. However they have not been on the battlefield in some time. The conclusion is that some replacement equipment is required. Further I have asked Mallob for information of such magical items native to this world as might be useful. He has yet to provide the list, but I trust his office will in reasonable time.”

Mallob answered. “Yes. We are still compiling that list. I was told they expect to have it complete by this afternoon.”

“Good. Steven Phillip, we will cull the list, and present you with what we believe is the best option in private discussion.”

Sharlot took up the point. “And Roxanne?”

This was answered by the person sitting farthest from the clerk. “We are still working out a schedule. We should be ready to proceed this afternoon, if she will be so kind as to return.”

Roxanne stood. “I will.” She sat.

Sharlot continued. “Good. Cuinton what is the evaluation of the traveling gear. Is it acceptable, or can we provide anything?”

Steven stood at this. “Most of it is acceptable. But there are some modifications or alterations that could be made.”

Before he could continue, and knowing that this was not the time or place, he yielded the floor.

The elf that had restarted things after Steven’s standing down of Pervical answered. “Arrangements can be made to provide whatever is desired, so long as there is sufficient communication.”

Steven wished, not for the first time, that the chairs were not back lit, so that he could actually see the faces and details of the elves seated before him.

The elf seated next to the clerk spoke.  “And what of cost? A handful of outfits for those of such size as these are is but a pittance and hardly missed in the budget. But suits of armor and the labor cost for them can be considerable. Not that I expect to outfit these in plate armor, I simply need to know what the costs are anticipated to be. We already owe the Mage a considerable sum.”

Pervical answered this. “Faxeld, it was decided before we started this that the cost would be born. Whatever it was. To their credit, Our Daughter and her paramour apparently understand the value of things generally and are frugal in their doings. I do not expect that they will change and spend us into penury.”

Before anyone else could bring up something Pervical stood. “Is there anything else to be discussed at this time? Then we are done.”

u
� h���s�f aesthetics?” He was calling her bluff, as she rarely went on at length over anything so trivial as clothes or tailors. Nor was she given to high kicks. But Steven blocked this one just off his right shoulder as she pivoted on her left foot, the dress trailing like shimmering clouds.

Steven stepped in and wrapped her in his arms as she regained her footing. “It’ll be all right. Everything will work out.”

Her tears soaked his shoulder, as he held her to him.

As she settled down. Steven started rambling about his own afternoon.

“The ‘specialist’ Verigan came. We sparred. With my sword, I felt like the comparative novice I am, never mind that guy was almost half again my height.”  Steven rubbed her back, the way she liked.

“I took him apart with just my hands, would have made my D.I. proud; but then having his kidneys at my level was almost not fair. I could not really read him, to see whether he was impressed in anything, though.” His left hand still ached from a solid contact where he had slapped the elf’s arm to the floor.

“He looked over my coat and things. His only comment was that I apparently don’t have any armor.” Steven had remembered the first few times in the Marines when his effects had been inspected, and down checked as not yet up to snuff.

“Just before he left, he suggested that the formal from Veradale was tacky, and that I should get a better suit for the meeting day after tomorrow. At least about the suit we agreed.”

This stripped Rox’s emotional gears and struck her sense of humor.

Steven had one last shot. “Caspian said I could use his, and he would go in his skivvies.”

Rox’s tears were overtaken by her laughter as Steven continued to hold her.

072 – Aftermath Of One Meeting, Start Of Another

The other assembled elves stood, and several of them filed out. Steven, Roxanne, and Caspian also stood.

Sharlot, Cuinton, and Mallob all came around the table and approached.

Cuinton was an older male elf, slightly stooped in age, his face full of laugh lines and crows feet, and with the airs of one perpetually discovering delights in new things. Mallob, also an older male, had the airs of an academic more at home in a pile of books than among people; he looked to still be barely containing his mirth. Sharlot was shorter than both of them.

Sharlot spoke first, watching the door close behind Pervical. “Thank you, Steven. By standing up to Pervical, you may have just put him into required agreement with the rest of us.”

Steven inclined his head. “You are welcome. So what actually happens now? Rox comes back later this afternoon. What about myself, and Caspian?”

Cuinton answered this. “First, I need to get that list, and compare it to what we know of Krogg, and make the best decision we can. My agent has told me that you are acceptable, if locally unorthodox in your use of a sword. If it is alright, we will look in that direction for you. As for other equipment, I have to ask around a bit to see who is willing to help and available. That will take a day or two, which is about all the time we have. Then I will send word and you will be able to get whatever you want or need done. Do know this; it is observed that you travel light: if that is your preference, than by all means do not let us over encumber you with useless toys.”

Mallob took the conversation. “Young human, where did you learn that epitaph?”

Steven had to think a moment. “Humber Shroober? I think I got it from Roxanne’s grandmother, Merilyn. Why do you ask?”

Mallob chuckled. “Because I have not heard it in ages. I think it was in this room when your progenitor, Rodira, stormed out, young lady. She called Pervical that after he refused to allow her to marry her human lover.”

Sharlot laughed some and Cuinton guffawed.

Mallob continued. “Come to think of it, about half of the council was here then. As they argued Pervical was trying to assert his right as the father of her betrothed, and she would not have any of it. She had already refused to be in the same room as her betrothed.”

Sharlot finished the story. “She had anticipated something like what happened. She stormed out of here, picked up a bag of what she was taking with, and left the city. Pervical tried to follow. She teleported right out of his sight, and never came back. I saw her twice after that. Once at her wedding, and once at the ring when she and her paramour left the planet. She altered her appearance to that of a human shortly after leaving here. Pervical tried to collect any trace to use to follow her, but she had destroyed nearly all of it before she left.”

Caspian spoke for the first time since entering the room. “Then how did you make the trackers given to me?”

Sharlot smiled. “I said nearly all. I had a lock of hair. Rodira made me swear not to give it to our parents. I never told anyone I had it, until it was determined that you needed to be found, Roxanne.”

Roxanne had spent the whole time looking between Sharlot and Cuinton. At the mention of her name she rejoined the conversation. “You two look similar. How are you related?”

Cuinton’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “I am her uncle. A word of advice: Do not bother seeking out my brother or his wife. They make Pervical look hospitably agreeable.”

Steven wanted to have the unfinished story finished. “What happened to the betrothed, Pervical’s son?”

The three elves looked at anything else, poker faced.

Steven provoked them. “Well?”

Faxeld, who had walked up behind Cuinton, dryly answered the question. “He was mated to my cousin, whom he had already impregnated. Pervical sent them out of the city in shame. They live on the far side of the continent, happy to be away from the meddling of their respective families, at last report.”

Caspian broke out laughing, and had to lean on his staff for balance.

The scandalized elves turned to Faxeld, who stood shorter than the other elves, only a head and little taller than Steven, and carried a large ledger book. He also wore spectacles, for reading, on the tip of his nose.

“Master Cuinton, I would like a moment of your time, before you return to your office.” Faxeld then strode off.

The meeting dismissed, they left to their duties. Steven and Roxanne gathered up the still chuckling Caspian, and went to find lunch.

The new elfin dress fit better than anything Roxanne had ever owned before in her life. It flowed and conformed to her body as if it were liquid poured over her rather than being cloth and it shimmered like liquid. The various blues in the dress accented and complimented her looks orders of magnitude better than the morning’s motley. Steven was speechless when she showed him. The tailors thought it tasteless, but after appealing to their dislike of Clan Leader Pervical, they relented. After having her hair tended to and a light bit of make-up applied, Rox then went to the afternoon clan meeting as she had been bidden.

She found a carriage waiting outside the hotel. This took her to the Clan offices. The elfin word escaped her, but it translated to something close to office. A young elf female just a little taller than she was greeted Rox, as she lighted from the carriage. Were it a car, Roxanne would have just gotten out, but one does not just ‘get out’ of a carriage.

The female elf led her into the building, through a mezzanine, and to the doors leading to Councilor Sharlot’s office. Two guards stood by the hallway doors staring at the far wall, but seeing everything in front of them. Their red motley dress clashed with her blue, but that was not her worry. The young elf left her there, saying for her to stay here until called for, and disappeared.

Roxanne stood there for close to half an hour, before the doors were opened from the inside. She was about to go inside when one of the guards blocked the way with his pole arm. So she stood back and waited. The pole arm retracted. Some functionaries filed out of the room, and scattered down the halls. She was then announced. She took a hesitant step, but no pole arm blocked her path. So she put on her best confidence and strode in to the room. Rox thought she made a good unpretentious entrance.

“So, this is our ‘lost daughter’.”

Rox did not recognize the male voice, but did not like the attitude she heard in it. She stepped forward into a conference room, dominated by a table in the middle, with chairs along either side. Eight elves, both male and female, were seated on either side looking like players ready to enter a scrum, with Rox as the ball. Each senior elf had a junior Assistant who had a folio open before them, with a pen, inkwell, and blotter nearby. A clerk sat off the far end of the table, taking notes, and appeared to be otherwise not involved.

‘These are the friendly ones,’ though Rox. There was not a chair at the end, so she stood at it, looking around. The size difference was enough that she felt like a child looking up at a table of adults. There was a stand at the end of the table, which Rox stepped up onto. Sharlot sat at the far end, on Rox’s left, then her assistant, a younger male; then Faxeld with his books on the table before him, and his clerk, she sat at Rox’s immediate left, and looked as pinched and stone-faced as Sharlot was open. On her immediate right was another male assistant, then Rasgan with a notebook that he scribbled in with a pencil, Mallob sat to his right with another female assistant sitting opposite Sharlot.

Sharlot evidently chaired the meeting, and started in. “Thank you for coming Roxanne. You look nice, the color is very flattering. Now then, Rasgan, you have been scribbling on your schedule since lunch. What have you come to?”

Rasgan did not look up, but spoke as he sorted his writing. “Well, of the four available tutors, only one is willing to have anything to do with ‘an unlearned half-breed’.”

They spoke in the elf-local language, which Rox could still hear and comprehend clearly, but was having increasing trouble articulating smoothly. Rox had a brief epiphany, as she heard a word that caught her attention. Her court discipline held her in check, but now she knew where ‘schwaer’ possibly came from. It was the derisive elf-language word for ‘half-breed’ with related meanings drawn from ‘excrement.’

Rasgan continued. “I have been arranging Master Iver’s schedule, after consulting with all involved, to send his normal students to the other instructors, allowing Master Iver to give as much time as necessary to Roxanne. He will have time tomorrow morning to evaluate Roxanne’s skill and ability level. From there he can better set up what training he will need to provide.”

Rasgan looked up from his scribbling, and at Roxanne. “Is that acceptable, young one?”

For a moment, Rox was going to take offense at ‘young one,’ then remembered that Rasgan was probably an order of magnitude older than herself, and by his look, the oldest at the table.

Setting her pride aside, Rox nodded. “Yes, sir. I will meet with Master Iver tomorrow morning. Is there any preparation for this?”

Rasgan turned back to his notebook, as his clerk seated between himself and Rox started scratching at his book.

“No. I will send a coach that will take you to Master Iver’s. Dress comfortably, as you would for your daily activities. Not in this formal . . . stuff.”

Sharlot moved things along. “Very good. We will be partially at Master Iver’s whims. Moving along. Since Master Cuinton could not join us, I expect you are delegated his information, Master Mallob?”

Mallob looked slightly board. “Yes, madam-chair. Master Cuinton is arranging for each of the Caplan’s to be taken to appropriate outfitters. So as not to overtax any one shop, Roxanne is to be taken to Master Eklund, and Steven to Master Mundrl.”

Rox noticed that Faxeld looked very interested in this.

Mallob continued. “The masters have already been informed, and are willing to help. Roxanne can walk to Master Eklund’s after Master Iver is done with her tomorrow, as their establishments are in proximity. Steven is being sent on a task tomorrow, and upon his completion and return will then be taken to Master Mundrl. It is expected that final equipment and materials will be determined by the masters in working directly with the Caplan’s.”

Faxeld spoke up at this point.

“The masters have been told that they are to operate on an open account, but to be circumspect in what costs they accrue. Pervical and several of the others are already complaining about the costs of this.”

He let this float above the table for a moment. 

075 – Next Steps – More Tests

Journal of Steven Caplan: Day 115

I’ve sat through some pointless meetings before. This was not so much pointless for me as it seemed to be a contest of egos. At least we know clearly who one of our adversaries on this planet is. The rest seem to be high-minded and of sufficiently elevated ego that Caspian’s opinion of them is not entirely unfounded. I expected a bit more snootiness, for my part.

Humor them, play their game, and get on with life

The next morning after Roxanne left, Verigan, the elf that had been acting as the go-between for the elves and Caspian, and the evaluator for Steven, arrived with an amulet on a necklace and a bit of paper with some writing on it. He was as formal and polite as ever.

Steven let Verigan in, closed the door and turned to follow him into the suite. Caspian was already here. Cyrril was absent as usual. Also as usual Verigan started at the reason for his coming.

“Steven, it has been decided that you need to retrieve a sword. This particular sword historically was wielded by a line of kings. Our research about its’ reputed characteristics lead us to conclude that it will be a useful tool in your potential dealings in the kingdom of Krogg.”

Caspian was a moment ahead of Steven to the punch. “What’s special about it, and how will Steven recognize it, and obtain it?”

Verigan looked at his notes, and read from them. “The wielder of the sword apparently ‘could not be touched by magic. It is described as being a straight two-edge sword, simple crossbar, wire wrapped grip.’ As for obtaining it, the kingdom it is in was conquered and destroyed over four hundred years ago.”

Steven had started getting dressed once Verigan had started his briefing. Much as Caspian was of general disposition to verbally spar with the elves, Verigan in particular had ceased to rise to Caspian’s barbs. Now Caspian was apparently trying to puzzle something out.

Steven settled his coat and backpack. “How many days am I expected to be?”

Verigan turned and looked down to Steven. “It is expected you will not be more than two days. You are being sent to a ruined city to hunt through. Our last reports of the area said that things were still of good general condition, but uninhabited. The Kingdom that destroyed the city looted it thoroughly, but left it standing as a monument. It is off any current trade routes, so there are few people who travel there.”

Caspian interrupted. “You are talking about Umieswe, aren’t you?”

Verigan looked to Caspian. “No. Umieswe is to the south east of the continent, and next to the eastern inland trade routes. That was sacked two hundred and forty three years ago, during the Trades-Mans War’s. Steven is being sent to Nydecia’s capitol, east of the center of the continent, destroyed during the Charman Empire consolidation.”

Caspian had to think, this was not a name he readily recognized.

Verigan turned back to Steven. “Our research suggests that the area has some residual magic about it, but it should not be anything belligerent. Also that the sword was not among the treasures looted from the city. The published histories report that the city fell with the death-by-old age of the last king and that the remaining royal family was slaughtered and buried on site rather than taken prisoner. It is expected that this sword is still in the city, and most likely in royal possession. Therefore find The King. Take his sword as your own.”

Steven considered this. “Will I need a shovel?”

Verigan put his paper aside and held out the necklace. It was a silver link chain with a medallion the size of a large coin on it, a stone set in the center of the medallion. “We don’t know. You are being sent alone to scout as a test of your abilities. When you are ready to return, squeeze the medallion, it will activate a teleport and bring you back to where you are teleported from. On your report we can further assist you. Such as to send you with a team of diggers.”

Steven nodded, took the necklace, put it on, and tucked it under his collar. “If I can’t return of my own accord, how long until someone comes looking?”

Caspian answered before Verigan could “They give you two days, I will come on the forth.”

Verigan considered this, and then nodded at Caspian.

Steven patted himself down: belt with a few things and the sword; pack with water bag, and food for a few days; blanked tied to the pack. Coat, hat, gloves, necklace, a few sundries in his pockets. Did he want the camera? No.

Steven looked at the crossbow. He had put it aside, figuring this was a quick effort, and decided he was right to leave it behind.

“I suppose I am ready, Verigan. Where do I leave from?”

Verigan had watched, approving. Now he picked up his paper and motioned to the door. “The café across the street will do. So long as we go quickly.”

Steven got the door, and Verigan stepped out, followed by Caspian. Steven closed the door and followed. Verigan apparently chose a point at random, drew a stick of chalk from his pocket, and put a quick mark on a paving stone in the café’s courtyard.

He turned and looked at Steven. “Hold still please.”

Caspian watched as Verigan set up the teleport spell, locking its locus to the chalk on the cobble. Then with a swirl of energy and a brief puff of displaced air Steven was wrapped up and gone.

Caspian finally had a compliment to Verigan as he started to walk away. “That was very efficient. How will we know when he is returning?”

Verigan stopped and turned. “The barriers around the city warn when someone is passing through them. The spells are discriminating enough to forewarn the correct parties. I expect that you are not among that group.”

Verigan picked up a pebble from a planter. Caspian sensed him put a spell on it that connected to the mark on the paving. He then handed the pebble to Caspian.

“That pebble will vibrate when the mark is activated as the return teleport locus. Good day, Mage Caspian.”

Caspian found himself replying by polite habit. “And good day to you, Verigan.”

Caspian picked a second pebble from the planter, and put them in a pocket as Cyrril swooped in to land on Caspian’s shoulder. The little dragon looked from his master to the departing elf, curious that the usually base level antipathy was not in his master’s mood. Rather his base level mood was mostly puzzlement.

Shortly before Verigan arrived, Rox was met by a two-wheel horse drawn cab and taken to a small shop on the lower flats of the city. Here she was met by a young male who showed her into a work room, and then disappeared. An older male elf was bent over some apparatus. Rox opened her magic senses and identified that there were assorted objects that carried static levels of magic. It reminded her of The Sorceress’s work room.

The older somewhat wrinkly elf was doing some delicate thing, but Rox could not see what through his back, so she stood and waited for him to finish. The elf straightened and arched his back to relieve some strain, and then put a white cloth over his current workspace, and turned on his stool to face Roxanne. He looked her up and down.

Rox had worn one of the skirts she used for travel, with a tunic and vest. She had the staff with her and the chains in a pack over her shoulder.

“So you are Rodira’s descendant.” He spoke in the local language.

“Yes sir.” Rox answered him in English. If this was going to be a powers test, it could go in both directions.

Whether he understood her or not, he continued. “Rasgan was supposed to send you with a note of introduction.”

Roxanne held up the paper she had hitherto wrapped around her staff. “Right here, Master Iver. I will also need it for my introduction to Master Eklund.”

Master Iver took the note and glanced over it, then held it out to return it.

Rox noticed a change on it and stopped herself from taking it. Before she gave it over it was totally mundane, now it glowed to her magic senses. She switched to the first language she knew from this planet.

“What did you just do to it?”

The older elf almost cracked a smile. “Very good, you are magically aware, and have potential to use more than one language.” He waved a hand across the sheet and its energy evaporated.

Roxanne now reached out to it, sensing that it was now unchanged from when she had last possessed it.

Master Iver changed to the same language Rox last used. “You will need to know the local language when you deal with Master Eklund. Unless you know the local traders dialects.”

He stood up before she could take the conversation further in that direction. Standing, Master Iver was nearly half again as tall as Rox, but just as skinny, where many of the elves were proportionally heavier.

“As you should be aware, I have been instructed to determine your fundamental levels of ability and your current level of instruction. The former can be done with a spell, the latter with some time in both classroom and on a training pitch. Please follow me.”

He turned and walked with the gate of someone on their early old age, beginning to loose equilibrium but as yet too proud to use a cane. Rox followed to a work area, and quickly recognized a personal work area.

He stopped at a work table with several things in array. In the clear area before this table sat a stool and an array of items on the floor, in a chalked design of an octogram with inscribed pentacle.

Master Iver pointed at a cleared table. “Deposit all your magic imbued items there. And to your perhaps embarrassment, I mean everything.”

Rox was pleased that she had not worn the local clothes today, and so was spared the embarrassment from when The Sorceress had done the same thing to her. She left the staff and bag of chains on the table. She had not cast spells on anything else, and by her own senses could not sense any other magic on her that she knew how to remove.

“I believe I am as you require, Master Iver. Would you please check to be sure?”

The old elf looked at Roxanne first with some potential annoyance, then with his magic senses. “You are correct, child of Rodira. Step onto the stool.”

Rox looked at the pattern on the floor, and went clockwise around it to ‘north’ and then stepped right into the middle and onto the stool that had been set in the middle. Master Iver looked briefly pleased, than set about finishing his spell setup. His method was not as constrained as Rox remembered The Sorceress using. She figured it was telling in the difference in the skill level of the two casters.

Shortly he had the spell up and running. This time Rox was able to follow it, and sense the pieces of the spell being put together and into motion. When done, Rox felt she was outside herself looking in and could sense a not-quite sphere of energy that swirled around her that had its poles at points above her head and below her feet, and that there were swirls or nexus points of energy within her own body at the chakra points, with streams of energy moving through them. There were secondary points in her limbs that had lesser swirls running out to them and back to the corresponding central points. Last all the cells of her body gave off energy that were effected by and contributed affect to the swirl and overall passage of energy around her.

Rox looked at Master Iver, and for a moment, could see a similar pattern of energy in him and around him.

Then he collapsed the spell, ending it, and swiftly Rox felt her senses return to within her and to normal.

076 – Passing And Being Listened To

Rox had to draw on her past personal training to hold her balance and not collapse as she suddenly felt as if she had run a marathon in ten seconds. After a moment, her equilibrium reestablished, Rox looked around.

Master Iver was scratching with a quill pen on a sheet of paper.

Rox waited until he finished, then spoke up. “What did you find?”

Master Iver turned to her, and held out a cane to her. “That you inherent ability is approximately equal to your progenitors. This is a mild surprise, as most cross-breeds usually loose that in successive generations.”

Rox took the cane in one hand and his proffered hand in her other and stepped the long wobbly step off the stool. “When The Sorceress did this same general thing in Veradale, it was not anywhere near so intense.”

“My apologies for that. I expect I used a much more detailed and advanced spell than was used on you previously.  It has told me several things. Do you know much about genetics?”

“Some,” Rox answered.

“Well, your genetics show you to be exactly one half elf. If I were to unravel your genetic molecule, one half of it would be of human stock, the other of elf stock. This is mildly unusual, as most cross-breeds eventually dilute in favor if which ever side is most dominant in their lineage.

“This has also revealed that your potential for magic is that of your progenitors, not just of your immediate ones, but of the lineage that my top student Rodira, and I myself, are from. I have noted this and will pass it on in my report to Sharlot and Rasgan.”

Master Iver looked at her with a studied neutral. “Now, the questions are: how much do you know? How much do you need to unlearn? How much can I teach you in the time available? And how much are you willing to do?”

At this last, Rox smiled, remembering a similar circumstance in Veradale. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. Though you may want to advise me on why I should not do some things.”

Master Iver almost smiled at this. “Your progenitor told me almost that, once.”

As he turned to use the counter to keep from falling as he knelt on the floor, Rox waited a moment then asked the hanging question. “And what happened next?”

He turned to her, looking her almost in the eye from his knees. “She blew a building from its foundations. Help me clean up this mess.”

Both of them crawled on their hands and knees as they picked up the few bits of stuff, and wiped up the chalk from the floor. He started into her knowledge of theory as they tidied. He did not ask her to belabor anything, but simply quizzed on what she had learned. She started with what The Sorceress had taught her, and continued with what Caspian had taught.

The mess back on the table, he got onto a stool, and she likewise, and he asked what spells she had cast on her own, and how well. She mentioned her spell on her children, and then moved into what she had done since arriving on planet. This brought Rox to the tools: the chains and the staff. Rox explained about them, as best she could. He examined the staff, noted a familiarity with its design, but was otherwise unimpressed. He checked the chains over, and again was not impressed.

“Tools are useful, but the best measure of skill is in how they are used. Time to go show me what you can do.”

Master Iver led Rox to a larger room with assorted things piled about its walls. Rox felt she was in a dojo or similar training room. The next while Master Iver quizzed her on her practical magic skills, by having her do. Rox showed herself to be a shaky novice by his standards, but game to try all she could do. First she was able to light any candle or torch on command. She could push or pull things with ease, in focused efforts or wide areas. She could sense the flow of power, but was not yet using that sense as effortlessly as her others. She could shield herself, and anchor herself with her shields. She could do some low level energy projection, i.e. small energy balls of assorted temperatures and destructive capacities.

The main problem, he told her at the end of the lesson, was that she kept skipping the buffers that normally kept spells from getting out of control. She was putting plenty of power into the spells, and they were generally doing what she wanted, but she was akin to trying to manage a river as one would an irrigation ditch.

At her insistence, he let her put on the chains, and then run through her spells again. He noticed that the chains acted as amplifier and buffer to her efforts. But she was less dependent on them than he feared she might be. They did nothing for her senses.

Finally he called an end to the lesson, citing it was approaching lunch. Master Iver led her back to the work room, and sat on a stool as he began to write on a piece of paper.

“I am instructing Master Eklund to have your chains reworked. As they are, they do adequate, but they could be better. Allow him to do so. I can correct any damage his journeymen do to the magics on them.”

He pulled another sheet and began to fill it out. “Have you been introduced to what a Talent is?”

Rox nodded. “Yes, Master Iver.”

“Good. I will have one here this evening. Stop by on your way from Master Eklund’s. I am not sure which will be showing up. That is irrelevant. The Talent will be imparting into your mind a lot of information in a very short period of time. Have your mind at rest when you come, things will go easier that way. We are done for now. You may show yourself out.”

He kept writing as the young male elf reappeared, carrying a tray with lunch arrayed on it. He set the tray on a table and began unloading it.

“What about language, Master Iver? You said I would need the local language for Master Eklund, but we have not addressed it. It seems to be the one thing you deliberately avoided addressing.”

Master Iver did not look up from where he had paused in his writing. “What do you propose be done about it?”

Rox had taken time to consider this the night before, and had her options ready. “Well, there are three methods: teaching me as one does a child, but that will take too long. Using magic in one of two methods that have been used on me previously, to give me at least a temporary command of the language. Or that Talent you mentioned installing the knowledge in me. However that is not viable for the moment, as you say the Talent is not here just now.

“In relation to the magic forms, Caspian tried to cast a spell on me, and my husband, that would draw on the minds around to glean their language knowledge and copy it into me. But apparently the spells intrinsic to this city have not allowed that process to take permanent hold the way that the same spell did previously to provide me with the language of those I was among in Veradale. As I stand, I can comprehend the local language as well as every other language I know. But I cannot speak the local language. I have comprehended this language every time I have heard it spoken, even before I had it introduced into my mind by magic.

“Mallob suggested I take this up with you, when I asked him about this yesterday.”

Rox stood her ground and waited, uncertain what nonverbal cues she was seeing Master Iver give. Master Iver looked at his assistant, apprentice, whatever who simply continued setting up lunch for two and then sat waiting for Master Iver to join or give leave to begin.

Finally Master Iver gave his almost smile. “Fine.”

He turned to Rox and pointed at her, chanting in quiet rapidness. She felt a spell organize around him, then transfer to her.

He put his hand down. “You evidently have not realized that the spell you put on your children, and your mother put on you, was not a new spell of your own creation, but rather a transfer of an existing spell. This spell was created and cast by Rodira on herself, then transferred to her offspring. You did not need to mention it much, as it is most likely the typical spell done to change physical features, and runs off the energy of the current host. Knowing what I knew of my student, she probably put her knowledge of a few things into the transference. This would include her fluency with languages. I surmise by the age of the spell, or by her choosing, the spoken fluency has not obtained. That is simple enough to fix, but as you have reported, it will not permanently take if the spell is cast within the boarders of this city.”

Master Iver paused. “The talent this evening is apparently the quickest remedy. In the mean time, I have restored the spoken fluency, from the mages previous spell. It may not last long, but should last at least through the afternoon.”

Rox made a conscious effort to use the local language now. “Thank you, Master Iver.”

He finally let the smile out, briefly. “You are welcome, Student Roxanne.”

He turned to his lunch and his notes, and she to the door.

Rox went outside, and was startled briefly by how much brighter it was outside than inside. Blinking her eyes to adjust, she looked around and spotted the same cab from earlier, and had it take her home, for lunch and her gear.

Lunch was unremarkable, as was the trip back to the shop of Master Eklund. As she went, Rox felt that this was a bit more superfluous than the meetings she had been subjected to. But she was willing to humor things. She had packed up all her clothes she had worn on the trail and the gowns and under things that had been made in the last few days here.

She was wearing her skirt this day, as her trousers had been damaged during a sparing session with Caspian and Steven; the inseam on the crotch had been ripped out, and there was not enough material to properly repair it a third time.

The shop had bolts of fabric on tables and shelves to one side, rolls and laid-out furs and leather to the other. There were a few elves gossiping, as they purchased fabric. Rox was shown to the back area of the shop, and between a pair of tables chest-high to Rox.

A younger elf approached. “You are the niece of Sharlot?”

Rox nodded through the pile in her arms. “Yes I am.”

“Good. You can lay out all your things here. The Master will be with you shortly. He is helping to fit an unruly child.”

Rox put her pile down, and then lay everything out. The four gowns, white, blue burgundy and motley; then the elf foundation garments with five of the thongs. Rox had anticipated being told to strip again, so she had put on a pair of spandex shorts with one of the elf-thongs under it under her skirt. She put down the stockings and slippers that came with the gown next to them. Then she put down her freshly washed tunics, her irreparable trousers, her poncho, her spandex bras and shorts, her socks, and her leather equipment in its various subgroups. As Rox put it down, she spread it out just to keep it in discrete groups. She had not brought her bow or arrows. The tailor who had made the four gowns and other things showed up with a list of Rox’s measurements.

Rox was leaning against the table as this older female elf approached.

“Good day, young lady.”

Rox inclined her head at the taller elf. “Good day, Ma’am. Are you to help here?”

“Yes and no,” the Tailor responded. She put her list of numbers down, and then looked at Rox’s trousers. She picked them up and examined the seams, and the fabric.

“What happened?” She had the trousers inside out, looking at the repaired and ripped out seam.

“Jumping high kick split the seam the first time; a dodge the second time; a kick the third time. By then, as you can see, there was not enough good fabric to repair the seam. If it was constructed the way my clothes at home are, with a piece of fabric here in the form of a bellows, it would not have ripped.

Rox described what she meant using a scrap of fabric, as the Tailor watched intently. As Rox finished, she noticed that a tall, skinny older male elf had shown up and was respectfully watching.

The tailor turned to the older elf. “Master Eklund.”

“Master Senisith.”

“This delightful young woman was just explaining how these trousers were not constructed correctly, and how they could be.”

“So I observed as I approached.” He turned from the tailor to Rox. “You have a letter of introduction?”

Roxanne produced the letter that she had earlier presented to Master Iver. Master Eklund did not even give it a first look. He took it and set it aside.

“So much for formalities. Now, tell me young lady, what can we really do for you?”