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"We have minutes, if that," Kors calculated, glancing down the hallway. "We're pretty far beneath the Harbor Guild, but the Watcher probably told the guards exactly where to find us."
"Find me something flammable," Calistra ordered, rising shakily to her feet. She gingerly cradled her seared hand by the wrist, teeth gritted in concentration as she commanded nearby water to soak the useless limb.
"Here," Keevan pointed out, begrudgingly pulling a bottle of oil off the bottom shelf. It was probably for the Rhets among their guards, even the Harbor Guild had to give its weaker members an elemental aid for working torches. As dangerous as it was in Calistra and Kors' company, the Harbor Guild would do much worse to him. Then who would save Bahjal?
"Break it over the trap door," Calistra ordered.
Kors chuckled at that. "Indeed. Light it and let's be off."
Holding the bottle by the neck, Keevan smashed it against the melted lock. Greasy oil covered his right hand and the sleeve of his cloak, as well as the floor of the storage room. Calistra hobbled over to the dark, slick liquid and snapped the fingers of her good hand. Sparks fell, igniting the shipping oil.
Yellow flames leapt into the air, banishing the subterranean cold. Some oil fell through the melted lock into the chamber bellow, carrying the same burning hues into the Watcher's domain. Keevan gulped. Calistra was right. The guards would have to tend to the fire before resuming their search.
With Kors in the lead, they ducked into the hallway, just as the Watcher sent another wave of elements into the earth beneath their feet. Dust sprinkled onto Keevan's hair and down his neck. He stumbled on the trembling floor, steadying himself against the wall's cold, rough stones. Instinctively, he switched to his elemental vision, detecting only a faint glow of heat beneath the floor from the Watcher's assault.
"Douse the eyes," Kors ordered, cuffing Keevan behind his left ear. The blow left a stinging pain in its wake. "The guards will see."
"Through here," Calistra ordered, guiding them to another side door. Ahead, the stomping of a dozen metal boots announcing the guards' presence, accompanied by shouts of orders and the hissing of various weapons sliding from their sheaths. "Handle the lock, Kors."
The big Etrendi put his hand against the key hole, drawing water from the surrounding atmosphere into it. A sudden chill filled the air, and Kors pulled a key of ice from the lock, grinning in satisfaction. "There's a trick you'll never see in the courts."
"No time for gloating," Calistra snapped. Shadows and firelight danced on the wall ahead of them where the tunnel turned.
"Right," Kors said, unlocking the door.
They slipped into the dark room, shutting the door behind them, just as the guards rounded the corner. Again, the earth rumbled and a couple guards clattered to the ground with shouts of alarm.
"Send a runner to tell the Watcher that's enough!" one guard bellowed in irritation. "If we can't keep our footing, the intruders certainly can't."
"Yes sir," a young guard answered, clattering back the down the hallway as the floor shook for a third time.
Keevan couldn't help but appreciate the effectiveness of Calistra's distraction. The burning oil above the trap door would keep sending drops of heated oil or flecks of smoldering wood into the Watcher's field. What would the great sentry think? He'd already blasted the area four times with enough force to slaughter a small army. Keevan could only imagine the chaos that would hit the city at large, its citizens sensing the countless vibrations from each assault and fearing the worst.
"Back here," Calistra ordered, knocking aside a stack of empty crates, her path lit by the red glow of her wounded hand. Kors hurried after her, digging their way towards the back wall.
They stood in a different kind of stock room, full of boxes, rope, pulleys and other contraptions Keevan could only assume originated from one of the Harbor Guild's many ships. They were the most secretive of the guilds and few non-members were ever allowed to set foot on their crafts. Saving Keevan as an infant was one of those few exceptions.
"There," Calistra sighed in relief. "Here's our way out."
She stood before a small iron grate, barely wide enough to fit Kors' bulky shoulders. Despite the thick dust coating its metal bars, the bolts holding it over the crawlspace were suspiciously shiny. Kors immediately went to work, freezing and thawing water intermittently to loosen the bolts. A thought caught at Keevan, a realization.
"How'd you know exactly where that grate would be?" Keevan asked. "Neither of you could have gotten within a hundred yards of this place, you're not Harbor Guild material. Zerik has someone in the Guild, doesn’t he? Someone who loosened up the spikes for you. You needed to surface in Harbor Guild territory so I couldn't just turn you two into the palace guards and find Bahjal."
Calistra sighed. "This one's a bit too smart for his own good, isn't he?"
"Almost," Kors prodded absentmindedly, his attention fixed on the grate's metal bars fixed in the adjacent stonework. "He is still missing a few pieces."
"Stop hinting for him, then," Calistra snapped. "We're in enough trouble as it is," She tried to cuff him behind the ear, but bumped her wounded hand against a stack of boxes next to her, hissing in pain.
"Zerik figured the boy was sharp enough to figure this out," Kors replied emptily. He smoothly pulled one of the iron spikes from the edge of the grate. "There's nothing the boy can actually do but cooperate. He can't interfere in the plan, neither can you, for that matter. So stop worrying."
"If your plan was so perfect, why did this have to happen?" Calistra grumbled, lifting her smoldering hand into view. Her twisted, misshapen fingers set Keevan's stomach twisting with nausea, even before smelling the scent of melted human flesh.
"My guess is they don't completely trust you. So severe a wound will weaken your elemental commands, so now we both are at Kors' mercy," Keevan said, folding his arms in defiance. Calistra paused, glaring at Kors in shock, as if realizing a few deeper truths herself. Keevan continued. "Try kidnapping a few more helpless children Calistra, maybe then Zerik's people will like you more."
"Cut the sarcasm. Bahjal De'Sarthan is far from helpless," Kors muttered, steam rising from the ice around the next spike. "Stop distracting me."
"She's a Rhet, you're an Etrendi," Keevan replied. "You could have captured her without hurting her so much. I've never seen that much blood at one time."
"The blood wasn't hers," Kors growled, pulling another spike free. "She seriously wounded three of my men in the brawl."
"I don't believe you," Keevan said stubbornly. "I've known her for years. She's just a Rhet. Nothing to you Etrendi. You didn't accidently bruise your leg either, I bet."
Calistra uttered a slight gasp and took a step back in shock. "That's why you made sure I took my father's ring? To make sure I could melt the lock and do this to myself?!" She raised her withered, melted hand to his face.
Kors rolled his eyes and stood to his full height, holding an iron spike like a dagger. "Zerik knew you were impulsive and powerful, a dangerous combination on any mission. We had to test you. Up until now, you've done your job well and we'll do what we can for your hand when this is over."
"Why don’t you burn out a limb and then tell me everything will be alright?!" Calistra hissed.
"Enough," Kors ordered, reaching down and pulling the grate free. He left three inches of ice atop all the fingers of his right hand, like an inhuman pair of claws. "Calistra leads and Keevan follows. I'll bring up the rear. Now hurry, before the guards check this room."
Whatever her reservations, Calistra restrained her tongue and crawled into the tunnel. It only took one glance at Kors' cold eyes and sharp claws to make Keevan's limited options clear. Somehow, he had to get the upper hand. He gulped nervously and followed after Calistra.
The narrow passage lacked the smooth stones of the melted tunnels beneath the palace. Here, the tips of other bolts, sharp edges of roughly laid stone and poky bones of dead rodents prodded at them from various angles as they crawled. Thick dust coated his sweating skin and oil-soak hand. Kors kept their pace slow and steady, grumbling at each corner where he could barely make the turns. They passed a couple small grates, too small for anyone to fit through.
Eventually, Calistra and Keevan were a couple body lengths ahead of Kors. With every few feet, Keevan caught a faint whimper of sorrow. The air behind her felt frigid, but lacked the numbing power one would expect of a crying Etrendi. Oddly enough, he felt sorry for her. Zerik read her well. She would blindly obey until he finished with her, as long as Arnadi paid in the end.
"Calistra," Keevan whispered. "Looks like we're both in over our heads."
"Uh huh," The Arnadi heiress sobbed softly. "I just wanted to hurt my father. No one else."
"Pretty sure I could think of easier ways to do that than burn out your own hand."
"They were ... sabotage his supplies ... for me. Make him ... laughing stock... of Issamere," Calistra replied, her tears breaking up her words with each haggard breath.
"If I can get us away from Kors, will you help me?" Keevan asked, whispering so low he feared she hadn't heard him at all. Kors huffed along behind them, cursing at the occasional prodding bolt as he squeaked around another corner.
"Yes," Calistra murmured. They turned into a straight section of tunnel, the light of two grates shinning ahead of them like candles of a warm house welcoming them home. "But... careful. Kors ... killed. When the mission is ... might have orders to kill me... too. They surely have plans for you though."
"I have plans for them too, now," Keevan answered, "No one beats my friend and gets away with it."
Chapter 17
Keevan fought unsuccessfully against a fierce sneeze. The stagnant air in the tunnel seemed to coat his lungs and tickle his nose to no end. The Watcher's earth-shaking assaults had ceased. Despite the distance they'd crawled, Keevan hadn't heard any voices, nor cries of alarm. None of the rooms they passed were occupied by a single soul. Whatever they're objective, it lay in a secure portion of the palace few could access, if they ever did at all.
"Stop whispering, you two. Calistra, melt your way through the second grate." Kors barked, shortening the space between them now that he didn't have any turns to worry about. After a moment's hesitation, he added. "Can you manage it without hurting yourself more?"
"Yes," Calistra answered, though her voice was strained from crying. "It will take a couple minutes though."
"Then get started," Kors ordered. "I've got insects crawling around in some ungodly places."
"Alright. Keep your distance, Keevan," Calistra said. They reached the grate and she lay on her side, looking out through the dust coated bars. Even from a body length away, without his elemental vision, Keevan could see her elemental control slipping.
Though the metal caught a faint red glow and the dust around it smoldered, the whole tunnel around her flickered with heat from odd directions. Random spider webs or patches of dust smoldered within three feet of her in every direction. Gradually, the iron bars shifted from a dull red to a vibrant yellow. The air around the grate shimmered with heat. Keevan suddenly felt very gratefully they lay in a stone shaft and not a wooden structure.
Soon, a puddle of molten iron lay where the grate once hung. With a wave of cold to cool the metal, drawing on her despair far faster than she did in the tunnel, she crawled out into the light. Keevan followed.
They did not look like great thieves of legend, clad in leather and black to hide in the shadows. Instead, they were coated in dust, bruises and bugs. Kors didn't look much better, as he scrambled from the tunnel. His back popped as he stood straight, sighing in relief.
Glancing down at his feet, Keevan noticed a thin grate looking down onto smooth, molten rocks. They stood just above the catacomb's tunnels. Kors had 'tripped' in order to force Calistra to wound herself in the escape. Keevan shot the big exile a measuring glance. Had he memorized the catacomb's layout as well? Whatever role Calistra played in this heist's earliest stages, the authority Kors pretended she had was no more. They could have easily melted the grate from the catacombs beneath, but for some reason, Kors wanted Calistra maimed in the escape.
"What is this place?" Keevan asked. They stood in a circular stone room, reaching at least three stories high. A thick stone door on the north side of the room bore thick layers of disturbed dust from recent turning. Drawers and shelves lined every available inch of space, with narrow rusty, ladders welded into the wall at various points. Wide windows above lit the swirling dust around them, giving the impression they stood in a swarm of insects reaching up to the morning light.
"A Repository," Calistra answered, awed despite her wounds. "It's as old as the city itself, from a time when the Tri-Beings were more capable with the elements than we are now."
"When you could become an element at will, Narivatari," Keevan echoed, feeling a nervous tingle settle in his stomach. That was the prime reason the Harbor Guild agreed to let Keevan live all those years ago. If the entire Tri-Being race couldn't rediscover the lost art of fully becoming an element, perhaps a Sight Seeker could. A promise his lack of elemental power made very difficult to keep giving the Harbor Guild with each passing year.
"Yes," Kors echoed, staring up at the ceiling. "Records were kept on metal plates then. Tri-Beings turned into water or fire to raise themselves up to whatever heights were required to get what they needed. In our less-enlightened time, we use ladders."
"Why are we here then?" Calistra asked. "This can't be what this whole mission was about. Half the Harbor Guild and all the high ranking Suadans can access this place."
"It's not about Zerik's inability to get it himself, or whatever influential friend he's working for," Keevan grumbled, glaring at Kors. "It's about having the job taken care of by an exile and a rebellious girl, so Zerik and his friend can keep their hands clean."
Kors chuckled. "Just a day in the bowels of Issamere and you're already catching on. For generations the Etrendi have struggled and plotted against each other for the upper hand. If we were united, we could conquer this continent. But instead, we bicker and plot among ourselves."
"And your solution is to bicker and plot against your fellow Etrendi?" Keevan countered. In the distance, the earth rumbled a final time. Soldiers barked orders and distant feet echoed from the tunnel. They'd found the other storage room and the broken grate.
Kors rolled his eyes. "Enough talk. Use your eyes sight seeker. We're looking for records from ten years ago, a shipping manifest from a naval battle with an outlander vessel."
"Me?" Keevan asked, shrugging helplessly. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You're the one with the elemental sight," Kors insisted, jabbing his finger at the countless shelves above them. "Start 'reading' the elements. Tell me what you see."
Blues and reds burst into life above Keevan's head as he switched his vision to the elemental plane. The whole eastern wall glowed a faint red from the rising sun. Moisture swirled in the air, propelled by the Repository's new occupants and the shifting temperatures from Kors and Calistra's elemental fields. What stood out most however, was a single shelf five yards up and to Keevan's left. A weak repulsor orb glowed faintly, pushing away moisture.
"You said the ancient records were written on stone?" Keevan asked.
"Metal, yes," Calistra confirmed. "Tri-Beings could turn into water, ice, fire or even lightning. You'd need something a lot tougher than paper to write on."
"Kors, how many records did you say were transferred to this room?"
"Our contact said thousands," Kors said. "Why?"
"Apparently there's only one worth shielding from moisture. Only one worth preserving," Keevan pointed upwards, along a nearby ladder.
"Bring it all down here," Kors ordered. "Every shelf."
"It's your mission," Keevan said. "Why don't you go get it?"
"Because I'm too big for those rusty ladders and Calistra can't climb in her condition," Kors growled, the air around him spiking with sudden heat. "Get. Up. There."
Keevan glanced at Calistra. She kept staring up at the Repository walls around them, granting him a hopeful smile. A nervous shudder settled in Keevan's gut. There were risks to feeding a person's hope. Particularly if you were making things up as you went along. If nothing else, Calistra had proven quite capable at hate. Not someone you wanted to disappoint.
"Fine," Keevan relented, scaling the ladder. The going was slow and tentative. The oil soaking his right hand and sleeve limited his grip. Some of the rusted rungs even bent under his weight, forcing him to awkwardly skip them. The rusty equipment must have laid there for centuries, untouched by anyone but time itself. Whoever switched out the records had done so quite carefully. They even had the foresight to sprinkle dust over the disturbed drawer. Only Keevan's power could have seen the water repulsor orb.
As he tested each foot hold for stability, he noticed his changing height allowed him to better see which records were recently disturbed. He could also more clearly read their description, etched on the front of each drawer. An icy realization clung to him with the same level of ferocity with which he grappled with the ladder. Every disturbed record he could see from his perch, had to do with Sight Seekers. Someone was studying up on his kind, a lot.
A minute later, he hung just within reach of the stone drawer. The ladder groaned in complaint as he leaned over, pushing aside some very understandable concerns with his current height above the stone floor. For some reason, his mind kept feeding on the image of him falling through the grate in the room's center, to be incinerated at the Watcher's will.
"Steady," Keevan whispered, both to himself and the ladder beneath his feet. He wrapped his fingers around the drawer's cold handle and pulled. The drawer slid out with surprising ease, though the hinges beneath groaned from the shifting weight. Glancing inside, he noted it was at least ten feet long, supporting an intense load on thousand-year-old bolts. He recognized the fresh metal work on the inside though, these were recently reinforced. Did that mean the rest of the drawers were more fragile?
Inside it, dozens of thin metal plates lay against each other. Two in particular, held a single paper document between them. At the front of the drawer, a water repulsor glowed to his vision, the device responsible for preserving the paper.
"Well?" Kors called.
"There are a couple dozen pages here," Keevan lied, his mind working with a sudden, feverish intensity. "They're pinned between the metal ones. Can you give me some details on what you're looking for? Surely they didn't just tell you to torch everything."
"It's a naval battle. The only ship the Harbor Guild ever lost to an Outlander vessel," Kors called up. "Hurry, the soldiers will start checking every room on this floor next, including this one."
Keevan slipped the paper into view, but kept it inside the drawer, making sure to rummage around a bit with his free hand. While he stalled a frustrated Kors with frantic arm gestures, his eyes soaked in the document greedily. He needed to know every detail. It was indeed a record of casualties from a Harbor Guild voyage gone wrong. It was the only time he'd ever heard of Outlanders winning, though in this case, it was more of a draw. Both ships were destroyed. Keevan skipped along till he found the paragraph with the most information.
'Rain Cutter's Final Voyage (The Third of Madenhiem, 1039)
Full battle with Outlander vessel on the edge of the Undying Storm. Outlander vessel managed to board the Rain Cutter and attempted to take it. Captain Hamor used his Danica weapon to sink both ships and escape. Both ships were destroyed, with only two survivors found a week later on a nearby island. All cargo lost. Hamor was relieved of his naval command soon after returning to port.
Casualties: Whole crew, comprised of 3 sub-captains, 5 deck hands, 1 navigator.
Funerals: 5 were done at sea. 4 were preserved for burial in Issamere.
Survivors: Captain and one crewman.'
Keevan trembled in frustration. This was what Bahjal's life hung in the balance over? Sure, a lost ship would be a black eye on the Harbor Guild's perfect record against the Outlanders, but it was hardly cause for blackmail. Certainly not in such a roundabout way as to require 'outside' help. Gritting his teeth, he rolled up the paper around the water repelling orb, so he could pocket the artifact without Kors noticing.
"Finally," Kors growled, pacing along at the base of the ladder like a feral animal, anxious to feed. As Keevan descended, he careful pulled the paper from his pocket, leaving the repulsor orb. This type only pushed away water, so its usefulness was limited. His stomach gurgled uncomfortably, its contents shifting as the orb's field affected his own body.
"Let me see it," Kors demanded, snatching the paper away before Keevan could set foot on the floor. Kors held the page open with the same fervor Keevan had, staring at its contents for a full minute, brow furrowed in confused concentration. "What in Hiertalia is this? This is the right battle, but... Why would this be worth the trouble?"
Keevan walked around Kors, to the center of the room, beckoning Calistra with a wave of his hand. She pursed her lips nervously, glanced at Kors' turned back and nodded, joining him. Keevan shrugged off his cloak, setting the oil-stained sleeve above the grate. "When I say run, light it," He whispered to Calistra, handing her the repulsor orb. She stared at the stone in surprise and then nodded in determination.
Then he quietly walked to the drawers set over the ventilation shaft's melted grate. They slid open with ease, hoping on bated breath. A shudder of relief touched his heart. These hinges weren't reinforced, there were no secret documents worth preserving in these. But as he pulled them forwards a full ten feet, they creaked uneasily. Hundreds of pounds of metal hanging against two thick hinges in the back of the shelf.
"What are you doing?" Kors said, whirling on them. The record smoked in his hand, yellow flames consuming it hungrily.
"Run!" Keevan cried. Calistra snapped her fingers and bolted towards the melted grate. The sparks fell onto the oil-soaked sleeve of Keevan's coat, catching flame immediately.
A moment of confusion, even humor crossed Kors' face, watching Keevan and Calistra scamper under the drawers and towards the tunnel he could easily pursue them through. He chuckled openly, shaking his head in disgust. Then a burning stitch of Keevan's cloak fell through the grate.
"No!" Kors shouted, realization dawning as he charged after them. To Keevan's elemental vision, every drop of moisture in the room leapt from their resting place and rushed at them with all the force an Etrendi could muster. Gallons of water, frozen into icy hooks, slammed into Calistra's repulsor field, hurling her into Keevan as they both rolled into the tunnel.
The earth heaved with another blast from the Watcher. Kors fell to the earth and the shelves between him and Keevan, already tilting against the great weight of hundreds of metal pages, shrieked in surrender and fell to the ground with a thud, their cargo spilling across the floor. The enraged Etrendi bellowed in frustration, trying to claw his way after them, but the earth trembled again and Kors fell into the metal pile.
"Crawl," Keevan ordered, pushing Calistra ahead of him. "I don't care where. Just hurry. Give me the orb, in case he gets through. I'll need to block his water."
"He'd just as soon burn you to death," Calistra grunted, crawling along the tunnel with all the haste she could manage, three limbs notwithstanding.
"Not if his boss has more plans for me. Which at this point is a guaranteed certainty."
"Fine. Here," Calistra passed him the orb. Its smooth, cool exterior gave Keevan a small sense of security. At least, with one of those in hand, he could delay someone like Kors. That's more than his sight seeker powers could ever manage.
Behind them, the heavy stone door slammed open with an ominous thud. Soldiers shouted in alarm, weapons hissing from their sheaths. Kors roared in anger. Metal shrieked on metal, the earth rocked from another blast of the Watcher. Everything fell quiet.
Terror settled in Keevan's mind, a silent, persistent need to keep moving. The soldiers would have kept talking once they won, questioning the prisoner or at least calling for support. That left only one other option. They crawled on, too scared to speak. Their tunnel turned twice before gradually sloping upwards. They passed two other grates, too small to escape through.
The bolts, bugs and dust clung to him again. This time, without the added insulation of his cloak. The cold nibbled away at his hands, ears and nose, drawing shivers and numbing his senses. He noticed blood on his hands as they crawled passed another small grate. There were some advantages to a lack of feeling. He sucked blood from his thumb. If they survived this, he'd have to find a Rhet healer to help him prevent infection. He learned long ago that Suadan healers could do nothing to help someone like him, except drown him.
At the next grate, they froze. Its light flickered with moving shadows. A dozen confused voices argued together, too faint to pick out more than their general tone. Metal rasped against metal and heavy boots plodded against the ground. Keevan felt his fear escalate, until his heart pounded so loud he wondered why the Harbor Guild's men hadn't heard it.
"What do we do?" Calistra whispered.
"All I can do is wait them out," Keevan replied, biting back a fierce cough. He felt as though the tunnel itself was trying to choke the life from him with dust alone. "I’m an Outlander, remember? I'd wind up floating face down in the wharf. You would get sent off to a nice cushy dungeon until your father collected you."
"You could just wait here. I could tell the Council where you are, once I'm clear of the Harbor Guild," Calistra insisted. "You'd only have to wait about half a day."
"With Kors the Gods-only-know-where," Keevan added, shuddering. "What if he gets back into the tunnels? You're the best chance I have against him."
"We wouldn't stand a chance in a real fight," Calistra muttered, cradling her swollen, blacked hand. "We got away, barely, by surprising him and luck that those drawers couldn't hold their weight."
"Not quite luck," Keevan added with a grin. "My dad's a blacksmith, remember? No way could those bolts still support that load after a full millennia without being reinforced. I got a close look inside the first one, trust me."
Calistra rolled her eyes. "Great. If we ever have to out-blacksmith him, we're all set."
"Look, I'm just saying-"
"What's that?" Calistra asked, pointing over his shoulder. Her face suddenly turned a few shades whiter.
"What?" Keevan replied, turning. "Oh no."
A wall of water filled the shaft, slowly encroaching on their position. It silently swallowed up everything it passed, leaving only a dark, shimmering shadow in its wake. Ahead of them, a similar field of liquid drifted closer. Energy strands tied both of them to a powerful source in the room Keevan couldn't see unless he got closer to the grate, but he couldn't ignore the fact the room suddenly lay dead quiet. Poking his head into view could mean discovery, if they weren't found out already.
"We'll be alright, right?" Keevan asked, crawling alongside Calistra. He caught a glimpse of her drawn, tired face and marveled at the sharp contrast he found there with the calculating, beautiful Etrendi he met in the Steam Gardens a day earlier. He nodded at the orb in her hands, its field would extend far enough to offer air to breath, barely.
"It's an exterminator's trick," Calistra said in defeat. "My father uses it against the barbarian armies at times. Get them crowded in with water and run a lightning bolt through it. They're likely still hunting Kors. If they think we're him..."
A sudden image of electrocution, followed by drowning in the tunnel's narrow confines, set Keevan's mind into panic mode. "Can you melt your way through the grate one last time?"
"What if it's Kors? A Danica enhanced weapon could do this. Maybe he got one of the guards."
"Then I'll try to buy you time to escape. He can't kill me, remember?"
Calistra sighed, crawling towards the grate. "Alright. I wish for your sake that didn't leave him with so many options, when it comes to maiming and torture." Keevan shuddered, pushing those thoughts from his mind. They wouldn't do him any good here. Keevan crawled up to the grate, finding himself nose to feet with polished, embroidered leather shoes.
"Well, Keevs, that was quite a moment for you. I'm tempted to fetch you a medal, right here and now," Bahjal leaned down in front of the grate, face bruised but her eyes alight with mischief and humor.
"Bahj?!" Keevan replied. "But how? I thought you were injured? Captured even?"
"Meh, it wasn't my blood I was covered in," Bahjal replied, running her fingers along the grating. "The unconsciousness and the concussion were real though. Took an hour to recover from those. Wait a second."
Water ran along the edges of each bolt, spinning and swirling into place before freezing and pushing and grinding. The sound sent chills down his spine, like someone chewing on glass. The entire grate slid out into the room, still connected to its bolts. She'd used water and ice to erode the stone itself from the iron. "Bahj," Keevan echoed softly in sudden realization, "You're an Etrendi."
Gauntleted hands pulled Keevan and Calistra free of the tunnel. For a few moments, the light from the windows felt far too bright and Keevan's eyes couldn't discern more than random flashes of element. Finally, he set his elemental vision aside, letting his normal vision adjust. A half dozen Harbor Guild soldiers stood around them, hands on their hilts, eyes never settling on one thing for more than a second.
"I assume you have news of the intruder, Sight Seeker?" Bahjal asked, with an air of superiority only mastered by the Etrendi. Her entire demeanor was different now, right down to her perfect posture. Only then did he notice her attire, a Suadan weaving of fine linens designed to emphasize both her curves and her control of water, should she feel the need to draw liquid into the loose, looping fibers.
"Uhhh. Yeah," Keevan answered stupidly, still trying to put all the pieces together. Calistra regarded Bahjal with equal incredulity. After all, only two days ago they'd stood in opposite circumstances, with Calistra as the mighty Etrendi and Bahjal as the dirty, grease-covered little girl.
He recalled Madol's words that she was 'more than she appeared'. Somehow, the Persuader recognized her for Etrendi. Perhaps that was the real reason he dismissed her so abruptly, to help her keep her rank hidden from both the curious soldiers and Keevan himself.
"Well?" one of the soldiers cut in. He stood a head taller than Keevan spoke in a deep, throaty growl. "Which way did he go? We've word the exile, Kors, has penetrated our district's walls. The Malik and every councilman in the city are on high alert. Now, will you stop drooling over the girl and give me some reliable information?!"
"The Repository," Keevan managed to squeak. "He was there last I saw him, something about destroying Harbor Guild records or some such."
"My patrol is due back from that wing any minute," the soldier huffed. "They can tell me if you're lying or-"
"Your men didn't make it," Calistra snapped back. "Not judging by what we heard when we fled."
The soldier paused, looking Keevan and Calistra over from head to toe. "I will investigate immediately. Lady De'Sarthan, would you mind waiting here, until we're sure of the situation?"
Bahjal waved at him, flashing two Danica based rings Keevan recognized as previous special orders from Nariem's shop. "I believe I've enough tools here to challenge Kors if need be. Go see to your men. They'll likely need assistance."
"As will Calistra," Keevan added, realizing Calistra had kept her wound hidden until now.
"I will see to it," Bahjal insisted before the soldier could step forward. "Go see to your men. Hurry, this Kors is quite dangerous. Your patrol may already be dead, at the least, they need healing."
"As you command, Lady De'Sarthan." The soldier saluted, interlocking his fingers and offering her a slight bow. Then he departed.
"By Suada's mercy," Keevan said in surprise, "I thought you were-"
Bahjal's hand snapped into his face so fast he bit his tongue. He reeled back a step, tasting blood. Calistra only smirked at the exchange.
"What were you thinking?!" Bahjal demanded, clenching her fist and shaking it threateningly in his face. "I just told you yesterday to be careful how you presented your powers to the city. You just slipped two dangerous Etrendi into the place, two of Zerik's own followers, a sworn enemy of Malik Morgra. Are you insane?!"
"There wasn't any other choice." Keevan insisted, tripping over a chair in his hasty retreat. He grunted in pain as the hard stone ground raced up to meet his already bruised body. "It was help him or watch you die. You should be grateful."
"Grateful?!" Bahjal shrieked, steaming hot water gathered around her like the coils of a serpent. "Anyone who wants to force you into their service now knows that kidnapping and threats work. Malik Morgra could very well brand you a traitor and have your corpse hanging from the Harbor Guild's ceiling by dawn."
"I wasn't going to let them kill you," Keevan repeated stubbornly, getting back to his feet. His face, arms and legs ached from a dozen minor wounds. They didn't help his mood. "You're my best and only friend."
Bahjal paused at that, pouting her lips in stubborn relent. "We'll discuss this later, then."
"I’m fine with discussing this now," Keevan added tentatively. "For example, how are you suddenly a powerful Etrendi?"
"No time," Bahjal snapped, taking a look at Calistra's hand. She gasped in surprise, realizing the wound's severity. "Oh, that's a nasty one. You really burned out your hand. Can you make it to the Palace grounds? The Suadans are here, one of their delegates can treat you. That must be agonizing. They'll likely arrest you afterwards, though."
"I made it this far," Calistra added evenly, through gritted teeth. Even as she spoke however, she wobbled unsteadily, forcing Keevan to hold her shoulder in support. Bahjal caught his gesture with an arched eyebrow of suspicion. Calistra continued, "My father will come for me. I won't be imprisoned long. Not in a dungeon anyway, just my father's grounds."
"Then let's go," Bahjal ordered, something bitter flashing in her eyes as she looked from him to Calistra. "The De'Sarthan family hasn't had enough political pull to trump the Harbor Guild in two decades. The second a Harbor Guild nobleman gets down here, we're at their mercy. Make sure to douse your eyes, Keevan. We have enough problems on our hands without you drawing every Harborman down on us."
"Wait, you mean-"
"Run now, talk later," Calistra insisted, scrambling for the door. "I've had enough of this place and your friend is right. She may be Etrendi, but any Harbor Guild noble can order those guards back here."
Bahjal lead the way. Haldran guards in polished chain mail crowded past them at first, until they reached the living quarters. Mail and blades were then replaced by linen clad Rhetan servants and sea water crusted deck hands fresh from their latest voyage.
They finally reached a large open courtyard, with the District Walls spanning out before them. The Harbor Guild Temple lay behind them, its walls weeping a thin layer of water after the Suadan custom. A trick of Danica Keevan never got to see up close. The Suadan delegation building on their left was well guarded by harbormen and Suadan guards alike. The Suadan High Priestess and Harbor Guild Master were in session.
Bahjal marched right up to the massive wooden gates of the District Walls. "Open the gates," she ordered a rotund guard who appeared to exercise his belly more than his sword arm.
"My Lady, we're in a state of general alarm," the guard replied, nervously eyeing her from head toe. "Until the intruder is caught, I can't permit anyone to pass."
"I'm an Etrendi, Haldran," Bahjal replied dangerously. Water gathered around her in ribbons, carried on the linen strands weaved into her clothes. The liquid rose, carrying the folds of her dress with it, until she resembled a spider web of liquid power. With her standing at its center.
"I apologize, my Lady," the guard muttered, hands tightening on his axe's shaft. "But I have my orders. Councilman Necros is just east of here, first office on the right. I heard he was in session with the Suadan High Priestess herself. I’m sure he'll attend to you when he's done."
Bahjal paused, glancing down the two-story wall to the first ring of buildings. The water around her settled, sinking into the ground so completely her clothes were perfectly dry. "Very well," she relented. "Until later, officer."
"My Lady," the guard said, interlacing his fingers and bowing in salute as they departed.
"That didn't help us much," Keevan muttered, walking up alongside Bahjal. His body ached in places he didn't know could ache and dried blood still stained half his face and the tunic beneath it. "Calistra's hand is infected by now, not to mention partially melted. She needs a healer and we need to get out of here."
"Working on it, Keevs," Bahjal whispered back. "The Harbor Guild may not like Outlanders, but the Suadan High Priestess, Lanasha Talivar, is another story. We just need to find her or one of her servants, then she can afford us some protection. Then even the Harbor Master himself can't touch us."
"Just up this way? They must be meeting together now, judging by all the guards. I'm not above interrupting them, if it'll save my hand," Calistra demanded, pushing past them. "I've had enough of this. I can't stand it any longer. I can't feel my hand anymore. I know what that means. I won't live my life as an amputee. I need a Suadan healer, now."
"First door on the right," Keevan offered, falling into step behind her.
"You sure this is what you want your first contact with the High Priestess to be like?" Bahjal implored, even as Calistra turned the handles on two wooden double doors. "What you did getting passed the watcher... that's going to change everything. I hope you realize that."
"It's better than leaving someone hurt on a random door step like a coward," Keevan insisted, not to mention, he needed some attention himself. If not, then at least a place to clean up. "Besides, Kors is still out there. They might need our help tracking him down."
Bahjal gulped, looked into the open doors and sighed. A chorus of gasps and cries for help echoed from inside. Keevan could feel all the moisture shifting in the air as some of the best commanders of water Issamere possessed went to work on Calistra.
"I will miss the quiet days, running wild in the streets, with you," Bahjal whispered in his ear.
"Were we even friends, Bahj?" Keevan asked, not in malice, but in an open honesty only a child can truly tap. "Who are you, really?"
"Whatever my titles and powers," Bahjal said, clasping his hand in sincerity, "I will always be your friend. But there isn't time for the full story, not yet. Here they come."
Chapter 18
The Suadan guards exited first, armed with Danica enhanced whips and covered head-to-toe in blue leathers. Their eyes were forever calm and calculating, the trademark of the Suadans. They surrounded Keevan and Bahjal, giving the Sight Seeker a fleeting thought of a quick execution. But as one, they shouted and pivoted, facing away from him.
Six Harbor Guards poured out of the structure next, watching him with anger Keevan could actually feel warm against his skin. Their war hammers and axes glowed with Danica enhancements of their own. Suddenly, Keevan felt very grateful for the Suadan High Priestess's involvement.
"Guards," a stern, elderly woman ordered. Bells lined the hem of her Suadan uniform. "Bring the Sight Seeker to me."
Keevan took a deep breath and accessed his elemental vision. It was the only card he had to play, for whatever it was worth. An elementally impotent Sight Seeker standing alone among the Children of the Sky. The whips, warranted a second glance as well. At least a hundred small jewels of Dancia were weaved into a leather bound chain, leaving a fraction of space for the Tri-Being's command to grow exponentially as the whip hurled its water at a given target.
They were escorted into a wide, round chamber. It was built like a bowl, with benches carved into the edges in six adjoining rows from the center to the outside edge. Here, a speaker could stand at the center of the room, the bottom of the bowl and be easily seen and heard by all. So many Etrendi stood in one place that their connecting elemental fields left an impossible tangle of glowing colors before Keevan's eyes, forcing him to retreat to his normal vision.
Lanasha Talivar sat on Keevan's right side, surrounded by a dozen attendants and her blue-clad guards. Their clothes mirrored Bahjal's, though the High Priestess' ribbons trailed a good six feet behind her. Keevan tingled at bit at that thought, what a sight it would be to see her powers fully demonstrated, particularly to his elemental vision. Her eyes were alert and contemplative, taking in his appearance from head to toe. Suddenly, Keevan felt dirty, battered and very out of place. There was no malice in her countenance, just patient observation, for now.
The Harbor Master, Derone Radahn, sat on the left side of the bowl. His leather armor, face and arms were worn by wind and rain. His frame, though elderly, was thickly muscled and hinted at plenty of remaining vitality. His uniform's black and brown shades drew attention to his green, irritated eyes. Links sown into the cuffs of his sleeves glittered with Danica enhancements, probably fire.
"This is a most unorthodox use of our time," the Harbor Master rumbled, glaring at Keevan and Bahjal. "I assume this is of greater importance than a lone fugitive lurking our halls?"
"Indeed it is, Harbor Master," Bahjal offered, sweeping her arms wide with an elaborate bow. Keevan pursed his lips and tried to match her posture, only to wobble unsteadily. Fatigue wore away at him like a tide digging into the sea shore. "I offer our most humble apologies, but considering that the intruder in question managed to circumvent the Watcher's defenses without a scratch, I judged it a worthy topic to bring up."
Derone bristled visibly at the allegation. "We have stopped three assassination attempts from rival nations in this year alone, thanks to the Watcher's intervention. These were not ignorant Rhetans. I'm talking about some of our enemies most deadly elemental warriors, slain before setting foot on our palace grounds. What tools did this intruder use to get passed the Watcher?"
"Keevan, Harbor Master," Bahjal said, gulping nervously. "Just Keevan."
Derone glanced at the High Priestess, as if for confirmation. Lanasha Talivar said nothing, merely watching Keevan and Bahjal with those narrow, attentive eyes. Like a predator deciding if some strange creature were edible or not.
"I've long tolerated the presence of a lone Sight Seeker on our shores," Derone said slowly, pursing his lips in restrained anger. "First, explain how this boy got passed our greatest weapon. Have his powers emerged?"
"I'm still elementally impotent," Keevan started. "I-"
"I'll not address the boy directly," Derone insisted, his hands flicking towards the cuffs on his sleeves. "I've tolerated this creatures’ presence in Issamere, nothing more. His kind breed like rats if kept unchecked. Should he somehow find a female, they'd number in the hundreds by this century's end. Allowing him in our presence without the usual countermeasures is ... difficult to endure."
Keevan shuddered. Those 'measures' likely involved imprisonment or death. A deeper part of him bristled at the indignity, and considered mentioning the Rain Cutter's fate then and there. Thankfully, despite his fatigue, the non-suicidal portion of his brain still held the reins. He kept quiet.
"We thank you for your restraint, Harbor Master," the High Priestess said with a gracious nod. "You've done a marvelous job protecting our shores from all threats. We've not endured a naval siege since my grandmother's time. I will address the Sight Seeker directly, however. I'd like to hear the account in his own words."
"As you wish, Lanasha," Derone relented, leaning back against the bench behind him. Though trying to appear relaxed, Keevan couldn't help but notice the Tri-Being stiffly rolling his Danica cufflinks between the fingers of either hand.
"Proceed, Son of Masha," Lanasha insisted, gesturing towards the center of the bowl-shaped chamber. Keevan followed her lead and stood before her, with his back to the Harbor Master. Despite being unable to see him, Keevan could envision the Tri-Being's searing anger boiling towards him.
"High Priestess, It started with the business of the freed Pagoda, sparking through the Haldran District only days ago. Bahjal and I devised a plan to capture the beast, that night and we stumbled upon the thieves' path out of the Etrendi District, where we met Persuader Madol."
"Madol apprised me of the Pagoda situation, and your involvement at the manor," the High Priestess said with a dismissive flick of the hand. "How did you end up working with Zerik, Malik Morgra's oldest enemy?"
"I was taken from the Arnadi Mansion against my will, Great Priestess," Keevan admitted. Calistra stood off to the side, staring at her feet while one of the priestesses drew an orb of water around her injured hand. "The intruder's name is Kors. He's an Etrendi twice my size and quite capable with water."
Derone snorted in disbelief, still directing his words at Lanasha, as if Keevan were not present at all. "I'm familiar with the Exile. You expect me to believe that this boy, who's too weak to fend off an apprentice of any trade, somehow proved strong enough in the elements to beat the Watcher?"
"The boy has not finished," Lanasha added calmly, glancing over Keevan's shoulder at the source of the interruption. "When he does, I will decide what dangers he poses to your society. You may take your leave, if you feel you've already learned enough about the intruder to effectively search for him."
The Harbor Master hesitated a moment, then relented. "Proceed."
"I refused to do their bidding until they threatened to kill Bahjal," Keevan reported, nodding towards his friend. She saluted the High Priestess in a deep courtesy, the kind reserved for the Suadan followers alone. Suddenly, Keevan felt a sudden impression he didn't know Bahjal at all.
"What did they ask you to do?" Lanasha asked.
"Counter the elements the Watcher uses to sense intruders in the tunnels," Keevan said nervously, staring at his feet. He could feel all their eyes on him, soaking in every bruise, speck of grime and tangled hair. He felt out of place, in every possible way. Perhaps Bahjal was right about keeping his involvement a secret, but it was too late for that now.
The Harbor Guild's stewards behind him laughed openly. Their Master huffed in outrage. The Suadan attendants even chuckled, more at their rival’s excessive reactions than at Keevan's words. He felt his face growing hotter. He considered fainting, or at least pretending to, just to get out of the situation.
"This is a farce!" Derone bellowed. "I've more important concerns to attend to. Get them out of my sight."
"Let him prove it!" Bahjal cried, gathering water around her so fast he heard the rush of element like a wave. Every strand of loose linen floated above her, like a great coiling serpent. A few of the Suadan attendants pointed at her display with pride and respect.
"How?" Derone said, rolling his eyes. "Do you expect us to go back to the catacombs and test out your story?"
"Test him here," Bahjal said, with a sly grin. "Many here are the strongest Tri-Beings in the city. If you can sense us, by your elements alone, they we're lying. If Keevs and I can sneak up on you, we're being truthful."
The Harbor Master sputtered wordlessly for a moment. Then he glanced at his attendants, sizing them up. Each one stood up in turn, stroking their weapons and drawing on their anger.
"There is merit to her idea, Derone," Lanasha added, intrigued. "I myself will volunteer for the test, if it pleases you."
"You?" Derone said, chuckling. "No, you've sided with the Sight Seeker from the start. Masha sits too high in your council. If the trustworthiness of this animal is what's at stake, then I won't leave this to any of my attendants to foul up. I will step forwards myself to prove him a liar. Agreed?"
"Agreed," the High Priestess nodded, gesturing to her attendants. "Make the arrangements."
Bahjal relaxed, water seeping from her clothes and leaving her as dry as a summer afternoon. She sighed contently, meeting Keevan's gaze with a confident smile as she dragged him from the center of the room. Keevan did not share her sentiments. Anxiety and fear coiled around his chest like two rival Pagodas.
"What did you just do?!" Keevan whispered, standing alongside her as the Suadan attendants passed them by.
"We're proving them wrong," Bahjal replied simply, as if it were as simple as ordering fried fish from a local market. Her lack of concern only made Keevan even more frustrated.
Chapter 19
"I don't know the Harbor Master well enough to predict his emotions," Keevan muttered, clenching his fists as he tried to contain his emotions. Inside of an hour Bahjal had gone from a wounded victim to an influential Etrendi to Suada-only-knew what and now he stood in a trial against a powerful Tri-Being Master.
"But you know me, Keevs," she said quietly. "That will be enough."
"Do I?" Keevan said, indignation sharp on his tongue. He switched to his elemental vision. Her field extended over a dozen feet in every direction, its line thick and powerful as they anchored her soul to nearby sources of water, lightning and fire. "I watched you through my elemental vision for years. You were a Rhet, through and through. How did you hide Etrendi powers like these for so long?"
For a moment, Bahjal's carefree attitude balked and he felt his hair stand on end as genuine fear radiated from her in a mild electric charge. Then, just as suddenly, she contained her emotions in a quick sweep of element and laughed, a carefree tone that usually hinted at impending mischief. He couldn't help but grin at her mirth, it set his anxiety at ease, if only partially.
"You'll figure it out, Keevs," Bahjal said, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "Consider it part of your training. Now, pay attention, they're getting ready."
Derone stood in the bottom center of the bowl, blindfolded, with cotton stuffed in his ears. Both Harbor and Suadan attendants lined the outer edge of the bowl, looking down on them as if they stood in some sort of arena, their faces mixtures of hope and tension. The High Priestess stood opposite the doors at the bowl's edge, guards on either side of her. The Harbor Guild's men stood by the entrance, weapons at the ready.
"Keevan and Bahjal will descend the stairs and approach the Harbor Master from behind," Lanasha ordered. "The Harbor Master will avoid them based on sensations of heat or water that he feels nearby. Begin."
They stood there on the edge of the bowl for a quiet moment, Keevan working to sift through all the bright colors around him. The audience above drew a great deal of moisture around them with their undivided attention, not to mention varying combinations of heat and even lightning. Keevan forced himself to focus, shifting his attention to only the strands connecting the Harbor Master to nearby elements.
"Alright, Bahjal," Keevan said, swallowing his nerves. "The closer we are to him, the more intense your emotions will need to be. Do you understand?"
"Yes, his sensitivity will be greatest when we're within reach," Bahjal nodded, closing her eyes and reaching out with her field. "I can sense him, pulling at the nearest heat sources."
Derone grinned, turning and facing them. The harbormen above whispered and pointed in delight, anxious to see the feared Outlander humiliated.
"You shouldn't feel him at all," Keevan said anxiously. The Harbor Master was boiling with moisture and anger. Tough emotions to counter.
"Oh," Bahjal said, hesitating a moment. She held out her hand. "I think this might be easier with my eyes closed, so I can picture things in my head easier."
"Alright," Keevan agreed, taking her hand. Whatever tricks she needed to make the emotions more poignant. "Your fields are going to counter each other out. Now, do you remember stacking my father's tools?"
"You mean his tower of trinkets?" Bahjal chuckled, tugging on her pony tail. "He never uses half of them. Waste of space, really."
"True," Keevan agreed, gently pulling her to his right, along the edge of the bowl between two benches. Derone followed them along, adjusting his posture to face them every few moments. His lips were peeled back into a vicious smile, but he said nothing, he didn't need to.
"There you go," Keevan said encouragingly. Before his eyes, Keevan watched Bahjal's growing boredom counter the moisture in the Derone's field. "Remember that endless line of rusty tools in that hot smithy, empty hours of polish and rags."
There, the moisture was accounted for. Now to deal with the Derone's heat and anger. As they stood now, Bahjal and the Harbor Master's fields were competing for the same elements, creating a mutual awareness of the other's presence and relative strength.
"Bahjal, we're doing great," Keevan pried, "but now you need to tell me something that made you sad. Not devastated, not yet, but just sad."
"Lying to you," Bahjal admitted, a little too quickly. It occurred to Keevan she'd likely had this conversation played out in her head a dozen times, trying to find the right wording to describe what she felt and why. "For years I wanted to tell you who I really was. I watched you struggled, powerless, while other Tri-Beings poked fun at you. I wanted to stop them with my power, but I couldn't. I couldn't."
"Focus on that feeling," Keevan whispered, licking his lips in anticipation. Now wasn't the time for getting the full story, she'd likely feel relieved after she finished telling him the truth, not sad. "There we go."
The fields slid together seamlessly. The Harbor Master stopped turning, his grin vanishing as his brow furrowed in concentration. The attendants gasped, some in fear as their hair stood on end, others in relief, which didn't carry any element at all.
"Alright, boredom and sadness, hold it steady. We're taking a step down now, slowly..." Keevan guided Bahjal down a step, onto the next ring of benches a few feet closer to the Harbor Master. He wasn't about to let her stumble, as Kors did, and blow their only shot at freedom to Raejin's fury.
A flicker of heat, too weak to manifest as flame, blossomed into light over Keevan's shoulder. The Harbor Master spun, facing them again, his grin returned to his former glory. One of the harbormen smiled down at Keevan.
"He's generating heat," Keevan said, pointing up at a blond seaman in wind-worn leathers. The man faced the High Priestess in mock surprise, palms open in a defensive posture.
"I sensed the disturbance as well," Lanasha added, stopping up the attendant's mouth before any words could leave it. "Though I couldn't pin point the source, I've a simple solution. All the attendants will leave the hall. Every. Single. One. This is between myself, the Harbor Master, Bahjal and the boy. No one else."
In moments, the room was clear, with only the faint bickering of the Suadans and Harbor Guildsmen outside to distract Keevan from the task at hand. Once again, he and Bahjal walked behind Derone, who now turned in a slow circle away from them, searching in vain within his field.
They stepped within six feet of the Harbor Master, when Keevan watched his anger explode. Though the Tri-Being stood still and calm, he breathed through gritted teeth, his jugular bulging in frustration. The air around him bent and warped with fervent heat.
Keevan looked from the edifice of rage and then back at Bahjal, his stomach churning sickly as his mind recognized the only logical option. They stood on the bottom floor, only six feet from the Harbor Master, but Bahjal's sadness wasn't enough to counter his rage. Keevan turned her so she faced him, her back to their target.
"Open your eyes, Bahj," Keevan asked, taking a deep breath. Her response had to be genuine, it was the only way to counter the opposing field.
She opened her eyes, trusting and warm. She held his forearms and nodded. "We're close aren't we? What's next?"
"When we get out of here," Keevan said, forcing his brow to furrow in rage, "We're done."
"Done?" Bahjal asked, blinking in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Done. No longer friends," Keevan said, spitting in her face. "You lied to me for years. I can't trust a word out of your mouth. You somehow beat my vision, which makes you someone I can never truly trust. Ever."
Bahjal's field buckled under the sudden verbal assault. The moment his spit hit her face, he watched her field switch to fear and most importantly, despair. Her body plunged into a cold so intense, the ribbons on her dress crystalize in a thin layer of ice. Holding her cold forearms, he pushed her back a step and paused.
There, around the Harbor Master, was a distinct lack of fear. Anger and focus, yes, but the Tri-Being wasn't afraid of failure. Keevan considered the wall of heat billowing around their opponent. Why wasn't he at least nervous?
The realization set Keevan's teeth on edge. Derone's nose wasn't plugged, just his ears. The air around him was hot enough to burn hair or fabric. The Tri-Being was waiting to smell them close by, then act. Bahjal's field made that effort a moot point, but the real challenge lay in adjusting her field to also counter the Derone's security. His lack of fear meant Bahjal needed to feel scared. Her despair needed to worsen as well, if they were to get within melee range.
"For two years there was only one Tri-Being who really took the time to understand me, who befriended me despite my lack of elemental power. Now, I find you were just another Etrendi with your own agenda, looking to use me however you saw fit. I never want to see you again, after this moment, Bahj. Ever."
With that, Keevan shoved her away, with all his strength. He watched her eyes widen in panic and surprise from the blow and sudden disorientation, tears moistening her face as she tumbled into Derone. They fell into the first set of benches, sparks of electricity arching into the surrounding stones.
"No!" Derone said, scrambling to his feet, pale with surprise. The security he felt, manifest in a lack of electricity, vanished. Fear and anger coursed around him like duel tides, pulling heat and electricity around his body with each heartbeat.
"The boy spoke the truth," Lanasha said, stroking her chin in deep thought, eyes unfocused. "He's more capable than we thought. I wouldn't have believed it possible... without any elemental powers of his own... fascinating. Quite fascinating," The Harbor Master whirled on her, engaging in a bitter war of words that Keevan couldn't make out due to the impact of a certain, brunette projectile.
Bahjal caught Keevan in a fierce hug. "I'm so sorry, Keevs. I'm so sorry!"
"You?" Keevan asked in bewilderment. "What did you do? I'm the one who spit in your face."
"I know that was just for my field. I wanted to wait for a better time to tell you, but this will do," Bahjal said, burying her face in his chest. The words rushed out of her so quickly, he could barely catch them all. He couldn't help but wrap his arms around her and stroke her hair. "You couldn't read my elements all these years because as long as I focused on emotions that didn't carry element, you couldn't see anything."
"Well, that makes sense," Keevan replied, amazed at her level of awareness. Her reactions to his words were perfectly appropriate, yet here she was, forgiving him in a heartbeat. "What emotion did you use?"
"Love," she answered softly.
The wheels in his head spun quickly, analyzing two very different facts with equal haste. The first, was Bahjal's sudden admission of something he should have seen ages ago. Now he understood the dismay in her eyes back in the herbalist's shop when he mentioned buying flowers for Calistra. Now he knew why she could forgive him so easily. He couldn't help but feel something for her in return.
The second fact his mind caught on to, was the deteriorating conversation between the Harbor Master and the High Priestess. Their fields were locked in an elemental wrestling match, as each tried to impose their emotions on the other. A cloud of steam built between them, whirling around like a miniature tornado of energy. Then, he watched Lanasha gain the upper hand, a strand of water reaching out along one of her tendrils and touching the Harbor Master's skin.
The calming element took effect instantly, dampening his rage but focusing what remained. Derone spun on Keevan and Bahjal, eyes murderous. There wasn't time to dive aside, only a mere second to say one word to Bahjal before the Harbor Master unleashed a torrent of lightning.
"I love you too," Keevan said back, hugging her tightly.
The lightning bolt left the Harbor Master in full fury. An instant before its departure, Keevan saw a massive black line marking the space between the Etrendi and his targets, as if clearing an electrical path for the oncoming assault. If flew six feet before slamming into Bahjal's field, effectively pitting the Harbor Master's fears against Bahjal's momentary feelings of security. Keevan held her tightly in his arms and watched on bated breath.
Just as quickly as they struck, the elements dissipated. The lightning, hungry for an easy mark, slid across Bahjal's field and into the ground at their feet, covering the bowl around them in a wide scorch mark. It left a black gouge in the stone, a perfect semi-circle where Bahjal's field turned the assault aside.
"By Suada's mercy," Lanasha murmured. There was no victory in her eyes, only a dark cloud of shock and worry. "You two could have killed him if you so choose."
Derone stared at the couple, dumbfounded, muttering to himself. "No, no, no. It's not possible. It can't be."
"Harbor Master," the High Priestess ordered, standing up. Water rushed over her, drawn in by the shear strength of her field. The liquid ran down every strand and fiber of her exterior, raising her hair and linen loops high into the air. "You have attempted to assassinate a valuable member of Etrendi society. For that, you will be tried by the Council of Issamere. Guards!"
The doors burst open, ushering in a wave of anxious attendants and somber body guards. The Harbor Guild's men paused, their faces turning pale, when they saw Lanasha in all her Suadan glory. "What would you have of us, my lady?" one asked.
"Escort the Harbor Master to a repulsor cell. We've an intruder to locate before the Council can deal with Derone," Lanasha ordered. Waving over two of her personal guards, whips at the ready, she pointed to Keevan and Bahjal. "Take these two to the guild's guest quarters. The reinforced ones. No harm is to come to them, am I clear? We'll attend to Keevan's... position here, once the traitors are dealt with."
"Indeed, my Lady," they replied in unison, bowing deeply. They held a coiled whip in either hand, glistening with pressurized water, contained in each small flicker of Danica sewn into the leather. Bahjal stiffened, pursing her lips nervously and taking Keevan's hand.
A sinking relief settled over Keevan. Lanasha accused the harbor master of trying to kill Bahjal, because of her Etrendi birth. That crime held much more severe punishments than harming an Outlander. Technically, there weren't any consequences for killing Outlanders, though contradicting the Malik's decision to let Keevan live might be thinly construed as treason. Very thinly.
Again, as always, he felt like an outsider looking in on Tri-Being society. They'd never truly accept him as one of their own. They'd always look on him with fear like the Harbor Guild, or greed like Zerik, hoping to use him for some plan or another. There were so few people here in Issamere who genuinely cared for him. He squeezed Bahjal's hand, for her presence both saved his life and condemned the Harbor Master by Issamere's own laws.
Suddenly a boy no younger than Keevan pushed his way through the crowd. His shoes crackled with static electricity and his eyes flickered from one face to the next in an impossibly quick search for the recipient of his message, a Runner for the Harbor Guild.
"Harbor Master!" the boy cried. "I've urgent news from the-"
"Honestly!" Lanasha cut in. "I'm in the middle of arresting the Harbor Master. What more could have happened that requires my immediate attention?!"
"The prisoner has escaped," the runner echoed numbly, visibly shrinking in size as he took in the room's occupants. With each syllable however, the color drained from the Harbor Master's face. "One of his guards is dead, the other is recovering at the Suadan Temple. The prisoner was likely wounded by a lightning bolt and left a message for the Harbor Master."
"Which is?" Lanasha asked tentatively.
"I will remember my treatment here," the runner echoed, staring up at the ceiling as he recited his message. "I will come for you to return the favor. Then I will come for the Sight Seeker."
A chill skittered down Keevan's spine. Sparks of lighting flickered around Derone's hair as he sat down, visibly struck by the news. His aids and Lanasha however, stared at him in confusion. Lighting and fear were equally public in Tri-Being society, and very hard to hide. Whoever this “Prisoner” was, if his mere words could affect Derone so heavily, a man who captained fleets of Tri-Being ships, then Keevan had a serious new enemy, one he didn't know at all.
"I will say nothing," Derone grunted, flashing a mischievous smile. "Until I am found innocent by the Council, I have no authority to act anyway. You will all get what's coming to you. The prisoner will see to that."
"Guards, you have your orders," Lanasha replied, thin lipped as she contained her own frustrations. The water around her head gave off a thin layer of steam. In moments, two burly Suadan guards were hauling Keevan and Bahjal through the crowd. Derone followed along behind them, until they reached the street.
"Who is this prisoner the Runner spoke of?" Keevan asked as they squeezed through the doors.
Derone laughed, a dark, sadistic sound. "Not who, little Sight Seeker. What." Then his own guards dragged him away, laughing as he went.
"This way you two," the Suadan guards offered, leading them back into the tangle of stairs and stone they'd emerged from only an hour ago. "The guest room is just two floors above us."
"What did Lanasha mean when she asked for the 'reinforced' room?" Keevan asked.
The guards hesitated, ever so slightly, but Keevan caught it. Again, he saw the anxiety mount in Bahjal as well. Or, to be more specific, he saw static electricity build up around her. He took an extra wide step or two away from her, to avoid getting hit by an accidental discharge.
"It's a more secure wing of the guest house. If the Harbor Master wants you dead, there might be others. This one is still comfortable, but shielded by repulsor Danica. You'll be safe there until the High Priestess can return," the lead guard offered, guiding them up another flight of well-tended stone steps. Colorful tapestries lined the wall, depicting famous ocean battles or successful salvages of Outlander vessels.
The images, like the Outlander classes taught in Tri-Being school, set Keevan's teeth on edge. He couldn't help but feel a kinship with the race responsible for his birth, yet everything he had, even his life, he owed to the Tri-Beings. A part of him desperately wanted to see another Outlander however, to learn of their ways, perhaps even meet his birth parents.
Yet, as his occasional nightmares on the subject proved, such an encounter would require choosing between the life he was denied among his kind and the life he now had among the Tri-Beings. Which would he choose, if the chance arose? A sickening, intoxicating thought assailed him, something in the Derone's eyes when he heard of the Prisoner's escape. Keevan couldn't shake the feeling, if his suspicions were right, that he might reach that moment sooner than he could have ever hoped.
Chapter 20
They reached the guest room, and Keevan's heartbeat doubled. Now he understood Bahjal's anxiety, though only his elemental vision could reveal the reason. The doors were lined with repulsor orbs. Within two feet of each stone, no Tri-Being fields existed, even when the guards stood right next to the doors, and their command of water was very near to Bahjal's in raw power.
Grimacing, one guard reached into the repulsor field, turning the door handle and pulling it open. The room inside was fairly lavish, with padded chairs and carpets. Keevan also noticed the steel bars on the windows, haloed in the same repulsor field. The Suadan guards brandished their whips, noticing Keevan's hesitation.
"Thank you for granting us safe passage," Bahjal offered meekly, taking Keevan's hand and leading him into the room.
"Should you need anything, you have but to ask," one of the guards offered, with a threatening grunt, he added, "We'll be right here."
"I thank you for your continued protection," Bahjal echoed, interlocking her fingers and nodding in a respectful salute. The guards closed the doors after her.
"I’m sorry," Keevan said, staring around the room bleakly. He could see the faint repulsor fields extending around the floor, walls and ceiling. This room was impenetrable to elemental influence. Only air penetrated the window, a soft, dry breeze. "I should have listened to you. Proving I'm dangerous wasn't the best call."
"Given the circumstances, it prevented the Harbor Master from killing you on the spot," Bahjal sighed. "I just can't shake the feeling this is all going wrong. Malik Morgra should have seen you fixing Danica or masterminding a construction project, not sneaking Zerik's troops into the palace." Keevan had no words to counter hers, as tired as he was.
She walked over to a low table at the room's center, holding a wide plate of various breads and cheeses, all neatly sliced. The scent of fresh bread sent Keevan's stomach into a feral growl of hunger and suddenly the room didn't feel so terribly confining.
On his right, two doors lead into separate bedrooms. Before them, two long, circular couches surrounded the table on either side. The room was designed to look as welcoming a possible and if Keevan didn't have his elemental vision, he probably wouldn't have seen through the ruse of Lanasha's offered “security.” Sometimes, elemental vision revealed secrets he'd felt much happier not knowing.
"So, what happens now?" Keevan asked. He sat down on the couch next to Bahjal, sampling a few of the cheeses. One carried a smoky aftertaste he particularly liked. Another turned sour in his mouth. At least the pains from his various bruises were fading and Bahjal had managed to pull out the last of the wooden splinters from his face.
"The High Priestess is taking over the Harbor Guild for the week. That includes locking down all the exits and searching floor-by-floor for Kors and the escaped prisoner," Bahjal calculated, glancing out the window. Bells of alarm still echoed out across the courtyard, accompanied by dozens of guards hurrying to their various posts in teams of four. "Then she'll deal with us."
"You think the Council will stop offering to make me a scribe at the Rankings?" Keevan asked bleakly.
Bahjal laughed. "Yes, I should say so. Now that they've seen what your vision can do, they may have to come up with a new position entirely. After all, your skill set is quite unique. Assuming we live through today."
"How bad a crime is it? Leading a band of exiles past the Watcher?" Keevan asked, lying back onto the couch's soft pillows and trying to relax.
"Generally?" Bahjal said, licking a sliver of cheese from her finger. "Death. By Arnadi himself I'd imagine. He's primarily in charge of Issamere's defense. That includes maintaining the Watcher."
"Wonderful. Even though I was blackmailed into the whole thing," Keevan muttered in bitter sarcasm. "You think that will happen to Calistra?" So much for relaxing.
"Calistra will be turned over to her father, which is punishment enough as I understand. Keeves, it’s not a question of what you did, but a question of what you could do," Bahjal sighed, crossing her legs and sitting on the opposite couch, so she could face him. "They have to consider what would happen, for example, if an invading force caught and blackmailed you as Kors did."
"Oh," Keevan said, numb at the very real possibility. Every Rhet and Haldran in the city knew his name and where “the Sight Seeker” lived. It wouldn't take much for an enemy force to spy out his location.
Anger bubbled up in Keevan's chest and he tossed a half-eaten bread slice against the far wall. "We wouldn't even be having this conversation if I was like a regular Tri-Being, right? If I could just defend myself like an Etrendi."
"I suppose," Bahjal said begrudgingly. She tapped the largest of her bruises, a purple welt on the side of her face. "But even my command of water wasn't strong enough to avoid capture."
"But if I was better than an Etrendi, then they'd leave me alone, right?" Keevan sulked, holding his head in his hands. "If I wasn't so vulnerable."
Bahjal laughed, a deep, hearty sound. Given the nature of their imprisonment, Keevan watched her disbelief, wondering if her sanity had suddenly snapped. Bahjal chittered on for a full minute, holding her stomach and crying in mirth-caused pain.
"I fail to see what you find so entertaining," Keevan replied flatly.
"Oh, Keeves," Bahjal said, shaking her head in wonder. "I have so much to teach you still. Think about it, if you were more dangerous than an Etrendi, what would that make you, in the council's eyes?"
"A boy they wouldn't have to protect?" Keevan asked hopefully.
"No," Bahjal said evenly. "Competition. A new kind of threat."
Keevan didn't respond right away. His entire life he'd carried no elemental powers, even now, his usefulness lay in what he could see, not in what he himself could do with it. He'd never considered the far reaching effects of somehow moving past that.
"How do you understand the Council so well?" Keevan asked, finally feeling a bit more at ease. He helped himself to more bread and cheese, finding a slice that carried a hint of honey to it. "Who are you really, Bahj?"
"Me?" Bahjal replied with a smile, "Oh Keeves, I wish I didn't have to tell you. I wish we could go on making mischief in the streets and just living as we did before."
Alarm bells rang outside. Gates to the Harbor District slid open with a sickening rasp of stone against stone. Dozens of heavy boots thundered into the courtyard. Lanasha was calling in reinforcements. Along the District's wall, Keevan could just make out archers perched at key points, overlooking the city.
"I don't think we have that option, Bahj," Keevan said, his tone downcast. "You were right. This is a step I can never undo."
"Alright," Bahjal conceded, sitting upright and folding her hands in her lap as if she were seated next to The Malik Himself. "I am Bahjal De'Sarthan. My father was a soldier under General Arnadi. My mother was a powerful Suadan priestess. During the last war, they were both killed in action."
"I'm sorry," Keevan offered, sliding to the edge of his couch so he could stroke her hand in a show of remorse. "I can't imagine how hard..." His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing in realization. Bahjal gulped nervously and starred at her feet.
"The last full on war Issamere had was with the southern barbarians."
"Yes."
"That was twenty five years ago."
"Yes."
"Bahj, how old are you?"
Bahj raised her hands defensively. A curious array of moisture and electricity built up around her. "Now Keeves, you know Tri-Beings age slower than Outlanders. That's not my fault."
"How old?"
"Really, you're going to ask a woman's age? I thought I taught you better."
"Bahj."
"Alright," Bahjal relented, stroking her hair a few times, as if adjusting her locks could somehow shave a few years off her answer. "I'm thirty five years old."
Keevan stared blankly at her, taking in her slim features and twisted brown braids. "H-how?" he asked. "That can't be possible. You don't look more than eighteen."
Bahjal shrugged. "My mother was the same way. When my parents died, the Malik offered me a job among the Rhets, too help him track loyalties and such. During the last war, the barbarians managed to gain support among the lower ranks."
"So, you were pretending to be a Rhet when I came along," Keevan clarified, massaging his temples as he sorted through the facts.
"You were thirteen," Bahjal recalled, eyes staring off into the distance. "The other Tri-Beings, your former friends, they went to Elements School. You couldn't go, there'd be no point. You were alone. You needed someone your age, someone who was already elementally trained, just in case."
"Our friendship was an assignment," Keevan echoed numbly.
"From Malik Morgra himself," Bahjal confirmed.
"Did my parents know?"
"No, they aren't warriors," Bahjal said, shaking her head. The linen curls on her dress and hair bounced back and forth in the soft breeze from the open window. "Smithies and cast out politicians don't belong on a battlefield. The Malik keeps a tight inner circle of people he truly trusts. You could be a part of that, in time."
"In time?" Keevan asked, "What do you mean?"
"After you've fully trained yourself," Bahjal clarified. "There's no guidebook for educating you to survive in this world. We haven't had an Outlander on our shores in millennia, much less have any idea how to train them. I'm saying if you want to guarantee your survival, working with Malik Morgra might be the best way for you to accomplish that."
"Too much," Keevan complained, sitting back and shaking his head. He winced as the soft cushions rubbed a bruise on his tailbone. "Too much is changing. One week ago I was being forced to choose between being an accountant or a scribe. Now... I have no idea what I am."
"Well, let's try taking this one step at a time," Bahjal offered, resting her hands on her kneecaps and closing her eyes. "The High Priestess is searching for Kors, but now they have an escaped prisoner on their hands too, someone that terrified the Harbor Master to the point that he refused to even identify the man. Any ideas?"
It was a Suadan pose for deep breathing exercises. It was odd to see that posture without the usual rush of fluid one would expect, but the room's repulsor exterior prevented excess moisture from entering the guest room. A shudder of irritation passed through Bahjal as she glared at the surrounding walls and ceiling.
"How about the whole reason I was brought in to begin with?" Keevan asked, looking around the room. "I find it hard to believe someone so dangerous to the Harbor Master just 'happened' to escape within the hour of us penetrating the Watcher's defenses. Think they have parchment and ink around here?"
"Try the desk in one of the rooms."
Keevan slipped into the first one. Its bed and dresser were modest in design, but the drawers were empty. There were no signs of excess wealth, like engravings or tapestries. The room felt like a lie, a 'guest' room for fools too foolish not to recognize the danger closing in around them. He pictured a killer entering the room and shuddered. Here, Bahjal's elemental strength would mean nothing. He actually felt glad for the two guards standing outside, though they were a two edged blade, preventing his escape as well.
He sifted through the desk along the wall. In the second drawer, he found a roll of parchment, a spare quill and ink. He paused a moment, closing his eyes, trying to picture the document Kors burned in all the detail he could muster.
"I got a decent look at the paper Kors burned," Keevan reported, returning to Bahjal's side on the couch and pushing the plate of refreshments to one side of the table. He leaned over the parchment, scrawling along the edges of the page to break down its format.
"When did you get this long a look?" Bahjal asked curiously. "Kors isn't the type to wait patiently by while the thing he wants dangles in front of him."
"So, you knew him?"
"That's a conversation for another time," Bahjal said patiently, waving the tangent aside. "What do you remember from the page?"
"One moment. Here it is," Keevan said quietly. He scrawled over the page for a few minutes. Bahjal watched over his shoulder, lips pursed in concentration. But he didn't hear her sigh in understanding or grunt in victory, only quiet analysis. "That's about ninety percent of it. What do you make of it?"
'Rain Cutter's Final Voyage (The Third of Madenhiem, 1039)
Full battle with Outlander vessel on the edge of the Undying Storm. Outlander vessel managed to board the Rain Cutter and attempted to take it. Captain Hamor used his Danica weapon to sink both ships and escape. Both ships were destroyed, with only two survivors found a week later on a nearby island. All cargo lost. Hamor was relieved of his command duties soon after returning to port.
Casualties: 3 sub-captains, 5 deck hands, 1 navigator
Funerals: 5 were done at sea. 4 were preserved for burial in Issamere.
Survivors: Captain and one crewman.'
"This is it?" Bahjal asked incredulously. "What would this have to do with a prisoner? The Outlander vessel went down with all hands."
"Not sure," Keevan muttered, sitting back on the couch and scratching his head. "I didn't have time to think it through. I was trying to get away from a psychotic killer."
"Well, we have time now," Bahjal said, teeming over the page. "I can see why the Harbor Guild wanted this kept secret. Even you wouldn't want this public. Many Tri-Beings see the Outlanders as a myth the Harbor Guild uses to justify maintaining their power. If they acknowledged the Outlanders as a genuine threat they once couldn't stop..."
"Thousands of Tri-Beings might turn on their local Sight Seeker," Keevan echoed gruffly, groaning as he scratched his head. "I hate politics."
"You don't have to love them, but if you're going to survive, you have to manage them," Bahjal answered sternly, pushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "Keeves, are you sure about this information? The numbers are wrong."
Keevan sat up, staring intently at the paper. "No, I'm sure I got the numbers right. They were the easy part. What's wrong?"
"Well, do the math," Bahjal insisted, pointing at the page. "The Rain Cutter had a ten man crew when it went down. Supposedly, there were two survivors."
"But the rescue vessel reported nine burials," Keevan said, his voice numb with shock as he put the pieces together. "Ten men, nine buried, but they brought home two survivors. But the record says only the Captain survived and the rest of the crew died."
"They rescued the Captain alright and one other, someone who wasn't on the Rain Cutter at all. The Harbor Guild captured an Outlander, alive," Bahjal realized, tapping her chin as she put the pieces together. "With an Outlander in their pocket, that had a steady source of detailed information about Sight Seekers. After all, you were alive in the city, untouchable. They had to do something to learn of your weaknesses. What do you think they did to the Outlander?"
"I doubt he was treated very well," Keevan speculated. Relief settled across his shoulders and down his neck. The Harbor Master's enemy might not be Keevan's. Perhaps it was a potential ally, literally the only person in thousand miles who could understand the life and powers of an Outlander. "I wonder which kind of Outlander he is. Or she."
"What do you mean?" Bahjal asked.
"I've memorized the legends about the Outlanders," Keevan said, scanning the page again as if there were some other kernel of information he hadn't already put there. "There are two kinds, both humanoid, like the Tri-Beings, but with different commands. Sight Seekers command the mind, and can access thoughts, memories and the like. Since they can access other race's thoughts, they can also tap into their powers. They were the intermediaries of the Ancient Times, since they could tap into every racial power. I don't know why I can't."
"Once again, a conversation for another time. I don't think another Sight Seeker would of scared the Harbor Master so much," Bahjal said. "Whatever your powers, they are quite public. The prisoner couldn’t make a move, much less kill someone, without drawing attention. Plus, the whole city knows what glowing blue eyes means. You're rather famous here."
"So, that leaves the other, the Varadours," Keevan said, picking up speed and his heart rate accelerated. Another Outlander walked these halls. A survivor of a different continent, sitting across the ocean, waiting for him. An ally perhaps? Certainly a sailor, at the least.
"What did Varadours command?"
"Flesh," Keevan said. "The legend said glands in their heart deliver various fluids to their body, yielding a number of different effects. Increased strength, speed, healing, they could even manipulate the light around their body as a form of camouflage. Of course, those are legends, they aren't always accurate. I certainly can't access racial powers, as the legends say."
Even as he said the words, the realization hit him like a tide. He could remember so vividly the powers his mysterious scar endowed him with as a child. A group of older boys tried to rough him up, poking him with sticks and mocking the weak little Outlander. Then a rush of physical strength washed over him and despite their numbers and greater physical size, Keevan beat them back. Thoroughly.
My brother was a Varadour. Keevan thought, piecing together the Scholars' ancient tales and the Harbor Guild's modern rumors of a Varadour's capabilities. The truth of it suddenly felt so much more real now. A man walked the halls of Issamere with the same powers that Keevan's scar once granted him. His heart yearned to sit with this Outlander, even if only for a minute.
"Yet," Bahjal offered optimistically. "I'm more worried about this Varadour. He'll look like any other Tri-Being unless they try to elementally interact with him."
"Lanasha is looking for a killer. An escaped prisoner who's wounded, violent and out for revenge," Keevan summarized, staring out the window at the archers lining the wall. Not exactly ideal circumstances for meeting his first Outlander. "Then there's Kors. If they teamed up... Even alone, all the prisoner has to do is blend in and wait for the guards to give up. Then he's not in any more immediate danger."
"Or, we can help them," Bahjal offered.
"What? Who? The prisoner?" Keevan asked, caught off guard.
"Think about it," Bahjal urged him. "You read elements. Tri-Beings light up to you. What would a Varadour look like?"
Keevan shrugged, "Just what I see in the mirror, I guess. A regular person, with no elemental connections."
A number of conflicting feelings trampled Keevan's heart. Helping find Kors was one thing he'd do in a heartbeat, but this prisoner... Over a decade of loneliness washed over him. Years of living with a people that ultimately didn't understand him. People who equated sorrow with ice and didn't believe you were mourning unless you could freeze water. People who didn't think you were truly angry unless your body summoned flame. People who ultimately feared what he could become if his powers ever manifested.
"I'm sorry, Keeves," Bahjal said, pursing her lips in regret. "Perhaps it's not the best idea. I shouldn't assume you could hunt down your own kind. You've too good a heart."
"You think it would prove my worth to the High Priestess? Assure her I'm not a danger to the city? The Malik as well?" Keevan asked.
"Yes," Bahjal said. "But, I could never ask that of you. Neither should they..."
"It's something to think about," Keevan echoed, not sure what to feel at this point.
Here was a rare opportunity to prove his worth. He could literally pick the fugitive out of a crowd as no other warrior in the city could. But if his instincts were right, this man was imprisoned and likely tortured for months, just because of the nature of the parents who birthed him. A sick feeling gurgled in Keevan's stomach. He knew what that felt like, to stand in a crowded room or even a city and feel completely alone.
How could he hunt down a man like that, who probably wanted nothing more than to go home? At the same time, how could he leave his own fate to the idle whims of the city's politicians and not prove himself at all?
Chapter 21
Kors crept cautiously along the dark hallway. Horns and boots thundered in the distance, but nearby nothing breathed. Zerik's plans were always sharp, but this impressed Kors all the more. Freeing the prisoner put him in the last place the guards would search for an intruder. The Harbor Master would move to secure the exits, Danica stores and treasuries, first. By the time they carried out a room by room search of the dungeons, Kors would have a far more powerful ally.
Thinking of the prisoner also brought the Sight Seeker to mind. He raised his hands overhead and soaked the corridor in the warm glow of his flaming hands. The boy thought fast and knew when to make a gamble. A hundred years ago the drawers might have held, but he knew his blacksmithing materials, definitely his father's son.
Voices in the distance, muttering whispers of the insane and guilt-ridden, fell into silence the moment Kors' light reached the bars. Somewhere in this tangle of metal and pain, the Outlander sat resolutely, awaiting his escape. Kors rehearsed in his mind the details of Zerik's offer, a place to lay low, with enough coin to meet his needs and the occasional favor. When forced to choose between imprisonment and Zerik's idea of a favor, what real choice was there?
"I wouldn't go that way," A thin voice whispered from the shadows. "I doubt you search for an empty cage."
Kors whirled, static flashing into the empty cells around him. They revealed nothing.
"Interesting," The voice continued, patiently. Further behind Kors. Had he really walked right past his assailant? "Most Tri-Beings condition themselves to resort to anger and hide their fear, they think it's a sign of embarrassment. You don't though, you try to shock whoever's behind you."
"My issues with Issamere root far deeper than how I express my fear," Kors grumbled, drawing a short sword from beneath his robes. "Reveal yourself, Corvan."
"You know my name? Wonderful. Who are you? More importantly, who sent you?" The voice asked, hardening into a curious edge.
"I'm Kors. Zerik sent me to help you escape."
"Very well," The shadows faded around the corner of a cell, two doors down. The Varadour wisely stood away from the bars, a light smirk on his lips. The lightning's scorch marks lined the ground only inches from his toes. "Were you responsible for the ruckus underground?"
"Indeed."
"How many did it take?" Corvan asked curiously.
"Two others, beside myself."
"Zerik is a smart one, isn't he? I figured it was a full invasion. To survive blasts of that size," Corvan muttered, looking Kors up and down as if with new eyes. "Few in number, but intelligent. Not quite the army of supporters I was hoping for."
"How'd you get out?"
"Fear and curiosity don't often go hand in hand. But for my guards, they did nicely," Corvan admitted, rubbing his belly. "The soup alone was worth escaping, but freedom was an added perk, I must admit. I left them a vengeful message to throw them off the scent."
"You're... not quite what I expected," Kors admitted, sizing up the thin Varadour, who stood a head shorter than him, still wearing the tattered linens of a prisoner. He arched an eyebrow in disappointment and partial disbelief. "Why did you hang around here after you escaped?"
"Well, I had a feeling Zerik would send someone. Some ally I could befriend," Corvan admitted with a sigh, giving Kors a similar look of disappointment. "Plus, when searching for an escaped prisoner, no guard would search nearby cells. Certainly not by touch and that's what it would take to find someone like me down here."
"I'm getting that impression," Kors agreed, crossing his arms defensively. He'd planned on setting the prisoner free himself, finding the Varadour already loose and stained with blood unnerved him greatly. "I have a message for you, from Zerik."
"I figured as much," Corvan chuckled, shrugging in relent. "But, I did need your diversion in order to escape, so a deal is a deal. What's this Zerik want?"
"He wants a relic they keep here, a token of great power," Kors said, licking his lips in anticipation. "A weapon without which this city will surely mourn and their enemies shout for joy. A weapon I am to use in our escape."
"You mean your escape, correct?" Corvan added with a smirk. "I'd say it obvious I can escape this place any time I desire. You? Not so much. Particularly with the great din I hear up stairs. Why can't you get out the way you came in?"
Kors didn't reply, but he clenched his jaw in frustration, the air around him shimmering in restrained heat. Corvan's grin grew, showing off crooked teeth. "You lost the boy. The Sight Seeker was the key to surviving the Watcher, wasn't he? I expected as much."
"What could you know of the Sight Seeker?" Kors asked, gesturing to a nearby cage. "Your exposure to the outside world has been quite limited."
"My 'exposure' was purposeful," Corvan said, glancing down at the deep scars on his belly and chest. "The Harbor Master's questions were always about Sight Seekers, their nature and how they're powers usually work. I learned much, particularly from the nature of his questions. The boy is powerless, as of yet, is he not?"
Kors took a surprised step back, shifting his blade until it rested between them. "Someone as smart as you," He said cautiously, "should know better than to run his mouth so. I'm not sure turning you loose on the city would be a good idea after all. You learn far too much from far too little. I'd hate to think of what you could do to my city."
"Your city?" Corvan spat. "Don't mock me. You and Zerik have labored against the Malik for decades. You are outcasts and exiles. You've no love for the city, or its people. Only power and long-denied vendettas still unfulfilled."
"Don't mistake my hatred for Malik Morgra as hate for this city," Kors countered, his offhand glowing bright red until flames rose from his fingertips, licking his knuckles. "Ever."
"Perhaps I assume too much," Corvan offered with an apologetic nod. "You say you require a device in order to escape and cripple the Malik? Very well. What is it and where is it?"
"It's only a few stories above us," Kors said, watching the Varadour uneasily. "and with so many soldiers searching for us, I'd imagine it will only be lightly guarded. After a fashion."
"Why would such a prize be left unprotected?" Corvan asked.
"Because the prize," Kors answered, "Is two orbs of pure Danica, wielded by the Watcher himself. Given what he did in the Catacombs, I dare say he can protect himself."
Corvan gasped in surprise, then chuckled. "You might be my kind of man after all, Kors. Indeed, who would guard a force like that with something as flimsy as men? What exactly do you want me to do?"
"The Watcher's guards will not be an issue for me," Kors promised, flourishing the blade in his hands. "How do you think I got this? What would be most useful would be for the Watcher to turn his face towards me, only to find a knife in his back. Think you can manage that?"
"Perhaps," Corvan replied, tentatively. "I'd need to see the layout of the room first. No assassin dives in without the proper preparations. Do you know of a way to view the rooms unseen?"
Kors smiled wickedly. "I do. They're a bit tight for me, but I imagine you would fit in them just fine. Hope you don't mind dust and can crawl quietly."
"Being the tallest and strongest in the room isn't always an advantage," Corvan said, glancing down at his clothes. "Think we could nick a pair of linens and a cloak? A nice black one would be fitting, very assassin-like, don't you think?"
"I saw a spare stock room around the corner," Kors offered, nodding back the way he'd come. "You need me to pick the lock?"
"I'm not in the mood for the quiet approach anymore," Corvan replied, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. He pulled the whistle free from around his neck and handed it to Kors. "You can use this to signal me, only Varadours can hear it. I was cooped up in there for far too long. What do you say to a 'noisy' approach?"
"I'd say it's been a long time coming," Kors agreed, gripping his sword hilt in anticipation. "Let the Harbor Master and the Malik hear of this day and quiver in fear."
"Quiver, yes," Corvan agreed, vanishing into the shadows again. "Lead the way."
Kors grinned as they walked down the dark hallway. Finally, the Malik would pay for everything, putting Kors' parents in harm's way, corrupting his sister and exiling his comrades all those years ago. This would signal the beginning of Malik Morgra' end. A slow, bloody death for all of Hiertalia to see. After decades of labor in the shadows, they were so close he wanted to shout, laugh and cry at the same time. Soon, Morgra would pay. They Kors could put every Outlander into the ground, where they belonged. Starting with Keevan.
Chapter 22
"So, any ideas for getting us out of here?" Bahjal asked.
"Me?" Keevan replied, "Why would you ask me? I can't fight repulsors. Can you?"
"I just wondered if you see a flaw in this place, something we could use."
"Why not just send a runner to the High Priestess and apprise her of the situation?"
"We could do that," Bahjal admitted, "and she'd eventually get around to us, in a day or so. That gives Kors and the Varadour two days to have their way with the Harbor Guild."
"Wish I knew what they were planning," Keevan grumbled, wrapping his arms around his legs as he pulled his knees up beneath his chin. "Then we could at least give the Suadans something useful. Or take action ourselves."
"Well, think about your conversations with Kors," Bahjal prodded, resting her elbows on the table as she held her head in her hands. "What do you think he would do if he suddenly had a fellow Varadour on his side? I refuse to believe that the prisoner's escape and your arrival coincided by chance."
"A Varadour's added strength and speed would make him an effective weapon against just about anybody," Keevan thought out loud, flipping over the document before them. He traced a rough outline of the Harbor District, its imposing wall and important landmarks.
"They wouldn't know about the Harbor Master's arrest though." Bahjal pointed out.
"Let's see... Kors didn't seem like one to worry about money," Keevan stewed, marking X's on the offices of the Harbor Guild. "Nor secrets, we burned the one Kors was sent to Destroy. He's a big man, obsessed with power and accustomed to being physically powerful. Can you think of anything that might suit his tastes?"
"A few Danica stores could have an item to enhance his power," Bahjal surmised, staring over his shoulder at the map. "But their locations are secret and I'd imagine, doubly guarded at a time like this."
"That leaves... but no, he wouldn’t be that bold, would he?" Keevan gulped, staring at the map.
"What?" Bahjal insisted, staring at the page. "What else could he be after?"
Keevan took the quill, empty of ink, and pressed it against one last name on the page. It rested in the south eastern corner of the Harbor Guild, where his reach could span the tunnels beneath the entire Etrendi District in every direction.
"The Watcher?" Bahjal said, sitting straight up in surprise. "Is that even possible? Kors and a single Outlander... they couldn't possibly kill the Watcher, could they?"
"If two Tri-Beings and one Sight Seeker could evade him, imagine what a Varadour could do if the Watcher didn’t see it coming?" Keevan said, slamming his fist on the table. Warm pain blossomed across the side of his palm. "The worst part is we're too far away to do anything about it."
"Are we?" Bahjal asked patiently, a half-smile of challenge cresting her lips. "Think it through, take a good look around. I'll prepare a missive for Lanasha, telling her what we've set out to prevent. Hopefully, we'll be long gone by the time she replies."
"You have a lot of faith in me, don't you?" Keevan asked, pursing his lips in worry. "Maybe too much. I'm not a performer you can just order to do the impossible on a regular basis."
"You are the only Sight Seeker in a thousand leagues of here," Bahjal said calmly, picking up the quill and dipping it in ink. "By your very nature, you're powers appear impossible to the rest of us. Now, get to work."
"Not to mention a mischievous streak," Keevan finished, rolling his eyes and rising to his feet. His elemental vision revealed the same daunting repulsor fields creating a bubble of sorts around the room. The Tri-Beings even went as far was to mix repulsor orbs into the mortar, though they were small ones by the look of it, their individual fields only extending a foot or so in every direction.
Walking the edges of their quarters, Keevan tried to recall all of Nariem's blacksmithing lessons and couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship involved. He pulled the small repulsor orb from his pocket, the one used for keeping the hidden record dry. It was a dry, smooth, gray stone. Its field was weak and circular, limited to only the water in the immediate vicinity. His hand tingled from a sudden numbness as he held it aloft, making it harder for his blood to reach his extremities as it tried to push his body's water away.
He re-examined the ceiling. Each repulsor sat a perfect distance from its fellows, such that fields perfectly aligned, like bricks in a wall. A tough trick indeed, since most repulsor stones' generated their fields in a circular shape. Somehow, these ones were conditioned to hold a rectangular formation, allowing them to perfectly fit together without even an inch of space between their fields.
Keevan laid down on a bed in the guest room, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't shake the feeling there was something he was missing. Nariem didn't work much with repulsor Danica, its use was strictly guarded by the military, since they couldn't be duplicated by Tri-Being means. Perhaps General Arnadi or one of his craftsmen could escape this room, but what could Keevan and Bahjal do? There weren't enough loose elements inside the room for her to do anything useful, she'd need to draw in water from outside the building.
With a sigh of relief, Keevan rubbed his eyes. On the other hand, working in an elementally blocked room carried some benefits. His elemental vision usually provided a chaotic bundle of information as every Tri-Being in sight pulled or pushed on the nearby elements. Here, everything was still and he could just soak in the simple details.
The air around him sparkled with a slightly blue tint, as if he watched through poorly constructed glass. There was water in the air, a few teaspoons worth perhaps, but less than outside. That meant when the Tri-Beings fitted in the last repulsor brick, they forced out as much of the element as possible. The room's heat, its hottest point depicted by a red glow along the window sill, was also a feeble supply at best.
He noticed a distinct lack of electricity in the room as well, perhaps contributing to Bahjal's feelings of security and her insistence on escaping. He wondered if any Tri-Being's decisions could be trusted in a room like this, when they were so free of the fear brought on by even a mild electric field. After all, without fear, the body's self-preservation instinct wouldn't be worth much. Perhaps the secret to unlocking this room was in realizing what else wasn't there...
Keevan stood up on the bed, peering up the ceiling's perfect field of repulsed element. Was it a single ore repelling all three elements, or a mixture of three different types of repulsors, all fitting throughout the roof and walls? The complexity of the design would be extremely complex if that were the case. He reached up and touched the ceiling, dry, rough and cool to the touch.
"No, No, I'm looking at this all wrong," Keevan realized, glancing at the window on his right and the wall it sat in. He called out, "Bahj, how does a Tri-Being feel if you're standing close to repulsors?"
"Ugh, they're not fun. Depends on what kind of course," Bahjal answered, casual leaning against the doorframe. "I finished the letter, hopefully it will keep us out of the dungeons when this is over. Did you discover something?"
"Maybe," Keevan asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You mind standing against the wall in front of me?"
"You want me to stand inside the repulsor field?" Bahjal asked, shuddering at the thought. "No thanks."
He couldn't help the notice the lack of electricity around her, a complete lack of fear. A total feeling of security. For Tri-Beings, the room was an emotional prison. Why leave a place that makes you feel safe? Unless you already have someone with you that makes you feel just as secure. He recalled the Harbor Master's lighting attack. If Bahjal had felt the slightest bit of fear in that moment, they likely would have died. If she weren't such a strong Etrendi, they might have died anyway.
"What does it feel like?" Keevan asked, walking over to the window and glancing outside. A veritable storm of elements raged on out there. Citizens scampered about in fear, drawing electricity after them like a swarm of insects. Guards kept their fear more in check, drawing in moisture as they methodically hunted their quarry or hot anger if they grew frustration. "The craftsmen placed the repulsor perfectly apart from each other, but without seeing the fields at all, so what were they doing to be so precise?"
"Using their hands, I'd imagine. We instantly feel the difference when a repulsor field touches us," Bahjal said, walking alongside Keevan and glancing out the window. "Amazing the mess one Sight Seeker can cause."
"I could have avoided it, if I let them hurt you more," Keevan thought out loud, putting his arm around her. "But I couldn't let that happen. How'd you escape anyway?"
"I let them think my wounds were more serious than they were. The blood helped with that and the temporary unconsciousness," Bahjal answered, leaning her head against his chest. Keevan still couldn't believe she was so much older than he, she still looked a day younger than sixteen. He felt her skin turn warm against his chest as she recalled her imprisonment. "They left one guard to watch over me, more to keep me alive than prevent my escape. I drew all the water away from him, a little at a time. He didn't notice how bored he got until it was too late. It's easy to sneak away when your guard is relentlessly daydreaming of better days."
"That's my girl," Keevan whispered, kissing her head of braids. A faint aroma of lilacs tickled his nostrils. Apparently the Harbor Guild thought of everything when it came to pampering important prisoners. A tickling sensation trickled along his neck and he noticed a faint sliver of static electricity scatter across the strands of her hair. A low-level field, but certainly not caused by fear...
"I'm glad we're finally together," Bahjal said softly, pulling his other arm around her. "Whatever happens."
"Sparks," Keevan thought aloud, staring outside. "Fear isn't the only source of electricity, anticipation and excitement can generate it as well, just in lower volumes. Very subtle ones. I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't standing right next to your head."
Bahjal shot Keevan a dangerous look. "And here I thought you and I were having a moment."
"You asked me to get us out of here," Keevan answered, staring out the window, deep in thought. "We can always cuddle later, when Kors is in a dark hole somewhere, in chains."
A chill ran down Keevan's neck, until Bahjal stepped away. Her face was a mask of serenity, a little too serene. She was hiding something, a deeper despair she refused to voice. "Very well then, what's your plan?"
"I said something to upset you..." Keevan pried, "What was it?"
"Nothing," Bahjal insisted, folding her arms. "Now, have you found a way out or not?"
"Well, assuming a repulsor field functions like a Tri-Being's field, I think so," Keevan said, pulling out the weak repulsor stone. "I think so."
"Where'd you get that?"
"It was preserving the document Kors burned."
Bahjal put her hand over it, pursing her lips. "It's very weak. How is making me bored going to get us out?"
"I'm not going to use it on you," Keevan said with a grin, walking over the window. "Watch and learn."
He pushed the orb against the glass, watching its field tremble against the fixed repulsors, then relent. There, the size of his fist, a hole in the field appeared. He was countering the repulsor field in the same way Kors and Calistra countered the Watcher. Here was a technique a Tri-Being likely wouldn't consider. They wouldn't carry a repulsor with them, constantly unsure if their emotions were genuine or the product of the stone's elemental alterations. The stone was little more than a tool in Keevan's hands however, with no emotional side effects at all.
With a quick jerk, Keevan snapped the stone against the glass until it cracked. Gently, he pushed and pulled against the fragile surface. If too much fell, it would alert passerby below. If it stayed untouched, they couldn't get more elements from outside.
"How is breaking the window going to help?" Bahjal asked, tugging on her braids in frustration. "Particularly when you're putting another repulsor into the mix?"
"I'm putting a foreign repulsor into the mix," Keevan corrected her, withdrawing the stone slightly once a hole the size of a large coin lay in the glass. "Put your ear to it, as if you were listening to something."
"That's a triple elemental repulsion," Bahjal said, stroking the long linen strands of her Suadan dress. "I don't think you know what you're asking, to have all the moisture, heat and static pushed from my mind. It's not a pleasant experience, having your emotions so obviously toyed with."
"Just, trust me," Keevan pleaded. Holding out his other hand, palm up, inviting. "Please."
"Fine," Bahjal said, gulping nervously. Leaning over, she pushed her head against his arm, until it lay against his hand. Grimacing, she clutched her stomach. "All the heat is pushed away. I can recall my parents dying. My brother's disappearance. Without heat, they all come back just as sharp as ever."
"Your trigger thoughts for cold," Keevan echoed, stroking her hair. "Without the elements to interfere, your mind goes back to its most potent memories. I'm so sorry about putting you through this. Focus on something, something important. Complicated even. What do you think I should be for Issamere? How would I get there?"
Bahjal gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, focusing. One element outside shifted, sliding through the hole in a steady trickle. It oozed from the hole in the glass and then trickled down the repulsor field as if it were a wall in and of itself. Water pooled against the floor's field, hovering about six inches above the ground. It sent a shiver up his leg as it soaked into his pants, just below his knees.
"I think you see things no one else can," Bahjal whispered, fighting back tears. "Suada's mercy I can hear my parents' screams. How can you ask this of me?"
"Trust me," Keevan implored, counting on the electricity-less security to reinforce her compliance. Despite the frost gathering on the tips of her hair, her concentration still managed to pull in cup after cup of water. "What could I really do for these people?"
"You could lead them," Bahjal continued through gritted teeth. "You'd have to earn their trust, but you can steer them clear of so many dangers, just by looking and understanding what we can't. You can make such a difference here, if you will only give yourself a chance to learn how."
"I don't know how you can see that much potential in me," Keevan admitted with a gulp of uncertainty. "I'll do my best, but I hope I don't disappoint you."
"Just don't stop trying to make a difference," Bahjal implored, taking his wrist in her hand and squeezing it assuredly. "I... I can concentrate better now. There's more water here. But h-"
Bahjal opened her eyes, staring down at her legs where a puddle of water now spread as far as the lacquered wooden frame of the bed. Speechless, she stepped away from the wall and drew the fluid to her, until filled her linen loops like a warrior stocking up on arrows.
"Amazing," she whispered.
"We're just lucky repulsor stones are so rare," Keevan pointed out, pocket his orb. "And that they didn't search me before putting me in here. I should have figured it out sooner. The fields have to line up perfectly because if they overlap, they'll cancel each other out, but if there's space between them they'll leak."
"I'll push our letter to the High Priestess under the door," Bahjal volunteered, closing her eyes and sighing contently. "By Suada, we've only been here an hour and I'd forgotten how good it feels to be able to focus like this."
"Amazing the power the elements have over us," Keevan said, glancing outside. Their broken window still went unnoticed.
"More like everyone but you," Bahjal corrected him. "I've never seen your mood change with the weather."
"I also can't use the elements to heal," Keevan pointed out. "So how are we to handle the twenty foot drop to the stone courtyard below?"
"Start tying the bed sheets into a rope," Bahjal ordered testily, giving him a less-than-impressed look. With water caressing her skin, her usual coarse attitude returned as well. "Really, you figured out how to bypass a repulsor field, but can't use your surroundings?
"Just go deliver that letter," Keevan chuckled, stripping off the bedding layer by layer. "We'll be outside soon and then you'll be more like yourself."
By the time she returned, Keevan had two bed sheets folded and tied. Bahjal stopped by the room's wardrobe, pulling out a few sets of shirts, trousers and leather belts into a separate pile. Her motions were determined and effective, nothing like the day dreamy, easily distracted mood the repulsor room induced. Keevan never fully appreciated the effect the elements wielded on the Tri-Beings, now he did.
"Alright," Keevan said, taking a step back to admire his work. "Here's about thirty feet of 'rope', more than enough for the drop. I assume you can get pass the bars on the window?"
"I believe so," Bahjal answered, picking up the strongest belt and pulling a chair over in front of the window. "Can you hold the repulsor orb over the crack again?"
"Sure," Keevan answered, returning to the wall. Standing in the repulsor field, he couldn't deny the strange itching sensation ticking his flesh. He felt like an invisible force pushed him from the wall, as if he were a living magnet set against his twin.
Bahjal guided his orb by his wrist, so she didn't have to reach directly into the repulsor field. She guided his hand in a square pattern, hugging the edges of the window where it was anchored in the stone. She chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Keevan grumbled, scratching his chest. "Belenok's beard, I'm itchy."
"Well, I'm glad repulsor fields are no fun for you either," Bahjal offered with a grin. "I think I'm learning from you, that's all. I'm depositing ice into every crack in the stone I can find."
As if on cue, the window gave a soft popping sound and Keevan noticed a few hairline cracks along the edges of the glass. On the next round, Bahjal guided water into the cracks like a tentacle, pulling chunks of the stone and glass free before they could fall to the walkways below.
Soon, a warm breeze touched Keevan's hand. Using his elemental vision, he saw the fields around the window shift and twist with each round of Bahjal's attack on the window. "Your using repeated freezing and thawing to crack the stone and dislodge the repulsors."
"Yes," Bahjal replied. "I don't have to remove the repulsors themselves, just the stone their weighted in. The farther apart their fields are..." A rush of element answered her call, waves of heat and sparks of electricity rushing into her arm from the outside. She closed her eyes and sighed in relief.
"You feeling more like yourself now?" Keevan asked.
"Indeed," Bahjal agreed, turning her attention to the window. "Now, we're not too big. I think these two middle bars will do it. You?"
"Fine by me."
"Hear goes then," Bahjal warned, putting her hands in the middle of the window. Waving at the bed. "Pull the bed over and tight the bed sheets to one corner. Then, cover your eyes, if you don't want to look at lightning directly."
"Ready," Keevan announced, grateful for the knots Nariem taught him at the smithy. The soft fabrics slid easily against his fingers, but he felt confident they'd hold their combined weight. Long enough to get them safely to the ground at least. He set the bundle of 'rope' down next to Bahjal, then turned his attention to her elements working on the window.
Water oozed from her fingertips, working their way along the outside of the window until they reached the base of the iron bars, where Bahjal's interference had shifted the repulsor fields. Ice grew over the edge where metal touched stone, gathered into a tangle of frost inches thick. Then, dark strands of light extended out from Bahjal, anchoring themselves in the ice. Just as Keevan opened his eyes to ask, electricity cut through the space.
It created a fascinating image in Keevan's elemental vision. The lightning bolt crackled against the repulsor fields in the window, swirling like a serpent in a storm, until just grazing her target. The window burst outwards in a flash of heat and a roar of hot air.
Chapter 23
Keevan clamped his hands over his ears, gasping in surprise. He'd underestimated the strength of the blast, amplified by the combined forces of so many repulsors pushing against a lightning bolt. His ears rang from the explosion, leaving him with only the option of reading Bahjal's lips when she pulled him over to the window and mouthed the words 'let’s go'.
She tossed the coil of knotted bedding out the window, knocking away a few shards of left over glass protruding from its base. Then she disappeared out the window, her line pulling tight as she descended. In a moment, her line slackened, whipping back and forth as Bahjal signaled the all clear.
Keevan took the rope in his trembling hands, still surprised at the strength of the explosion. Sliding down to the first knot, he stepped out of the window. With his feet against the outside wall, he took one last look in at the most comfortable prison he'd ever heard of, hoping they weren't making a huge mistake. Then he looked down and felt his stomach drop in fear. It's one thing to look out a window at a twenty-foot drop, and another to realize literally nothing but a few thousand silken strands lay between you and a crippling landing against hard stone.
"Come on!" Bahjal urged, waving at him. She sounded as if she were a hundred yards away, her face twisted into a jubilant smile. An ember of anger smoldered in his mind. She was enjoying this a bit too much. Perhaps being trapped in the room without any fear for an hour wasn't a good thing. She seemed even more reckless than usual. A few passing onlookers paused, regarding Bahjal with mild curiosity. At least no guards had arrived, yet.
Closing his eyes, Keevan focused on finding the next knot and sliding down the 'rope'. Find the next knot with his feet, get hold, slid his hands down to another knot, repeat. The wind billowed around him, as if the breeze itself were trying to dissuade the course of action his lack of courage was already questioning.
Finally, he felt a comforting pat on his shoulder. He looked up. He was hanging on the rope a mere three inches from the ground. 'Let's go' Bahjal mouthed, pointing at the far wall. The guards didn't have orders to shoot them, but some were descending the stairs on the other end of the courtyard, already in pursuit. Keevan suddenly felt lightheaded. What kind of moron jumps from a perfectly safe room into a warzone?
Bahjal didn't give him any more time to consider the consequences of their choice. With a sharp jerk, she dragged him towards a pair of dark doors leading back into the Harbor Guild Headquarters. They ran ahead, skirting passed annoyed citizens, ignoring the cries of the local guards. Keevan followed Bahjal's lead, his legs pounding against the tough stone with each uneasy step.
He didn't know the paths of the Harbor Guild, not like his native Haldran District. But Bahjal didn't have trouble hugging various corners and avoiding dead ends. Once again, he felt a strange sense of distance from her, somehow this woman knew the lay of the land for the Harbor Guild, which wanted him dead. When did she spend so much time here? Not while they were sneaking around the Haldran District, surely?
"Here," Bahjal said, putting her hand on an oak door's lock. It clicked open, revealing a patch of ice over it when she removed her hand. She slipped inside a dark room. Keevan paused outside, staring at the icy lock. It wasn't the first time he'd seen that trick. "This storage closet is never elementally blocked. We've got to get dressed."
"Dressed?" Keevan asked, staring over his shoulder at the frosted door knob. "How'd you beat that lock?"
"You expect me to avoid notice in my pristine Suadan robes?" Bahjal asked, skirting through stacks of clothes as she moved from barrel to shelf. The entire room was stacked full of supplies. "This is the Malik's 'just in case' room, should any of his agents fall on hard times in the Harbor Guild."
"And the lock?"
"Only opens to ice if it's grown in a particular formation," Bahjal said, her voice and motions hasty. She pulled a wad of fabric from one shelf and tossed it at Keevan. He caught it but hovered there a moment, watching her with calculating eyes.
"What are you waiting for?" Bahjal insisted, pulling a wad of fabric down for herself. She nodded at the far corner of the room, blocked by a veritable wall of barrels. "Now get changed before this gets awkward," With that, she pulled her dress up over her head. She still wore linen small clothes underneath, but they left only a few of her curves to the imagination.
Keevan's face turned beet red and he bumbled his way into the corner, peeling off his own tunic. The questions surrounding the ice lock would have to wait, if his instincts were right, they hinted at some topics impossible to discuss in a few short seconds anyway. Unfolding the robes she'd given him, Keevan rolled his eyes.
"Seriously?" Keevan demanded, waving the robe around the corner. "I have to wear this?!"
"How else do you expect to sneak around? It has to be in plain sight. Especially with suspicious guards searching every nook and cranny. Our only hope is to walk right passed them."
"These are an initiate's robes," Keevan complained, examining the thick wool fabric. "If I have to command even one drop of water, this disguise will be useless."
"There are no Rhets this far into the Harbor Guild, Keeves," Bahjal added impatiently. He could hear her tying together something that rasped like leather. "You're a Suadan Initiate, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. You'll be assumed too weak to help in the fight, so no one will ask you to command any elements."
"Just to heal myself if I scrape my elbow," Keevan grumbled, shrugging off his pants. The thick wool bit into his back, chest and arms. Only the thin linen small cloths around his waist and legs granted him some comfort. "Are these clothes supposed to be this itchy? Is this a joke?"
"Am I laughing?" Bahjal asked, stepping into view. Her braids were tied into a single bundle around her head, like a crown. Her blue leather armor glistened in the faint light from outside. But what really caught his eye was the Danica edged whip in her hands.
"Those are ... expensive," Keevan gulped. "You had one stashed here in advance?"
"Your primary enemy is the Harbor Guild," Bahjal answered simply, she glanced at the whip fondly. Keevan dipped into his elemental vision, watching the water within her touch the base of the whip, glowing blue as the weapon 'loaded' a drop of water. "It seemed fitting to have such tools as these set aside in case of emergency."
"Tools. Interesting choice of words. After the stories I've heard about those weapons," Keevan muttered, cinching a braided rope tight around his waist. The robe bit into his chest from every angle. He scratched his torso repeatedly, glaring at her in frustration.
"They're all true," Bahjal smiled, coiling the weapon in one hand and taking Keevan by the other as she led him outside. "The robe is itchy to teach initiates to keep the mind focused, regardless of outside distractions. Since you can't command water at all, most will assume you are a lowly initiate interrupted from your punishment by the Harbor Guild's alarm. Sometimes Suadans come here to train."
As if she'd walked through a portal to another world, Bahjal's persona completely changed when her leather boots hit the outside cobblestones. She jerked Keevan along with all the impudence one might expect from a guard dispatched to punish a deserving child. He nearly laughed out loud. Her frail stature made the threat of violence such an empty threat. Then he thought about the whip dangling at her side. A shiver of fear ran through Keevan, enough to hold back a chuckle.
It was a fortunate thing, for just then the first pair of guards emerged into view for a brief moment, ducking into the storage room Keevan and Bahjal left only moments before. Had they seen Keevan, posing as a lowly initiate, chuckling in mid-punishment, they may have suspected some sort of deception.
"Excellent show of fear when you saw the guards," Bahjal whispered to him, pushing him to the left at the next intersection of tunnels. "It looked genuine."
"It was," Keevan hissed back. "How'd you know the guard wouldn't recognize the disguise? You’re too small to pose as a guard."
"Suadan guards are weighed by their command of water," Bahjal explained as they worked their way down a torch-lit hallway. "Not by their physical size. My whip's first blast is loaded onto the handle. Only guards or Etrendi have enough command to make it stay here, and hurl it on the spot."
Keevan glanced down, peaking through the elemental plane. Sure enough, a tangle of water energy hovered at the base of the whip, tied to Bahjal's cloud-like exterior. The lines bristled with contained energy, like a drawn bowstring.
"Drop your eyes!" Bahjal ordered in a firm hiss. "They're a dead giveaway."
"How am I supposed to identify the assassin if I can't use my elemental vision?" Keevan countered angrily. His skin felt like dozens of ants were skittering around his body, nibbling at him in odd intervals.
"I'll get you to a well-lit area, that will help hide your glowing eyes," Bahjal offered. She led him into a small, narrow alley, pulling a smaller wad of fabric from her belt. "Tie this over your eyes, see if that helps."
"A blindfold?" Keevan grumbled, holding the strip of linen out in front of him. "How will making me blind and more itchy help?"
"I’m hoping it will smother the glow, but be thin enough for you to see through," Bahjal paused at the next intersection, glancing around the corner tentatively. "We don't need an analysis. Just find the man without an elemental connection. He's the prisoner the guards are searching for..."
Bahjal trailed off, looking around confused, and then gasped in realization. She spun on Keevan, enraged. "How did you convince me to do this?! We were safe in the repulsor room. You were safe! How'd you convince me to come out here and put you in greater danger? This Varadour could kill us both!"
"There wasn't much lighting in the repulsor room." Keevan admitted sheepishly, staring at his feet. He felt like a mouse caught before a hungry cat, ready to pounce at the first sudden movement. "Since you couldn't feel fear like you normally could..."
Wide-eyed Bahjal held her head in both hands and leaned against the wall, staring at Keevan as if for the first time. "You're saying you used the elements to influence my emotions. Only the Malik's best can touch my emotions with their elemental fields, without me realizing it. I didn't suspect you for a second."
"I don't have an elemental field for you to feel." Keevan reminded her, grimacing at the obvious frailty that lay in that sentence. "I can only see your surroundings and try to take advantage."
"Still, I didn't realize until just now that I was emotionally... compromised, while in the repulsor room." Bahjal echoed with a nervous shudder. "I normally trust your judgment, but you're not trained to fight or track escaped prisoners. This is too dangerous, Keeves. We have to go back. The Suadan High Priestess will protect you until this mess is over."
"Bahjal, this place is swarming with guards." Keevan pleaded, pointing further ahead. "Once I identify the Varadour, they'll swarm him from every direction. I'll be perfectly safe and the Malik will see I'm on his side. Right now, all he's seen is me leading Zerik's troops and humiliating the Harbor Master. You and I both know I need to do something more. Help me. Please."
Bahjal hesitated a moment, weighing their options. The normal balance of heat, moisture and electricity in the outside air returned her to her usual pensive, thoughtful state. He could practically feel her mind analyzing their situation from every angle. Considering, plotting, anticipating...
"Please, Bahjal." Keevan repeated, taking her hand in his.
She looked down at their hands, and he drew on his elemental vision to see her reaction. Fear crackled inside her, mixed with an extra swirl of moisture. He silently cursed his poor luck. Many emotions didn't carry elements at all, called 'dead emotions'. Like love or sympathy. He could only read half of her response to his words and touch, like only hearing half a sentence.
"Very well." Bahjal relented, licking her lips as her mind leapt from one decision to the next. "But you must promise to back away from the fight once it starts."
"Absolutely." Keevan confirmed, raising both hands palms out in a defensive gesture. "I'm perfectly aware of what I can and can't handle. Fighting Tri-Beings or Varadours falls into the 'can't' category."
"Alright, there's the entrance to the Inner Circle." Bahjal said, pointing around the corner. "The Watcher's chambers are one floor above this one, and this is the shortest route to it from the catacombs below."
Keevan sighed in relief, wrapping the blindfold around his head. With Bahjal's rage nullified, anticipation built up in his chest once again. If all went well, he'd get to see another Outlander today. Perhaps, with Bahjal's help, he could even talk to the man. "What makes you think Kors and the assassin would try to go in this way?"
"Just the assassin," Bahjal sighed, rubbing her temples. "The other entrances are another hour out of the way or better guarded. Kors will send him in first and have him let down a rope somewhere along the walls. Too many guards know his face. We catch the assassin here and now, we stop the whole mess before it starts."
"Catch the assassin," Keevan thought, cinching the knot tight. "By the Gods I wish there was a better way to meet this man."
"I know, Keeves," Bahjal agreed. Giving him a tentative hug as she scratched his back. Keevan sighed in relief. "When he's back in custody, I'll talk to the Malik. I'm sure if he knew the Harbor Guild were capturing and torturing an Outlander, he wouldn't allow it. Not with you here."
Keevan nodded grimly, opening his eyes. "Just, please, don't hurt him."
"I can't promise that," Bahjal answered, stroking her whip's handle. "But I'll try."
"Okay," Keevan agreed, a sinking feeling setting in his stomach. "I can partly see through the blindfold. Reading anything is out of the question. How do you know so much about Kors anyway?"
"The blindfold helps dampen those glowing eyes. Good. I just need you to pick out of a crowd the one person who isn't a Tri-Being," Bahjal insisted, licking her lips nervously. "Can I count on you to do that?"
"Yes," Keevan decided, trying to ignore the worsening nausea as he mustered out the words. "He's literally killing people. I can't let that stand."
"Alright," Bahjal said, looking him up and down, glancing at her own armor. "Let's go."
She led them around the corner, towards two large oak doors held open by four Harbor Guildsmen wielding shields, maces and chainmail armor. Their weapons glowed with Danica-forged hues of heat as they warded off any citizens trying to enter.
Bahjal walked up to the first, dragging Keevan along by the wrist. "I've a disobedient initiate I'd like to teach a lesson too. Is the Temple forge available?"
"Not until we've caught the prisoner," The Harbor Guard explained, keeping his shield between them, weapon at the ready. His eyes glowed with a steady diet of suspicion and dedication. "Wait outside until the building is clear, unless you have a signed order from the Harbor Master."
"That's a hard thing to find these days," Bahjal added with a grimace, "Considering how his last discussion with Lanasha went. I heard he's been detained."
"As are your means of entering the Harbor Guild," the guard spat back bitterly. "Now, move along before we move you ourselves."
"As you wish," Bahjal relented, dragging Keevan down the hallway, in front of the big oak doors. Here, the ceiling reached a good fifteen feet high, supported by thick columns that still afforded them an ample view of the main courtyard. The broken window they escaped through still hung there like a mouth agape from a recent brawl, but someone had already rolled the tied blankets back up into the room.
A few other tangles of citizens and merchants were also waiting before the grand entrance to the Harbor Guild. Suadans among them sat meditating on thick carpets they sometimes carried, embroidered with the elegant symbols of the water goddess. A few Belenok merchants paced back and forth between the columns, one in particular juggled a pair of fire daggers with one hand to stave off his irritation.
"What's the plan?" Keevan whispered.
"Wait here, by the pillar," Bahjal answered. "Just tell me who stands out and take cover. It will likely get messy."
"Indeed," Keevan said, feeling a thin layer of sweat form over his palms. "Be careful."
"Of course," Bahjal said, offering a comforting smile. "I sat by you when you read all those ancient legends, I picked up enough to get by."
"You were never paying attention to the pages. I don't think you actually read a book in your life." Keevan countered with a chuckle. Mimicking her higher-pitched voice, he whispered, "You'll learn nothing from your books that you couldn't learn faster and better from a live person."
"Shut your mouth," Bahjal chuckled. "I don't sound like that. Now relax and keep your eyes open. I’m supposed to be the about to punish you for your insolence. It won't do if we spend the whole time laughing like old friends."
"Right," Keevan agreed, forcing a straight face. He even offered her a finger-knitted salute. "As you wish, commander."
"That's right," Bahjal agreed, folding her arms. "Now, do as I command and keep your mouth shut, or you'll blow our cover."
"Yes, sir."
Bahjal rolled her eyes, turning away so she could face the entrance. Despite her folded arms, there was something dangerous in her slightly bent legs and unwavering gaze as she sized up the gate guards. Keevan couldn't shake the feeling she was ready to pounce on the first thing he pointed at, be it guard, citizen or the High Priestess herself.
The minutes trickled by. Small tangles of Etrendi approached the great gates. Most were turned away immediately. A few, high ranking members of the Guild were let in without a word. These were officials the Harbor Guards knew on sight, removing them from the list of potential suspects even without the help of Keevan's powers.
This building stood apart from the rest of the Harbor Tower as the Guild's headquarters. The store rooms, docks, warehouses and forgotten libraries were all cut off from the Guild's upper floors, except for a few well-guarded entrances like this one. It was a new addition, atop the older quarters that a few generations ago had called home.
The Guild's walls wept a steady stream of water, giving it an ever-shifting appearance as the sunlight struck the falling liquid. The Etrendi here were so powerful, they attracted gallons and gallons of water just by turning their attentions to daily problems. The artisans designed a beautiful and effective way to vent water from the uppermost floors.
Keevan glanced out at the wall dividing the Palace District and the Harbor Guild from the Etrendi District. A few archers still lined the edges, watching either side with equal disdain. Before yesterday, he thought the whole city looked down on the Haldrans and Rhets, as second class citizens who only existed as a source of services or supplies. Now he saw a chain of sorts, with the Malik and Elemental Temples looking down on the Harbor Guild and Etrendi Nobles, who in turn looked down on the rest of the city.
He thought of the whispers among the Rhets, tentative threats of rebellion or revolution, depending on your loyalties. With each Danica weapon they saw among the nobles, a dozen more Rhets dreamed of stealing such tools for themselves and turning against the high and mighty nobles who'd dismissed them for so long. Bahjal had spoken of such tensions in the city, a civil war ripe for the making if someone with the right powers and resources were to make a claim.
Not his war though. His people lay across the sea after all. A surge of anticipation shot through him. What would he ask this Varadour first? He longed for hours to hear this man's voice and soak in the details of home. So many years reading about his people in book and ancient tomes... now one freely walked the stones of Issamere. A part of him looked around at the Tri-Beings and longed to flee the city with a fellow Outlander in tow. To leave these bitter, dangerous, terrified people behind.
Keevan shook off such thoughts. His family was here. He couldn't just abandon them, not after the years they spent raising him. They would have time to talk once Bahjal and the guards caught the Varadour. Surely seven battle trained Tri-Beings could capture one Outlander.
There, a man emerged from the milling crowd, walking towards the gates. Keevan's elemental vision revealed him immediately, for elementally, he resembled what the Sight Seeker saw in the mirror each morning. A regular, unassuming man. No elements tied to his soul. No cloudlike energy wreathed his face. He walked through a crowd of white, cloudlike Tri-Beings like a mortal walking among the divine beings of old. The imposter was careful, his pace patient, but steady. Abandoning the distracting glows and flashes of his elemental vision for a moment, Keevan took in what features he could glimpse through the tightly worn armor.
The protective clothing sagged over the Varadour's body, as if weaved for someone two sizes larger than he. His buttons and cuffs were stained with blood, though his hands were still wet from a recent washing. Somewhere, a guard lay unconscious or worse. A careful observer though, would notice the imposter's bony features and the utter lack of fat in his face. This man was little more than skin, bone, and a wispy beard. Keevan couldn't help but marvel that the man was still standing at all, much less executing Tri-Beings.
Keevan shook his head in conflicting feelings of duty and compassion. This man didn't ask to be captured and tortured by the Tri-Beings, he likely didn't deserve it. Just as likely, however, he wasn't about to stop. Particularly with the mounting body count.
The whole situation slid past him like a child facing Suada herself but refusing to believe her own eyes. For years, despite the Harbor Guild's constant insistence that Outlanders were little more than monsters with men's faces, he'd always fantasized about meeting his own kind. What child in his position wouldn't? He'd pictured rescues, escapes, but nothing like this. Here, his only living connection to his own kind, walked only a few spans away. Lives were counting on Keevan's help though, lives this man would likely take if not stopped.
A sinking sensation settled in Keevan's gut. He gulped, clenching his fists in frustration. The imposter turned his back on the gate guards, as if admiring the District Wall before them. Slowly, he drew his short sword free. Keevan shook his head, the imposter clearly wasn't a Sight Seeker. What could he do against four guards? He took a deep breath and grit his teeth.
"There, that's the escaped prisoner!" Keevan cried, pointing at the imposter.
Their eyes locked for a moment. Two sensations passed between them. The first was confusion, until a moment later as the imposter clearly recognized the subtle glow behind Keevan's blindfold. Then, the imposter offered a small, sad smile, as if understanding.
"Don't move!" Bahjal ordered, uncurling her whip. Merchants and pedestrians scattered, the guards surrounding the imposter on all sides. The prisoner faced Keevan, unmoving, staring intently at him, sighing in frustration.
"Are you sure, Suadan?" one guard asked, hands resting uncertainly on the handle of his mace. "How would you even know his face?"
"This child is wasting your time," the imposter suggested coldly, holding his weapon up as he spread his arms wide above his head. A strange accent soaked his words, with too much emphasis on the o's and u's. "Are you blind? I'm one of you."
"Then why's there blood on your collar and buttons?" Bahjal asked, pointing at his clothes. A few of the guards drew their weapons, their weapons hissing against their scabbards in suspicion. "You stole those clothes from a guard."
"He would hardly be much of a guard," the imposter answered with a sly grin. His fist tightening around the hilt of his sword. "If he couldn't protect his own weapon and armor, am I right?"
"Drop the blade and come with us," Bahjal ordered, arm cocked to the side, whip hanging to the ground like a coiled tentacle. It glowed with blue energy as she strung water around its base like the string on a bow. Keevan could practically feel the tension building in the weapon, and the surrounding soldiers for that matter. Hammer and blade alike glowed red with fire-fueled Danica. The imposter didn't even glance in their direction, though Keevan couldn't shake the feeling he knew quite distinctly who stood where.
Instead, the imposter glared at Keevan. "Picked me out of a crowd, just like that," he muttered, "Quite the watchdog you have there, for a blindfolded one. Does he do any other tricks I wonder?"
"Tricks are my department," Bahjal spat back, stepping in between them. "Now drop the-"
The air gave a hollow whumpf from the force of the blow. In the space of a heartbeat, one guard was suddenly airborne, with the imposter's sword protruding from his chest. Bahjal's whip cracked, hurling ice like a finely honed projectile, just as the colors around the imposter blurred into obscurity like a desert mirage.
A scream and a stream of blood splattered across the ground. A guard rolled aside, gripping Bahjal's ice spike in his gut. Superheated earth flashed through the air as one Danica Warhammer dug into the cobblestones. The Varadour's limbs blurred at odd intervals, making his motions impossible to predict and even more difficult to counter. Amidst the bizarre weaves of element and color, Keevan caught a glimpse of the imposter catching one guard in a right cross, the Tri-Being's jaw shattering from the blow.
The last guard, stabbing at the imposter with his long sword, dancing to one side and the other trying to keep between the Varadour and the entrance. Bahjal swung her whip at the imposter's neck but he ducked at just the right moment, as her water-based weapon coiled around the last guard’s blade. Steam erupted around them in a swirl of grey mist, screams of pain and the distinct scent of scorched flesh.
The tangled battle ended in seconds. Keevan felt numb with shock just watching the fray. Fear for Bahjal struck him like a sudden flood. He sprinted into the mist, ignoring its biting heat. She was somewhere in this mess, wounded, perhaps dying.
"Bahj," Keevan whispered, abandoning his elemental vision. The steam cloud turned all he saw into a single field of blue and red energy. Even with the repulsor orb in his pocket, its effects didn't extend far enough to be of any real use. Instead, he pictured the battle in his head and tried to make his way toward her last position. She wasn't close enough to the steam blast to suffer lasting damage, was she?
A dozen wounded voices called for aid, none of them Bahjal's. Despite the moisture, Keevan could still smell the burned flesh and feel the heat of the spent attack. Danica was a dangerous and unpredictable substance, if forced to interact with itself in unexpected ways. A growing panic filled Keevan, picturing how much damage the Varadour could have done to Bahjal, even in the few short seconds that had already passed.
"Keeves," she whispered, lying somewhere around his left ankle.
"Bahj!" Keevan said, scrambling onto his hands and knees. Every inch of exposed flesh on the left side of her face was swelled and red from the burns. Her whip lay useless in her scorched hand, pain likely blocking any command of water beyond pure reflex.
"Keeves, what are you doing? Get out of here! He might still-" Thin, incredibly strong arms clamped around Keevan's neck, dragging him to his feet. They also limited Keevan's breathing to a thin gasp for air as he tried to pry his neck free, but the Varadour's strength was impressive. "If those eyes glow try to tap into my brain," he threatened, "I'll cut off the air supply to yours."
