Chapter 12: With Infiltration
‘People do not fall completely when they commit atrocious acts against others, be it enemies or allies. They fall when manage to they convince themselves that the commitment of such acts is just, to the extent that they no longer feel guilt afterwards.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume III: Second).
1
“What are we waiting for?” Ganis asked of her captain. He stood atop a cliff overlooking a clear path to Scyldur, and the disappearing forest invaded by the wild grasslands surrounding the city of Scylds.
“The right time to move.” Hephaestion continued to examine the clouded skies above him, looking for Screo.
“We know that we are prepared. Let us just head to Scyldur.”
“Certain events prove themselves to be of use when properly analyzed.” He paused for a moment, staring at the horizon, away from Ganis. “We should wait for Screo.”
Hephaestion had a tendency to organize his thoughts internally, alienating others from their contribution, before he spoke his mind. It was not a common occurrence, but it increased as the future became more shrouded, a shroud of planelessness.
Monolos’ hawk returned from his aerial journey. Hephaestion turned to face Ganis and was struck for a brief moment with her transformed face. He had not gotten used to it yet. “The hawk returns earlier than I expected. A favorable omen.”
The two made way to their camp, which was being restored by the other crew members of Hephaestion to its original form before they dwelled therein.
“What does the hawk tell you?” Hephaestion asked of Monolos once he was close enough to comfortably speak and be heard.
Crouching by some open cages, Monolos responded. “A battle erupted between the Scylds and the Southern Alliances. The armies started testing one another.”
Ganis recognized the cages as the ones Ninazu had used to keep his animal subjects to test his concoctions. Most of the animals died in his experiments, and some were never used. The ordeal seemed to disturb Monolos, but he understood the necessity of it enough to keep him from acting on Ninazu’s supposed savagery.
“Should we worry about the fighting?” Ganis asked of Hephaestion.
“No.” He looked around to see if all the others were ready, and after making certain that all was in order he whistled, signaling that it was time to move.
Almost immediately the Parthans parted, leaving behind a ghost trail leading to nothing but false assumptions about what had happened in the area during their stay. Even a skilled tracker would have had trouble finding the proper marks of their stay.
“Make haste,” Hephaestion ordered. “We should attempt for Scyldur before nightfall…” Hephaestion proceeded to explain to them how important it was for the Parthans to remain inconspicuous and stir as little ruckus as possible. They all knew that the success of the mission depended on it, especially now that they were about to be so close to Naa’tas, their elusive target.
Ganis knew that there was no real necessity for Hephaestion to brief the others, yet he felt it would be helpful to stress the importance of his instructions due to the influence the transformation pills had on the minds of the four changed Parthans – an influence accentuated by Rein’s exaggerated reaction to the pills.
When he was finished, Thalus said, “Must you always repeat your orders hundreds of times, captain?” Thalus quickly overtook Drain and attempted to mask the inner-race he had devised in his own mind, but Drain noticed and played along silently.
“It is only because the words take time to reach your thick mind,” Percival said. He alone laughed at the joke.
Thalus and Drain pacing amongst each other and eventually found themselves a full twelve feet ahead of the group. They acknowledged the immaturity of their act and stopped for the others to catch up. Thalus, however, made certain that he would be a full step ahead of Drain.
The three kept exchanging remarks which faded away from Ganis’ ears as he noticed Glowleaf following Monolos from a distance. “What is he coming along for?” he asked of Monolos.
“It was his choice.”
Glowleaf’s keen ears picked up the question and he rushed with his canine legs to the two, slowing down into a casual canine walk once he reached them. “We thought it best if we could keep an open channel of communication between you and the Southern Alliance. The Three believe that a Watcher would easily slip by the Scylds with little chance of compromising the mission.”
“And you are willing to risk discovery for that?”
“We are willing to risk our lives for the mission, Ninth.” Glowleaf propped his ears at the sound of a bird producing a mating tune. He immediately dismissed it and fixed his eyes ahead of him.
“You owe us nothing, Glowleaf, as I have told you many times before,” Monolos said. “The mission is our responsibility. Survival is yours.”
“Have you not taught us to make our own decisions as Watchers?”
Monolos nodded his head. He looked above him to check if his hawk was still circling the skies. Only at the sight of his winged companion did he return his focus to Glowleaf.
“And that was a decision we made. You see, Second, we have a debt to pay to you, a debt we intend to honor in full. The Three deem it so, and so shall it be.”
“You taught them well, Monolos,” Ganis said, dropping his hand on Eos, gently caressing the hilt, and smiled at Glowleaf. “Your assistance is appreciated, no matter what Monolos says.”
“Thank you, Ninth. The others were right about how wise you are.”
Ganis chuckled. “I wonder who told them that.”
“Trust me,” Monolos said. “It was none of us.” He held his blank expression.
Ganis laughed and withdrew in contemplation. He had few memories of Monolos joking, perhaps it was a sign, Ganis though, that he started to fit in with the Ona. “Tell me, Monolos, how often is it that the Ona has gone into a similar situation unprepared?”
“Never. We have always been far more informed about what we faced and what we were asked to do. It’s unusual for us to have such a mission, finding an escaped rebel. The Silver Stags are the ones responsible for such matters.”
“But the Silver Stags haven’t been assigned to this task. We have.”
“That isn’t true,” Monolos said. He held out his leather-covered arm for the hawk to descend and rest. It complied immediately and flew down in one graceful dive, violently grabbing at the brown leather as it reached it. The rest was covered in scratch marks, some nearly tearing it apart entirely, but it held for now.
“The Silver Stags were commanded to capture Naa’tas,” Monolos continued, “but they failed on numerous occasions. He even eluded Daphne Laurel herself.” He shook his head. “They are not a fighting force, Ganis, just wardens and trackers, and Naa’tas is a fierce warrior.” He pointed at Ganis with his thumb and said, “You have witnessed how powerful he is.”
Ganis Nodded. “It worries me that we are about to face him in his own dominion,”
Monolos smiled, tapping his hawk’s beak gently in a playful manner, eyeing the avian straight into his sharp grey eyes. “With Hephaestion’s guidance and the Ona’s support, we can accomplish anything. I am not worried.”
Then neither am I.
2
Scyldur had not changed since the last time the Parthans visited, except for the painful memories it held. The grey stones stood as they once did, neither shape nor tone of color different, and the same cobbled roads twisted and arched around the city.
The Parthans, supposed new converts, walked with no intention of hiding their presence, just their identities. They wore their red armor with great pride, intending to display it as a measure of their preparedness, and had their red hoods removed, revealing the entirety of their faces.
When the Ona approached the gate, Hephaestion hailed the two Scylds guarding it, saying in his usual commanding tone, “Hail! We seek to join the true path of Rayogin and his teachings. Will you let us into
your fold?” It was a phrase he was told by the Midlanders as a code the new converts spoke to the guards at Scyldur to lead them to the next steps of their conversion.
Other visitors were welcomed without restraint, a quality which previously allowed them entry to the city, but Hephaestion doubted that it would be possible to sneak in a substantial force in such manner. It would serve little purpose, he thought, other than increasing their suspicions.
The words sounded odd to Ganis, especially coming from Hephaestion, but he played his role well enough to fool the guards, at least.
“Did you hear that, brother? They seek enlightenment.” One of the two guards started walking away. “Hold the gate until I inform the quartermaster.”
“Wait!” the other guard said. “Make certain to mention my involvement to the quartermaster for my proper share of the reward.”
“How dumb you are, brother. The reward of adding to our ranks can’t be shared.”
“Then we should draw straws to see who gets it.”
“I heard him first.”
“No way.”
The first guard, already halfway through the gates, sighed and returned to his comrade with two drawn sticks which he held in his right hand. The second one picked a straw and found it short, making him the loser.
The guard then disappeared within the gates and shortly returned with his superior, a plump man wearing lavish grey clothes and enough jewelry around his neck and fingers to weigh him down. With all the clunking of metals it would be impossible for this man to walk – or even move - unnoticed.
“I hear you seek to convert to the true religion,” the quartermaster said. His face was red with health and his speech slow, a perfect match for his gait.
“Aye. We seek the true path of Rayogin, the eternal god,” Hephaestion responded.
“Those are troubled times, the heathens’ doing.” The quartermaster stared suspiciously at Hephaestion. “Tell me, how have you come to see the truth?”
The question surprised the Parthan, confusing him for a moment, but he was quick to recuperate. “I have seen the south take arms against their northern brothers for an unjust cause instead of joining them.”
“Why have you not come to us earlier? You could have warned us of this situation.”
“At the risk of our lives, yes we could have.”
The quartermaster stood still for a moment, scanning the visitors. “You don’t look like folk who would shy away from a good fight.”
“It is true, we are a capable folk when it comes to matters of steel, a necessity for ones who lived so close to the savage Scands, but it does not mean that we are immune to harm either.”
The quartermaster looked at the sky, searching for something that was not there, murmured a few words, and looked straight into Hephaestion’s eyes, saying, “Do the others share your concerns, friend?”
“And my faith too.” Hephaestion threw a nod towards them. “I vouch for them.”
“And am I right to assume that you are no stranger to battle?”
“Does the sun provide warmth from harsh weather?”
The quartermaster ordered the two guards away. After approaching Hephaestion, he whispered, “Spare me this nonsensical gibberish. Why would a bunch of sell-swords make their way into Scyldur during these times?”
Gauging the man swiftly, Hephaestion said, “We are on the verge of war, and good soldiers will be needed if you are to win it. We simply intend to live long enough to see this through and return to our old lives.” He dropped his hand on his blade, readying for any unexpected hostility from the Scyld.
“So you seek to join the stronger side.” He hummed. “I respect a man who knows his bets.” He tilted his head backwards and laughed obnoxiously, a menacing laugh,
“For the right price, of course.”
“Smart man. We can use a fighting force as properly equipped as your men. Just make certain to tone down this Rayogin nonsense. You don’t want to seem too zealous, it draws suspicion and unwanted attention, especially in these difficult times.” The quartermaster called his guards and offered the Parthans his permission to enter the city.
“What else is required from us?” Hephaestion asked.
“For now, find a place to spend the night. Seek me out in the morning for your formal papers.”
3
Scyldur was reputed to have the best inns in Utyirth; a reputation that did not fall short. Their rooms were well lit. Their beds were properly prepared, and the fabric used for the sheets - of which Rein never failed to mention - and curtains was soft. A night in luxury prepared the Parthans for the quartermaster’s visit the next day.
Wherever the Parthans went whispers would break amongst groups of Scylds who noticed them. A sheltered life made them rarely encounter a Southern Dweller, as they called them; save for those who served as soldiers assigned to the hinterlands.
“I didn’t expect the Scylds to have such normal lives,” Ganis said to Rein. He held his posture straight as he followed Hephaestion, hand resting on Eos casually.
“Neither did I. Ever since Pertinax’s death, I have been feeding my heart with hate towards them, but now I’m starting to wonder if I misjudged them.” Rein took a moment to reassess his thoughts. “No, they should be hated. This must be a trick they play on strangers.”
Ganis held Rein by the arm and stopped him, separating him from the others walking past them, none seemed to mind the private talk. “Rein, the others need you to keep a clear mind and remind them that Pax still looks after them. See these men?” He pointed towards the seven Parthans. “They trust you to guide them towards the way of Pax. They depend on you to remind them that the true purpose behind the violence they commit is peace. These words of yours forsake them.”
Rein paused for a moment, an unnatural pause accompanied by a deep gaze into Ganis’ eyes. “You speak truth, and I know that they come from the purest intentions, but you belittle the difficulty I face; being so close to avenging Pertinax yet having my hands held.” He looked at his hands and drew them closer to his face. “What is happening to me?”
“Rein, remember this.” Ganis took out the Lenion figurine which rarely parted from Rein’s pocket or hand. “Where we are now and what we are doing is what your Lenion figurine is for.” He rubbed the figurine’s withered face. “As a reminder.”
Rein nodded and reached for the figurine, holding back the anxiety it caused him to have Ganis take it away. “I will try, but I cannot promise how successful I will be.”
“Just remember Pax.”
“I will.”
They made haste to regroup with the other Parthans.
The quartermaster’s office was a thing of luxury. It would defy what a supposed-minimalistic religion would usually entail from men of authority, regardless of the source of such authority, in Nosgard. The structure was large and its stones smoothed, an unusual sight in Scyldur. The floor was polished and busy with many vibrant carpets, of which most were gold-trimmed.
In the large hall twelve pillars on each side, each with a pikeman standing as still the column itself, led visitors from the large iron-reinforced gate to the quartermaster sitting casually on his desk. A young woman stood at his right, wearing long yellow robes and a single sash with many scrolls and parchments hanging from it.
“Hephaestion of Midland,” said the quartermaster. He paused for a moment, checking if the name reported to him was correct before continuing. A lack of response proved that he was not in fault. “My scribe here prepared your papers.” He pointed to the young woman with his thumb, inciting a brief curtsy. Her eyes never parted the floor to see the strangers.
“Thank you, quartermaster. What of my companions?”
The quartermaster reached out across his busy table, with many writing feathers and scrolls scattered, towards a silver bowl of fruit. He eyed Glowleaf wearily before grabbing some grapes and stuffing them in his mouth, making quite the mess. With his mouth still full, half-way done with chewing, he
said, “Scribe, what names have you written?”
The woman cleared her throat and softly said, with the uncertain tone often accompanying a fear of making a mistake, “Percival of Midland, Drain of Midland, Rein of Midland, Sigurd of Midland, Thalus of Midland, Ninazu of Midland, Monolos of Midland and Ganis of Midland. Have I gotten the names right?” Her eyes did not part the floor.
“Aye, quartermaster, these are the names.” Hephaestion remembered the lessons Ganis had given them in preparation for Scyldurian talk. It was unnecessary considering that they were expected to carry the accent of Southern Dwellers, but it helped them gain the trust of the locals, Hephaestion thought.
The quartermaster nodded at the scribe. She immediately reached into her sash and produced nine documents. While she pulled them out another scroll fell. And when she attempted to pick it up the quartermaster pushed her with his leg, felling her to the ground and making her drop the Parthans’ documents, and shouted, “Imbecile!”
She did not look at him and simply said, “I’m sorry, quartermaster. It won’t happen again.” Tears formed in her eyes as she quickly picked up the scrolls and the Parthans’ documents. Her hands shook violently as she handed over the documents to Hephaestion.
He reached out for her arms, holding them for a moment to calm her down. Hephaestion then slid on her arms towards the documents and took them. “Thank you.” When he looked up, his eyes met the quartermaster’s who had a menacing smile on his gluttonous face.
“Scribe, leave us.” The quartermaster violently gestured, and his command was executed immediately. The woman was nowhere to be seen, just some footsteps rushing behind an opened door by the corner.
“Thank you, quartermaster,” Hephaestion said. The quartermaster stopped his departure before he had a chance to nod and leave.
“Call me Flagrum,” The quartermaster said. He stood up and walked towards Hephaestion, looking wearily at the pikemen standing around. “Come, there is something I would like to show you.”
Hephaestion nodded and allowed himself to be led by Flagrum deeper into the structure. He gestured to the others to remain in the hall.
After some time, enough for Rein to grow impatient and start fidgeting around, Hephaestion appeared alongside Flagrum. The quartermaster had his right arm around Hephaestion’s shoulder, an awkward posture for the shorter man, and they both shared a laugh.
“My friend,” Flagrum said, “I’m glad that the path of Rayogin was finally revealed to you. We’ll share many drinks, you and I. I have no doubt about it.”
“Certainly, Flagrum. I will not pass on such opportunity. You know where we are staying and you will most certainly know until when we will be staying there.” Hephaestion winked at the quartermaster and patted him on the back.
“Rayogin be with you,” the quartermaster said.
“Rayogin be with you.” Hephaestion and the other Parthans headed back to their inn, The Devout Servant.
4
“End the world?” Ganis said. The Parthans were back in The Devout Servant. They took a table by the corner of the tavern below, in the shadows and far enough from the patrons to have the loud music mask their speech, yet it did not deter the Scylds from eyeing Glowleaf wearily.
“End the world we know,” Hephaestion corrected. “Flagrum said that the Scylds were preparing for a war that would end the world, the final war.” He reached out for the fresh mug of ale brought a few moments ago by one of the tavern maids. “But it seems to me that they want to bring the entirety of Utyirth under their reign.” He took a sip from the ale, tasting it before drinking any more. It was satisfactory and he continued taking larger sips throughout the conversation.
“It is not uncommon for a religious group to have such goals,” Rein said, in a voice louder than prudent. He looked around before leaning in closer and said, with a lower voice, “Many religions in Nosgard say of an event that would end the world. None ever came to be.”
“But on many occasions rulership changed,” Hephaestion added.
“Yes,” Rein said. He then paused for a moment and corrected his accent, “Aye, it’s but a reference to a great change in the way the world works. You’re right, captain.” He leaned back and took his mug with him, yet did nothing other than hold it.
A few loud patrons passed by, and the Parthans all remained silent, sipping their ales and pretending to watch the bards and jugglers.
When the patrons passed, Hephaestion continued, “The Book of Rayogin, their religious text, tells many tales of the past and future. The particular passage that Flagrum showed me in his study was about a great war that will rid the world of heathens.” He took a gulp of his ale after brushing his brown hair back, clearing his face from a strand that obstructed his vision.
“Flagrum,” Hephaestion continued, “is not a particularly strong believer. He thinks that the only thing that the Book of Rayogin foretells is the intention of the Scylds to march on the Southern Dwellers. For him it is an opportunity for riches, selling information and smuggling Southern Dwellers into Scyldur.”
“And what of the believers?” Rein asked. “What do they think of it?”
“They believe that this war will usher a new era of righteousness and benevolence, an era where Rayogin can descend and devour us all.” He paused for a moment, imagining the sight. “It is supposed to be the only way to attain salvation and reach the highest level of Gehenna.”
“What of the woman?” Percival asked. Since their arrival at The Devout Servant, most of his attention has been directed at the waitresses. Ganis often overheard him speak to Sigurd – a fairly one-sided conversation – about how attracted he was to faithful women who tended to shy away from men. He often said that the challenge exhilarated him.
“Which woman?”
“The scribe,” Percival said. “The one Flagrum kicked when she dropped the papers.” His eyes wandered towards one of the waitresses serving a table of five men. She was slender and fairly attractive, but he was more interested in her corset-enhanced breasts. “I saw him winking at you when you touched her.”
“I supposed there is a story there, too.”
Percival held his empty mug high once he noticed the waitress he was interested in make eye contact. She nodded and rushed towards the bar to return the empty mugs and plates she had collected from the many tables she waited.
“Indulge us,” Percival said, dropping his hand and resting the mug on the table with a loud thump.
“He offered her to me, and I accepted.”
“You accepted!” Rein retorted. He was not content with the gesture and did little to hide it. It was an opportunity for him to lash out and release some of the anger bottled within him - and such opportunities Rein learnt to take advantage of during his transformation.
“It would not be entirely prudent for us to have a Scyld amongst us,” Hephaestion said, “especially with such discussions, but I could not simply let her suffer at Flagrum’s office. It would at least give her some time away from him.” He looked at Rein. “So, I did not accept her for the reasons you thought I did.”
Rein eased back into his seat.
The waitress arrived with a flagon of ale, replenishing whatever mugs she deemed too empty. Percival raised his mug to her and said, looking her straight in the eyes, “She’s a pretty one.”
The waitress blushed, but did no effort in rushing her task, especially when filling Percival’s mug.
“Indeed she is, Percival. Yet again, I would have done it regardless of how pretty she was,” Hephaestion said.
When her task was completed, the waitress brushed against Percival’s shoulder as she returned the flagon back to the bar and resumed her tending to the other patrons. Percival and she would exchange glances every once in a while.
“And our duties?” Sigurd asked. The other Parthans were taken aback by his involvement, pausing for a moment, looking at the bald Turian in shock, before they resumed their act.
“The only mention of our du
ties was that they will be decided and determined for us, on the most part. But I suspect that with the arrangement we have, it will not be entirely unreasonable that we will have some say in our assignments.”
Sigurd hummed and emptied his refilled mug in one large gulp, smashing the empty mug on the table when finished. It was still intact, but Ganis heard a clear cracking of wood by the gesture.
“For now,” Hephaestion said, “we have enough oboi to last us a moon or two.” He looked at Drain, “As long as some of us remain reasonable with their expenses.”
5
Over the next few days each Parthan was summoned to the quartermaster’s office. Flagrum presented them with a set of questions about their skills and abilities, to assess what they could do to contribute to the Scyld effort, and when the investigation was concluded they were all presented with possible assignments, an unusual offer that was only made possible by Hephaestion’s relationship with Flagrum.
At the tavern below The Devout Servant, the Parthans met again. They had become frequent enough visitors, and fairly well paying ones, that the corner table was almost always prepared for them, except when the tavern was overflowing with patrons, a rare occasion.
Percival had gotten to know the waitress fairly well, her name was Sua and she frequented Percival’s room often enough to start a rumor among the patrons and other waitresses. She had become entirely smitten by him, it seemed to Ganis, as he by her.
“I think she is the one,” Percival said, eyeing Sua as she danced around the tables, serving the other patrons gracefully, glancing at Percival whenever she got the chance. When her eyes and his would meet, she would giggle and sometimes wink.
Drain sat next to him, waiting for the others to arrive, drinking his ale with little appetite. “I heard you say this many times, brother, and yet you never settled.”
“But she is different. I can actually talk to her.” He looked away from Sua and towards Drain. “You’re jealous.” He chuckled. “You’re jealous because you’re restrained.” He leaned towards Drain and whispered, “Tell me, sister, do you find women attractive now…with your condition?”
Drain paused for a moment, glancing at Sua, and said, “We’re in the middle of a city with thousands of people who wouldn’t hesitate about killing us if they knew who we were and had the chance.” He shook his head sideways, making his braided red hair brush against a candle behind him and causing Percival to gasp at the calamity that could have happened. “It’s not the time for such things.”
Percival slowly reached out to Drain and pulled him away from the candle, not explaining the purpose behind the gesture or getting any resistance from his now-brother. “It’s always the time for such things.” He noticed Hephaestion and the others entering the tavern and said, “Ah, they have finally arrived.”
The twins stood up and sat in the corner, giving them a full view of the bar while allowing them to still face their companions. It was a habit of theirs, not having their backs facing anything but a wall, but in reality their interest was more about watching others rather than safety.
”Did you know that most religious Scylds do not venture taverns?” Monolos said, with a voice far too loud for Hephaestion’s liking; as his grimace suggested.
“Did you know that you’re as loud as your beasts?” Percival said, chuckling. He looked at Sua and gestured for a round of ale. She immediately rushed to fulfill the order.
Monolos sat next to Percival, before anyone else took a place by the table, and stared at the wooden roof. His curly black hair had grown enough to rest on his shoulders, making him look more like the wild beasts he often surrounded himself with than the man Ganis remembered him to be.
By the time all Parthans were seated, Sua came with seven additional mugs and two large flagons of ale. It was a heavy order, yet she made it look like she was carrying air. “Percy,” she said, “I hope you and your friends will not mind the new ale.”
“As long as it comes from you, I won’t mind it,” Percival said.
Sua blushed and the two shared a wide smile.
“Just remember,” Drain said, “she doesn’t know who you really are. If she did, I suspect her passion would quickly turn to hatred.”
“Sua isn’t like that. She really does love me.” Percival maintained his ridiculous smile.
“You are a fool, Percival,” Sigurd said.
Speech stopped on the Parthan table and so did Percival’s motion of sipping at his ale – he held it half-way to his lips as his eyes fell dumb on Sigurd.
“You’re in a chatty mood,” Percival said before taking his delayed sip.
“It helps me gain the trust of others.” He raised his mug slowly, an unusual gesture for the Turian, and took a sip, which still emptied half of the mug, but it was still a sip by his standards.
“Has anyone given their final word about their assignment?” Hephaestion asked. He produced his pipe from within a pouch in his belt and started preparing it.
“I have,” Sigurd said.
Hephaestion paused for a moment, carefully picking up a calculated dose of herbs for his pipe, expecting a continuation which never came. “And what assignment would that be, Sigurd?”
“The local guard within Scyldur Keep.”
Hephaestion filled the pipe and pressed the herbs perfectly to match his taste. “Has anyone been offered a position beyond the walls?”
“I have,” Ganis said, “but I have no intention of taking it. I believe it would be best if we stay within Scyldur at first.”
“I agree. We need to integrate more.” He lit his pipe and puffed on it thrice. The smoke arose and slowly started filling the room with the aromatic smell of Ninazu’s mix.
“Percival and I,” Drain said, “were offered to be law enforcers or wall guards.”
“Chose the first,” Hephaestion said. “It will be a good opportunity to know more about Scyldur and the Scylds.”
The twins nodded.
“Flagrum seemed inclined to have me as his personal guard,” Ninazu said. He played with his ale, twisting his finger in it and watching the bubbles form. “I’ll take it.”
“Good choice,” Hephaestion said. He inhaled from his pipe and blew the smoke in a single stream above him. “What about you, Monolos?”
“Wall guard. Nothing else.”
“Wall guard and gate guard,” Rein said. “Thalus and I have been given the same choice.”
“And I was offered to supervise new recruits.” He took a sip of ale between puffs of his pipe. “Flagrum wants me to try and find others who would be willing to join his band of information brokers.”
“How did you get him to trust you so much?” Ganis asked.
“In a land like Utyirth it is rare to find a group as well equipped as us.” He patted his red armor on the chest and said, “It usually takes a corrupt man willing to do that which honest men are not to fare as well as us. Flagrum judges us to be among these corrupt men. He will only trust me if I prove to have the same loose principles as his.”
“Then the scribe woman was a test?” Rein asked. During his short stay in Scyldur Rein had started to consume nearly as much ale as Percival, an unprecedented behavior by any other Parthan save for, occasionally, Sigurd. He demonstrated it by finishing two mugs during the brief conversation, earning him some glances from Percival.
Hephaestion nodded. “He will be testing us quite a bit - myself more than you – and it is necessary that we behave as he expects us to. Keep that in mind whenever you are offered anything from Flagrum, and do not hesitate.” He eyed them intently. “Do not hesitate.”
6
“We call it the Monastery,” said Flagrum. He offered the Parthans an opportunity to show them around Scyldur, but only Ganis and Hephaestion had the time, and will, to do so.
The three stood by the entrance of the large building the Parthans had come across during their previous visit to Scyldur. It was an artistic building which brought many painful memories back to Ganis,
memories she had grown accustomed to.
Nothing changed about the Monastery, not the iron-reinforced gates, or the stained glass of a dragon spreading its wings above a city.
“The dragon represents Rayogin, and the city was once Scyldur,” Flagrum said, “but some believe it’s supposed to refer to the afterworld.” He scratched his belly, leaving marks on his grey clothes where his nails met the fabric. His necklaces rang as the violent motion made them clash.
Loud bells rang five times, the same that preceded Ganis’ capture, and the Scylds stopped whatever action they were engaged in and headed into the Monastery. Ganis winced at the sight and suddenly felt an urge to leave the area, but she resisted. Things were different now.
“Come,” Flagrum said, “into the Monastery we go.”
“Will it be a problem if we do not know what to do or say during this sermon?” Hephaestion hesitantly asked.
“Just stay by my side and follow my lead.” Flagrum cautiously looked once to his right, and again to his left, and whispered, “These ceremonies become rather tedious, but in time you’ll know what to do or say. No one ever pays attention to anyone else, unless they themselves care little for this nonsense. Either way, you’ve nothing to fear. We must enter now.” He led the two Parthans into the Monastery.
It was a marvel to walk into. Daylight entered the Monastery through the stained glass and left a large image of the depiction, with many shades of red, yellow, blue and other beautiful colors, decorating the interior, walls and furniture alike.
All the walls had a long strip of wooden benches pushed against them, mostly seated by the elderly, and the able crowd stood in a central clearance, facing a podium with a small group of white-robed priests standing on it in a single lumped group.
Led by Flagrum, the three made way to the front of the podium, a gesture to show their devotion – even thought it was false. Whenever Flagrum would gesture, Hephaestion and Ganis would mimic it; when he raised his hands; knelt on one knee; or looked down and covered his face with both palms.
It was a short-lasting ritual filled with many gestures and the reciting of verses in a foreign language to the Parthans, and seemingly to the audience who simply mumbled to themselves whenever a priest spoke.
As they stood after the ceremony and prepared to return to the inn, Flagrum stopped Hephaestion and offered him a leather-covered book. “Your own copy of the Book of Rayogin. A gift.” He handed over the book to Hephaestion.
Hephaestion opened the book and observed its contents. “I cannot read this.”
“Only priests can. But we common-folk are encouraged to study the letters regardless.” Flagrum nodded at the two and left, vanishing in a crowd of Scylds.
Silently, the two Parthans made their way back to The Devout Servant.
While on the way, Eos projected to Ganis, There is much similarity between the way of Rayogin and my former self’s way. The more I see the Scyld society, the more these similarities become clear.
What makes you say so?
The Book of Rayogin. Writing it in a language none can read other than the Priests of Rayogin. It is simply a ruse to assure that none will arise from outside their organization and challenge their interpretation.
And you have done this before with the Highborn?
I made certain that some things would remain hidden from them; things that I was not certain would help me accomplish that which I sought to accomplish. It is why I was unchallenged for so long, and it is why you were unchallenged.
We must change this.
I agree, but I do not know what the consequences could be.
I do, Eos. Nosgard has gone through many dark ages, and it was always because a single group had absolute power - and, as Lord Asclepius taught me, the epitome of power is knowledge. When the Demigod Emperor Servak defeated the Council, he reestablished the Parthan School of Knowledge and assigned them the task of spreading knowledge throughout the Empire. He revived many orders, such as the Peacekeeper Core and the rulers of the kingdoms of Nosgard, giving them autonomy from the Empire as long as they acted in the interest of the common folk—
A strong balance, Eos interrupted. Your Emperor is wise.
Indeed he is. Now if anyone, including the Emperor himself, would defy the interests of Nosgard, there are many who could rise to oppose them.
“That was close,” Hephaestion said, putting an abrupt end to Eos’ projection to Ganis.
The Devout Servant’s loud music and drunken patrons greeted the two Parthans back to their home.
“This will not do,” Hephaestion continued. “We will be needing more private quarters.”
Ganis nodded and they both entered.
7
“So you mean to tell me that three times a day I have to go to this Monastery and pray to a god that does not exist?” Rein retorted. He spoke with a low voice, leaning towards the Parthans sitting on their table within the tavern under The Devout Servant, but his angry tone was not any less revealed.
“It is as it is,” Hephaestion said. He took a puff from his pipe, dismissing Rein’s tone.
“Pax will punish us.”
“Pax has nothing to do with it,” Ganis said, earning him a hostile stare from the others. “And if he does,” Ganis continued, “then he would see that through our actions we follow his path to the letter.”
“Please, oh wise one,” Rein said angrily, “explain to us how this is. I’m certain that your knowledge of Pax and his path far exceeds ours.” His eyes grew red and his face was made ugly by spite.
“We’re here to rid the Scylds of Naa’tas and their false god, Rayogin. Both lead them to the path of destruction. By showing the error in their ways the result would certainly help spread peace and the word of Pax.”
“Ganis speaks true,” Sigurd said.
Frustrated by the reason behind Ganis’ argument, and by Sigurd’s support of it, Rein retreated into his chair, burning steam in silence.
“The other option would be to remain indoors,” Hephaestion continued. “We need to make certain that we prepare a shrine to Rayogin to counter any suspicion of our disbelief. As long as we do not venture out during the time of prayer we will be absolved of any accusations.”
“And if we’re on guard?” Percival asked.
“Then you are on guard. It is the only acceptable reason for not attending the ceremony or privately conducting the ritual.” Hephaestion looked at Rein and said, “If you cannot act as a devout servant of Rayogin, then it would be best you return south.”
Rein looked back at him with contempt. Before answering he dropped his hand into one of his pockets and caressed the hidden figurine inside, returning him to some measure of reason. “I can do it. We will need our full force if we hope to face Naa’tas and defeat him.”
Hephaestion nodded while inhaling from his pipe, a gesture that made Ganis reach to her own pipe and prepare it.
“There is one more thing,” Hephaestion said. “It seems that our stay here will be longer than we expected it to be, and it will be necessary for us to find more private quarters.”
“I’ll look into it,” Percival said. “It shouldn’t be difficult, but it might be costly.”
“What of the war?” Monolos asked. “Glowleaf has been reporting an escalation in violence between the Southern Alliance and the Scylds. I expect it to erupt into a real war quite soon.”
“Where we are now,” Hephaestion said, resting his finished pipe on the thick wooden table and replacing it with his mug, “there is little we can do to help the Southern Alliance in a more direct manner. We will stay here and direct our thoughts towards Naa’tas and the infiltration of Scyldur.”
Ganis puffed on his pipe, replacing Hephaestion’s role in filling the room with smoke, a habit the waitresses and other patrons had grown accustomed to – some of them even picked it up themselves and started smoking their own pipes with their own mixtures.
“The resistance of Initium Keep,” Ganis said, “should b
e contacted to coordinate our efforts.”
“Glowleaf tells me that they have already established communication,” Monolos said. He petted the Watcher sitting by his feet, another habit the patrons and waitresses had grown accustomed to. “The Southern Alliance and the resistance of Initium Keep are likely more aligned with one another than we are with either of them.”
“What is it, captain?” Ganis asked of Hephaestion, noticing his concern and thoughtfulness.
“The closer we get to Naa’tas the further he seems to be. I just wonder when it will end.”
Soon, Ganis thought. It will end soon.
8
“What do you think?” Percival asked. The Parthans were standing in the entrance of their new dwelling. It cost them most of the oboi they had, but it would not be a problem now that they worked for the Scylds.
It was a large, two-tiered dwelling with plenty of room for the Parthans, yet - other than twelve beds and a large wooden table - it was bare.
Hephaestion walked in the atrium, going back and forth as he eyed the structure intently. The wooden floor creaked under his feet whenever he strayed too far from the walls. “It seems a little unnecessary, Percival. We could have done with something far smaller.” He looked at him, “It also seems I was mistaken about Drain. This endeavor made you our most expensive companions as of now.”
“What good is coin if you can’t indulge?” Percival said lightly, gesturing with his arms at the structure. “It’s an investment, Hephaestion.”
“An investment! It will be left behind once we are done with our mission here in Utyirth. The only investment we need is in weapons and food, and we have both.” He turned around to head to the second tier. “Anyway, it is of no consequence.”
“The first thing we need to make is a shrine,” Rein said, surprising the others. “It would be inconvenient if after all the work we did the Scylds would run us out.”
“Indeed,” Sigurd said. The others had grown somewhat accustomed to his new habit, speaking, but it was still a surprise at times, especially when he uttered more than a few words.
“We still need furnishing.” Ninazu looked around. “An alchemical lab, some drawers, some shelves, a few tables and chairs.” He continued looking around and sizing the structure from where he stood. “Please be certain to get the lab first.”
Percival nodded. “I’ll need a list of everything you need me to buy.”
“Perhaps it would be cheaper to make some of the necessities,” Thalus said, his tone carrying the excitement of having an opportunity to craft something after such a long time of idleness. “Besides, I can’t expect that our duties will consume too much time yet. They will undoubtedly have us under careful watch, even with Flagrum’s friendship.”
“Well,” Percival said, “Drain and I will head to the guardhouse now. I expect to have a list of purchases when I get back.”
The twins departed, leaving the others with much to think about.