So... I finally finished that 2nd story I started writing 5 years ago *coughs*
>.>;
And yes it's still more backstory
To Scorn the Flight of Doves
December 29th, 706CR
It was the province of the wind to blow about as it pleased, and today it
saw fit to blow about like a cantankerous, drunk old woman. Cavorting about
randomly, falling over and changing direction constantly, it may have been a
welcome thing during the hot beating summer sun, when Ainador was cooked under
its direct gaze. Winter, while rarely cold in and of itself, was a far less
oven-like time and today the wind added a downright chilly prickling to any who
stood outdoors.
Where the land sloped upwards and crested into low mountains (which in all
probability would have disparagingly been referred to as hills in other lands)
worn crags slithered back and forth, puncturing the softly vegetated terrain.
While not filled with a lush carpet of grass as in the lands of the north and
the west, the Holy Land was not all rocks and sand as was often thought. The
Desert of Dreaming to the east had more than enough of that; Ainador, while not
quite verdant by some standards, was more than capable of supporting human
life, as it had for thousands of years. Farms littered the landscape as it
sloped from the cedar topped ranges to the Galean Sea below, where fishing
settlements periodically marked the shoreline.
Two individuals sat astride their horses as the wind ruffled their light
cloaks in the heavy wind, waiting patiently, watching their surroundings
attentively. Well, one watched; the other fidgeted, squirmed and generally
rustled about like a four year old being told to sit through a church service.
His was a squat frame, a sack of potatos strung over the horse’s back, shifting
from one awkward position to another, his somewhat chubby boyish face squinting
in the sun and grimacing in discomfort.
His companion, by contrast, sat patiently and as still as if he were
sleeping, though his mind was far from so. A thick black beard seemed to cover
the whole of his tanned face, behind which was a quiet, yet focused expression,
staring out with narrowed gray eyes almost as if he were one man staring down
the entire world.
The squat one rustled for the umpteenth time, causing the bearded man to
let out a small sigh. “You’re going to wear a hole into that horse’s back if
you keep doing that, and that would be quite the mess.”
Parnsus just shifted again. “I just didn’t expect to see them again so
soon...” In the past three years the mage had [i]finally[/i] softened his
ridiculous aristocratic accent and could at least simulate some semblance of
normal conversation.
“It’s just two of them, Karonsus and Tarsus,” Zynaid shrugged. “And your
mother is taking not part.”
Parnsus’ expression grew dour. “My mother is [i]always[/i] taking part.”
“Just because you were the only one to leave home doesn’t mean you’re the
only one who defies her.”
“I [i]know[/i] that, it-“
“Exactly,” Zynaid said. “You know it, so why are you wearing yourself out
about it?” After a moment he added, “And your horse’s back?”
Another fierce gust smacked into the two of them after a period of brief
calm. Zynaid again shifted slightly, this time with an uncomfortable pressure
in his abdomen; this being more or less a normal everyday sensation it was
hardly paid the slightest mind.
What he did pay mind to was his surroundings, waiting for the guests of the
hour to at last show themselves. While he could not argue that the use of the
a Yuletide pilgrimage to the Galean Sea was as good a cover as any, he was less
than thrilled at the exact meeting point, too close to a certain part of
Ainador… that he’d rather avoid. The proposal for this meeting ground had been
delivered to Parnsus and himself, not the other way around, so there was little
he could do but acquiesce and take the situation as it came.
What was more important, however, was that [i]they[/i] had specifically
chosen the locale, so consequently Zynaid made sure in his periodic sweeping
gazes to not only watch for new arrivals but also to keep an eye out for those
who had been present for a great deal of time, enough time to hide in the rocks
and brush, spying upon the two men.
It was a matter of no small concern to Zynaid, but he needed to show his
own good faith, and he doubted any harm would come unless he were to do
something incredibly foolish.
Next to him Parnsus kept fidgeting so much that Zynaid was half-convinced
the horse was going to kick the chubby mage off his back. Another gust of cold
wind came roaring past causing Parnsus to grumble under his breath as he
attempted to curl into his robes. His bearded companion just sat and bore it
as he scanned the landscape.
At long last, however, the waiting ended as atop a rocky crest to the south
appeared two figures on horseback. Both of average height (or at least what
appeared to be so on horseback), dressed in fine robes, the one on the left
ornamented with jeweled colored embroidery crossing his arms and chest, the one
on the right sporting a more simplistic look in contrast to his fellow’s mildly
gaudy taste. Again Parnsus shifted his butt side to side, as if attempting to
squirm loose from the grasp of the present situation.
“Greetings, brother,” the less garishly dressed one on the right called out
as they approached. “It has been too long.”
Few were the times when Zynaid had seen Parnsus come close to displaying
anything remotely resembling hostility (except not all too infrequent outbursts
at offending inanimate objects), but the slight crease that crossed mouth was
decidedly not enthused. Such a presumptuous display was quickly quashed and
buried behind a weak smile. “Hello Karonsus,” he gave at last before turning
to the other arrival and inclining his head. “Tarsus.”
The mage’s first brother nodded back politely. For Tarsus, the loudly
dressed fellow on the left, this seemed to mark the end of such charity as his
smile cocked itself in a sharp mischievous angle. “You look positively dandy
in those rags you have draped over yourself.” Zynaid observed intently as
Parnsus didn’t open his mouth to rebuke his brother, or to anything else for
that matter. He did, however, let his annoyance out from its usual cloister
and let it darken his face.
“Discretion is one of our primary concerns,” Zynaid interjected. “The
object is to avoid attention when possible,” he said avoiding casting his eyes
on the loudly dressed Tarsus while seeming to maintain simple conversation with
his more mildly dressed brother. Whether Tarsus caught the veiled barb
couldn’t be discerned, but Karonsus apparently did as a small twinkle escaped
his eyes.
“Such a thing is true,” the simply dressed brother mused with a considerate
smile on his face. He gave Zynaid his full attentions and inclined his head.
“Greetings to you, Amadias.” With those two words out of the way he quickly
turned the conversation back to where it had been going. “Precautions are
always in order in uncertain times.” Leaning forward slightly and lowering his
voice nearly to a whisper, he added, “One can never be too careful.”
The first thought in Zynaid’s mind was that last statement was a gross
generalization; offhand he could count close to a dozen individuals he had
encountered or had heard of directly that had been undone during their time by
excessive paranoia and over caution. The second was that he should smile
politely back and avoid looking at the hills surrounding them. Having dealt
with Karonsus before, he knew the young noble to be fond of men hiding just
beyond reach, as a few unfortunate individuals in an inn had learned in Abaef
two years ago when Zynaid had first met him. “No doubt,” he replied at long
last just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, a time he spent staring at
the noble neutrally. “I trust your journey here went well?” he said changing
the subject.
“Indeed,” Karonsus answered politely, “It was uneventful,” as if there were
nothing more to say on the matter.
Scoffing in a rather contemptuous manner, Tarsus sneered in no direction in
particular, intent on adding his own grief to the matter. “Aside from several
obnoxious merchants who followed us halfway north harping their goods to us
like a flock of shrill bards. There were [i]five[/i] of them,” he spat in
disgust.
“How’d you drive them off?” Zynaid asked offhandedly before Karonsus could
interject, which he got the feeling the more carefully spoken noble wanted to
do.
A glint of pride shone through Tarsus’s eyes. “What can I say, we were
intimidating.”
Zynaid raised an eyebrow. “Just the two of you?” he asked feigning
surprise.
Whatever Tarsus was going to reply with was smoothly but quickly cut off by
Karonsus. “You would be amazed how easily men can be dissuaded from becoming a
nuisance,” he said. “Though when wealth is involved it can become a most
tiresome exercise.”
“So...” Tarsus turned again to his eldest brother. “Besides from a
regrettable lack of wardrobe, how have circumstances treated you, Brother?”
“Er… well enough, well enough I guess. We’re… I mean we have not…
basically we have been well enough basically.”
Karonsus softly chuckled, no doubt with some form of nostalgia. His
brother, however, let the momentary air of warmth slip his face as he latched
his eyes on Zynaid with predatory hunger. “This Galean has been treating you
well then, Brother?”
Parnsus’ eyebrows rose (he had never been able to perfect raising only one,
though not for lack of trying). “Yeeees, of course,” he replied.
“Has not imposed on you or gotten you into trouble?” he said as he leaned
forward. Zynaid narrowed his eyes darkly.
Parnsus gave his brother a quizzical look and shifted his gaze between him
and Zynaid back and forth several times as if trying to spot an amiss clue.
“Um, no more than usual… Well, aside from the normal ‘me being a mage’ part and
trying to hide it. And us being forced to do much of what we do incognito and
such. And… well, no more than usual.”
“I see,” Karonsus said nonchalantly, the barest hint of that nostalgic
smile remaining his hiding on his face. Zynaid found that for most, family,
even when some didn’t get along, retained a strong bond with each other. And
from what he had seen it was true. For the most part, anyway. “I must admit
we were quite surprised when to discover you were in Ainador. I didn’t expect
you to leave Pyralis so quickly.”
This was wholly expected. “Parnsus’ safety is paramount. The locals were
becoming... uppity, so I proposed that we relocate some place with less
excitement.”
“And just why, may I ask, were the locals becoming ‘uppity,’ as you say?”
Tarsus asked, his demeanor coiled and ready to pounce.
“There were unfriendly incidents with several of them in our business
dealings,” Zynaid responded matter-of-factly.
A stone mask replaced Karonsus’ face, only the movements of his eyes
betraying any thoughts running through his head. Zynaid did his best to keep
his own gaze level in response, eyes drifting between the two aristocrats.
“Hmm, I hope you didn’t do too much to contribute to such unfortunate
circumstances,” Tarsus suddenly proclaimed in a melodramatic, overly suspicious
tone. For one brief moment Zynaid could have sworn he saw Parnsus roll his
eyes. The brash noble didn’t seem to notice his brother and went right one
glaring at his companion suspiciously. “In fact, tell us, Amadias. Tell us
what happened.”
Restraining his ire, Zynaid stared back darkly. “Several individuals I had
had business with proved excessively paranoid and difficult to deal with. They
became exceptionally suspicious and began asking a plethora of direct questions
about things that required discretion and things went sour fast. I decided it
best to cut losses and relocate.”
“Excuse me? ‘I’ decided?” Tarsus repeated. “Did you not consult the lord
whom you are in the employ of?”
The years of mistakes and experience Zynaid had gained ensured he did to
rise to the bait. “Naturally,” he said without a hint of fluster. “There is
little reason for me to not share such information with your brother. It’s not
as though he’s some sort of captive,” he spoke the last words with a drop of
acidic annoyance.
To the side, Karonsus nodded almost absently. “Perhaps.”
“Well then,” Tarsus continued, leaning forward on his horse, “What exactly
happened in Marilyth that caused you to evacuate your asses so?” Zynaid
regarded the brash noble before him He had learned long ago that Tarsus was
the fat mouth of the Scolastin family, the one who was guaranteed to speak his
mind regardless of the circumstances... or consequences.
“That’s privileged information,” the commoner said in response to the
gaudily dressed noble.
Karonsus’ eyebrows arched in response. “Privileged?” he repeated neutrally.
“Privileged,” Zynaid repeated the word again, setting his foot down. “It’s
a poor business practice to reveal everything [i]about[/i] my business to
anyone who asks.
Clenching his jaw and sitting up straight, Tarsus looked as if he wanted to
whip Zynaid a few times to bring him down a notch. “[i]We[/i] are not just
[i]anyone[/i]. We have a right to know.”
“No, you don’t,” Zynaid shot back coolly. “My business is private,
delicate information. You are relations to my employer, not my employer
himself.”
This time both nobles assessed the situation like hawks, watching the
commoner tread a river of ice. Parnsus was of course his employer, and
technically that meant he was the one calling the shots. This didn’t change
more substantive realities, however, despite this fact [i]and[/i] the fact that
the mage was the eldest brother of his family.
Karonsus, in contrast to his nail-glaring brother, regarded Zynaid’s
declaration remaining still as a mountain. “I would hope that Parnsus is kept
up on the business you involve his own person in.”
“Of course I do,” Zynaid let a hint of annoyance into his voice.
“But you will not inform us, his brothers, his family, the ones who look
out for him?” the softly dressed noble repeated.
“You are not Parnsus.”
To the side Tarsus snorted in ire. “You tread a dangerous line, Amadias.”
Zynaid met his gaze hard. “My work is dangerous. I will not be
compromised by anything I can avoid.”
“So we are... potential sources of danger?” Tarsus challenged. Zynaid
responded by giving Karonsus a sympathetic look and silence.
The quieter noble was quiet before replying. “Since you do involve out
eldest brother in you dealings which of such hazard, you would not object to
him giving his own recollection of events, certainly.”
All eyes suddenly swamped the mage, who froze, his own eyes shifting
between the other three men. Squirming like he had a couple lobsters stuffed
into his pants, he mouthed a few wordless gasps. Zynaid resisted the urge to
roll his eyes.
“Well come now eldest brother, out with it,” Tarsus urged.
Parnsus let out a deep sigh and leaned over, rubbing his forehead.
“Tarsus, you’re giving me a headache.”
A sudden bursting chuckle ushered forth, but it wasn’t Tarsus or Zynaid.
Karonsus closed his eyes and laughed with deep mirth.
For his part, Tarsus slinked back, at least slightly chagrined, his focus
on tearing into Zynaid diminished and blunted.
“In any case,” Zynaid spoke up, “It is perhaps fortunate that we left when
we did. Shortly after we arrived in Korazin I learned of trade arrangements of
a dubious nature involving a certain Nehlek Murazin.
Like a pair of prairie dogs the attention of the two Scolastin brothers
shot up, Tarsus abandoning his hostile prodding and Karonsus regarding him with
a subtle but newfound interest. “What information do you have?” the latter
asked intrigued.
“Dealings with certain... disreputable individuals, some small number of
‘accounting errors.’” That the name of Murazin piqued their interest was of
little surprise considering the man’s history with the Scolastin family. This
was in fact one of the reasons Zynaid had requested a face to face meeting in
the first place (though of course they had insisted on the selecting the
meeting place). Considering the price he had paid for obtaining it, he
preferred to present it at the most opportune time; [i]after[/i] the Scolastin
brothers had vented through their frustrations.
“So...” Karonsus mused thoughtfully, “You have solid proof?”
Producing a small parchment from his side pack, Zynaid held it out for both
of them to see. “That would not be a copy, would it?” Tarsus asked
suspiciously.
“Of course not,” Zynaid snapped a bit harder than he would have liked. On
some matters the Scolastins could be obsessed, matters such as insisting they
have the originals of sensitive documents whenever possible. It made sense on
some level (though considering the MOST useful thing you could do with them was
magically scry them, sometimes Zynaid wondered if their attitude toward magic
wasn’t all that impractical). “You’re the ones who want the information. I’m
in your families employ, am I not?” he asked with some irony. “Besides, you
can keep it secure enough yourselves, I think.”
Eying the documents, Tarsus inched his horse forward to retrieve them.
Grabbing them from Zynaid, his hands moved to undo the seal right then and
there only to be brought to a standstill by the sound of his brother clearing
his throat. Tarsus shot an irritating glance back at Karonsus which the latter
met with his own stern glare. Grumbling but relenting, Tarsus backed up his
horse and passed the documents to him. Karonsus in short order unsealed and
digested their contents.
“Well then,” the noble said flatly as he rerolled the papers. “It appears
that Murazin will be less of an issue than he has managed to make himself in
the past. If this is the original, I presume you made copies just in case?”
“Several,” Zynaid, “stashed in more than one place.”
Karonsus nodded approvingly. “Sensible.”
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