“Murazin is not the only one we must worry about,” Parnsus muttered, gutting
whatever satisfaction the moment held.
“Unfortunately, no,” Karonsus stated with a sigh, eyes drifting to the
ground as if fate would magically produce a solution from the earth like some
crop springing from the soil.
Zynaid’s horse grumbled and shifted under him as if feeling the
undercurrent in the air. “Have any of the official inquires turned up
anything, or summoned more evidence?”
“Hmph,” Tarsus grunted in frustration as an answer. “Nothing official.
But no part of Yesulam is private for more than a few minutes. It takes a
pilgrimage for us to be free from prying eyes.”
“I... am sorry,” Parnsus said, lowering his head in shame. “If all this
trouble is because of my choice of studies, I-“
His apology was dismissed by a wave of Karonsus’ hand. “It is not
necessary, Elder Brother,” he said with a weak smile. “Your abilities,” the
use of the euphemism for Parnsus’ magic was almost grating, “serve only as one
further excuse to persecute out family. It no longer matters if there happens
to be truth in the accusations leveled against us, and your abilities are only
one of the several... trials our family faces.” Of the nine Scolastin children
there were numerous afflictions that marred them. There was Parnsus’
tremendous affinity for the arcane, but there were also the other siblings.
One of the brothers, Wensus, was outright mad an often a raving lunatic despite
the numerous attempts of priests from all over Ainador and then some to
exorcise him. Elender, the only daughter, was chronically ill and frequently
bedridden, a state of affairs Zynaid couldn’t help but sympathize with. And
the youngest, Azurm, had been born completely deaf. “Azurm, especially, has
been used as evidence against us.”
This peeked Zynaid’s attention. “Evidence?” Parnsus asked.
“Evidence,” Karonsus echoed flatly, “Of our family’s sins.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” the mage demanded.
He was met with a nonchalant shrug from his cool headed younger brother.
“It is just as it sounds,” Karonsus explained. “Our family has been mired in
sin and therefore Eli has punished us with infirmities, trials and financial
hardship. A campaign has started that has seen our name decried as equivalent
to arrogance and debauchery. One that started quietly but now shows every
inclination to be as public as possible.”
The sound of Parnsus’ jaw dropping could be heard for miles. “What!?” he
shrieked, “When did they stoop to such a low?”
“[i]When[/i]?” Tarsus repeated the word incredulously. “They never
started. They have [i]always[/i] whispered these things in secret when they
believe us to be out of earshot. If one went back to the hour Eli created man
from the dust, dirty rumors of our family’s oh so terrible defects would be
whispered through the air.”
Despite his brother’s explanation, Parnsus could scarcely believe the
situation he was hearing. “But... what of all Father’s work, all the extra
money he uses to keep up orphanages or his other charities?” Corsa Scolastin
was indeed a rather prolific donator to all things charitable, but his quiet
demeanor and generally reserved nature made his actions less then visible to
most, [i]especially[/i] when having to share the stage with his overbearing
wife.
“Unfortunately, no one seems to notice or care, “Tarsus explained with a
sardonic mirth. “It is rather like pissing yourself with dark pants on; a warm
feeling, but no one notices.” Karonsus’ eyes actually rolled, and Parnsus
sighed deeply and looked for a hole that he could crawl into and die (this
apparently being one penchant he didn’t miss about his brother). For his part
Zynaid had to try his damndest to keep from bursting out laughing. Instead he
contented himself with a wry smile that belied his amusement; that was a phrase
he’d definitely have to remember.
The colorful, forthright brother continued on as though he hadn’t said
anything out of the ordinary. “Platitudes rule the day it seems. They wish to
keep on insisting there is sin, so they will keep on insisting,” he said with
no small measure of frustration.
This was not a sentiment completely shared by Karonsus, who turned to look
at his brother with a pitying gaze. “There is far more at work than tired
expressions, Tarsus. Much more important is the animosity and hatred that
fuels it.”
“I’ve found,” Zynaid cut in, “that platitudes can all too often become self
sustaining engines that carelessly plow aside rationality. Even when they
don’t create problems, they can exacerbate them immensely.
Karonsus gave him a certain amount of amusement. “Only if ignorance and
foolishness hang heavy in the air,” he said with the slightest whiff of
complaint.
“As if you can locate anywhere on the earth where they are not,” Tarsus
said with a heaping helping of complaint.
Zynaid shrugged. “People are both stupider [i]and[/i] smarter than they
seem at first glance. Which aspect you encounter more is up to Eli than
anything else. Still, better to assume the worst and be prepared so you can be
pleasantly surprised when you turn out to be wrong.”
“True,” Karonsus nodded thoughtfully, “True, very true.” A look of mild
curiosity crosses his face, as though if he were wondering if the comment was
meant for them somehow.
“Um, so then,” Parnsus interjected. “I hate to interpose on this
conversation but there were reasons we came here for besides... all this.”
“Ah yes,” Karonsus said and nodded to Tarsus, who reached into a bag slung
behind him revealing a money purse.
Tarsus did not hand them the bag right away however, instead feeling and
running his fingers across it. “I do wonder if it will make a difference at
all if I give this to you directly Amadias, as opposed to if I give to my
brother and you simply appropriate it all for your own needs later.” Refusing
to take the bait, Zynaid let his face remain impassive. Finally, the loud
noble tossed the bag to Parnsus who predictably fumbled like an old woman and
nearly spilled the coins across the ground. “Careful,” Tarsus warned with some
measure of concern, “That is what you need to keep you going after Marilyth.”
Veiled not so subtly was a double warning; the Scolastins never truly trusted
Zynaid with the eldest brother. He had proven himself useful and generally
reliable, but their suspicions about what had transpired in Marilyth were not
the helpful kind, giving them more cause to doubt him, wondering if he was
omitting facts when he said that it had just been a matter of the locals being
disagreeable.
Peering inside the bag, Parnsus seemed content with the amount, though he
himself made a point of it that he knew next to nothing of finance and would
rather other people handle the boring dreary work of accounting, a role Zynaid
had accumulated some experience with his years traveling with Lorian, and the
past three years traveling with Parnsus had been instructive as well. And...
the mage wasn’t exactly an expensive fellow either. Aside from his enchantment
and magical studies, which could on occasion become pricy the mage was
decidedly apathetic to luxury and fine living. Zynaid’s expenses, on the other
hand, could be greatly unpredictable.
Reaching over to hand Zynaid the money, Parnsus sighed. “You are greatly
needlessly embellishing things that are not problems, Tarsus. Zynaid takes
good care to keep me safe.”
Tarsus was clearly unpersuaded by this admonition. “I am sure what little
this man informs you of his activities matches perfectly with that assessment,”
he said as if Zynaid wasn’t even present.
What followed was the closest to a glower that Zynaid had ever seen from
Parnsus. He needn’t speak, however, as a simple indecipherable gaze from
Karonsus silenced whatever else he had to say.
“We thank you then, Amadias,” Karonsus intoned politely, “for the shelter
you have given our brother and for passing us the information about Murazin.
Hopefully we can now silence at least one of our family’s enemies.” Watching
Karonsus’ definitively unamiable smile Zynaid just had to wonder exactly what
he meant by “silencing.” A certain concern was allowed on the noble’s
features, though doing so as he asked a very relevant question. “Where shall
you go now then? I presume not back west to Pyralis any time soon.”
Zynaid kept a scowl from crossing his face. Was the noble acting on
knowledge or fishing for a bite? “Likely we’ll remain in Korazin for the time
being. If we do move we’ll inform you by the usual couriers... I assume you
repeatedly vet them, correct?”
A simple nod was the only reply from Karonsus, a very firm and however, one
that spoke volumes about the man’s steel, even though he was some years
Zynaid’s junior. Karonsus was the do-er of the Scolastin family. He knew full
well of what he spoke of, but always lingering in the shadows lurked the
possibility that he was withholding information for whatever reason imaginable.
But that was exactly why Zynaid vetted couriers on his own as well.
“When must you return home?” Parnsus asked his brothers.
“Soon,” Tarsus replied, “Regardless of the fact that this journey was
ostensibly a Yuletide pilgrimage, many in Yesulam are paranoid and watch us
like perverts in a woman’s bathhouse.” This time no one rolled their eyes;
they just sighed.
“If you are remaining in Ainador for a length of time,” Karonsus said, “We
may have to adjust out methods of correspondence.” He was referring of course
to the manner in which Parnsus received his usual stipend, but also more
general communication.
Zynaid raised an eyebrow. “Mayson doesn’t operate in Ainador?”
“He does not, no. Pyralis is what he is most familiar with, and he
dislikes unfamiliar territory. As well... he has had unfortunate incidents
with many locals here, and his subordinates are like him in those regards.
Rather, you should seek out Therad in Korazin for the time being.”
That was a name that was surprising to hear. “Spoons’ man?”
“Spoons?” Parnsus repeated incredulously.
Karonsus nodded with subtle amusement. “Spoons.”
Spoons, of course, was the colorful nickname of an even more colorful man.
Bishop Bezm Kemsh would likely have been near the top of Zynaid’s list of most
interesting people if he had one. Unscrupulous and ambitious were words often
used to describe him, even by his fellow bishops, to say nothing of
non-Ecclesia. During his younger years he had been involved in several small
crusades in the Midlands in which he was often called upon to govern occupied
cities, during which several controversial executions took place on the
bishop’s orders. His name was now legendarily infamous in Lightbringer lands;
several temples, cities and lords had created a competition of boasts as to who
would hang him the quickest should he fall into their hands. And that was just
over what was established as factual deed. Rumors of countless more despicable
deeds flowed like beer midst a sailor’s revelry, though the most popular one
was Kemsh’s alleged habit of pilfering the silverware of Lightbringer manors in
which he stayed during the courses of his military escapades, hence his
ubiquitous nickname.
Such a notorious name did not exactly sit well with Parnsus, who stared at
his brothers with a mixture of disbelief and worry. “Are you mad?” he said,
nearly cracking his voice. “You actually trust that [i]man[/i],” he added the
last word as he would use a con-man’s alias, “with our family’s safety?” It
was not an altogether unfounded concern that Spoons was perhaps not the most
trustworthy man to trust yourself with. He was shrewd and rude beyond measure
whenever it suited his purpose (which was 90 percent of the time, by most
accounts). But, on the other hand, his political sense was by no means
something to be laughed at.
“You can say a many things about Spoons,” Tarsus interjected with dark
mirth. “But he does what you pay him for with exemplary gusto.”
“It is not,” Karonsus said, “as though he would care intrinsically about
the alleged ‘sinful’ nature of the family name.” That was an understatement if
there ever was one; Kemsh was the least ideologically motivated bishop in the
whole Ecclesia. His aforementioned shrewdness meant he put political
pragmatism before all else, though his rude personality made it difficult for
him to advance further in formal status. “His interests have had a long... tie
to our own. As long as he is well nurtured, Spoons is a valuable ally to have.”
Allies generally brought to mind trustworthy, indispensable men, things
‘Spoons’ Kemsh wasn’t generally associated with. Political guile and
shrewdness, however, could be most useful qualities in an ally, as long as you
yourself kept on your toes. And as long as you didn’t consider them a friend.
“As long as you’ve taken care of sating him, I don’t foresee any problems,”
Zynaid said as casually as possible.
Nevertheless Tarsus glowered at him ever so softly. “Rest assured,
Amadias; we know how to handle our politics.” He leaned forward on his mount
and eyed the commoner. “We certainly hope that you are similarly blessed in
you handlings in the future.”
Rather than pretend he didn’t catch the aristocrat’s meaning, Zynaid simply
nodded as dryly as he could and responded, “Duly noted,” as if the noble had
given him interesting advice on how to forecast the weather. Tarsus merely
continued his glare.
“Well then,” Karonsus declared, as if his brother and Zynaid had nothing to
at all to say, “If we loiter around much longer someone might notice, even if
it’s just a local peasant.”
After a moment Zynaid belatedly realized the unintentional irony of that
statement. “If that is all we must discuss, we should take your leave then.”
“Just watch out for our brother, Amadias, and it will be enough,” Karonsus
said plainly. Turning to his eldest brother, a small but sincere smile crossed
his features. “Farewell, Parnsus. May Eli watch your path.”
Tarsus let a wide smile of his own loose. “Be sure to take care of
yourself, eldest brother.” Zynaid thought the talkative noble was going to
spew another warning about trusting “the commoner,” but instead they got a “Try
not to run into any dragons on your travels.”
The comment caused Parnsus to visibly shudder. “Ugh... Please do not
remind me.” Zynaid didn’t shudder, at least not on the outside.
With just a nod or two that was it; the two Scolastin nobles turned their
horses around and trotted off, no doubt to link up with whatever lookouts they
had brought with them.
“I apologize for their behavior,” Parnsus said as the two of them
themselves started trotting off, dropping back out of his aristocratic accent.
“They were just being rude.”
Zynaid shrugged. “It wasn’t unexpected. They’re political animals out of
necessity, and politics don’t engender trust.”
Such a fact seemed so axiomatic that the commoner wouldn’t have even
mentioned it had he not been prodded. Parnsus, however political his family
may have been (or perhaps [i]because[/i] of it), had the political acumen of a
drunken hermit. “And the fact that they don’t trust you doesn’t bother you?”
Another shrug. “Not really. Why should it? They were doing the competent
thing to do.” Even if, Zynaid thought to himself, Tarsus could use some work
in his intimidation skills; he was about as intimidating as an uppity five year
old in that he came off as far more annoying then genuinely daunting.
Issues such as competence and managing risks and unknowns did not seem to
register, or matter perhaps, all that much to the aristocratic mage. “But here
they were treating me civil and then they ambush you like you’re just as
contemptible as the people who are against the family,” he spoke the rare
conviction behind those words.
That missed one very important detail, however. “You’re family. I’m not.
As far as the rest of your family is concerned I’m just a skilled commoner whom
they are paying well to keep you safe.”
“What do [i]they[/i] know about commoners?” Parnsus mumbled. “You’ve been
taking care of me for three years. They should trust you as well by now as if
they were your own family.”
Zynaid stifled the sharp laughter that wanted to leap out of his throat.
Instead he shrugged. “As long as they can maintain an equitable working
relationship with me, such is how it is.” The mage stared at him as if he were
speaking some strange Irombian tongue. He opened his mouth several times, but
gave up each time.
Finally after a long sigh he stared out blankly to the flat Galean Sea
which lay below them. “How much to you think they know about what happened in
Marilyth?”
“Enough to be suspicious,” Zynaid responded. He would have preferred that
the Scolastins hadn’t learned anything at all, but those kinds of wishes were
moonshine.
“Do you think they know that we were...” the mage searched for words,
doubtless attempting to come up with an appropriate euphemism, and failing
utterly to do so. “Do you think that they know we were driven out of the city
only as a second choice?”
Despite how grim the situation had been and the messy consequences it had
spawned, Zynaid found himself grinning with some mirth. “I highly doubt that,”
he said to the mage’s surprise. “More like their third choice. Second choice
would have been to kill us, yes, but I think their first would no doubt be for
Hell to open up and swallow us whole.”
Parnsus nodded nervously and smiled his awkward smile that half the time
Zynaid was convinced could just as well be permanently etched on the
aristocrat’s face. The idea of the world hating him with so much vehemence was
one that not only didn’t sit well with the mage, it was also completely foreign
to him. Part of Zynaid thought Parnsus fortunate for that, but another part
pitied him for the naivety it engendered.
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