At precisely seven bells, Ördelon arrived and immediately questioned my state. “Mister Bascombe! What in the name of Élois has happened to you, my friend? You look like you've been visited by the Spirits of Death and Love simultaneously!”“

Good evening, Ördelon. I'll be fine. I truly wish I could speak to you on the matter, but I must keep my tongue tied, forever. I must regain my focus for now. Your concern is greatly appreciated!” I shook his hand firmly.

“Very well, Bascombe. Have a seat then; there's much to go over with you before I send you off.”

He drew the curtains in the sitting room as a valet came in with a coffee service for two with cheese and bread. It was only then that I realized I had not had much to eat that day. As I sat, he stood.

Twirling my spoon in my coffee, Ördelon seemed hesitant. “There are things I don't like about this adventure in which I'm sending you, Bascombe. The protective aura around your father has grown stronger. It may just be that the Hard Coast Company expects a greater risk of subterfuge and spying amid all of this to do with the amber. Or perhaps your father is trying to hide things from other, more dangerous parties. The Hard Coast Company in particular. Perhaps he's selling secrets. Maybe he's skimming. I can't tell much other than the power of the shroud he's drawn about himself is stronger than the one about Charles Maignard himself.”

“Well, I'm certain,” I said, “Mister Ördelon, I intend to find out. I'll be armed. I've feared, as you know, the presence of the Swalesians and their reputation for violence and clandestine affairs. My father does have his own guards, though.”

He smirked, “Likely Swalesian mercenaries.” Finally, he sat across from me and began to pull some things from a battered, black satchel, placing them individually on the coffee table.

There was a scroll, a ring, a necklace, and some sort of leather lace-up something.

“What's all this then, Mister Ördelon? You have me intrigued!”

“For my peace of mind and your safety, Mister Bascombe.”

He spread the items out.

“The scroll,” he said, pointing to it, “is a one-use Teleportation spell. That's if you find yourself in a quandary and need to get back quickly. Well, I say quickly, it will take two to three minutes to read the scroll, so remember you need to be in a place of reasonable safety with the time to do it. It must be read and the instructions followed precisely.”

Pointing then to the ring and necklace, “These should be somewhat familiar to you.”

The ring was silver, or perhaps platinum, with a large amethyst in it cut in the shape of a seven-pointed star. The silver necklace had a talisman on it with the same shaped and colored stone.

“These serve the same function as do those sets you've seen worn by your father and his Hard Coast Company colleagues. They shield your mind from intrusion, working together synergistically creating an aura that should be impervious to prying.”

Picking up the piece of leather he asked me to present my right wrist. Wrapping the thing around and tying it, I saw it was a bracer of the type worn by archers. As he laced it on, I began to feel a tingling that ran down my spine and made my feet and hands feel suddenly warm. Once he'd finished I turned my wrist over to give it a look. It was black leather about the thickness of leather armor but of very high quality, very supple. On it was engraved the image of a house cat, curled and sleeping.

“Do you fancy me a cat fancier, Mister Ördelon?” I laughed.

“Well, I should hope so, Mister Bascombe! I never trust a person who doesn't like cats!” he replied, and we both had a laugh.

“I cannot tell you, Mister Ördelon, how many times I've been threatened with civil suit over the number of strays I feed back home. But I've never been one for cat apparel.”

“When I put the thing on your wrist, Mister Bascombe, you felt the charge it gives off. This is a Bracer of Cat's Grace, and a little more powerful version of the type at that. It will make you quicker, more fluid in your movements. Take out your rapier and have a go.”

And I did. I unsheathed my blade and everything about it and I seemed to be moving with a speed and nimbleness I hadn't felt in … well, ever. “Good gods, man! What magic is this?” I shouted.

“It's uncommon magic, Mister Bascombe, personally handcrafted. That's my own cat you see stamped into the leather there, Queen May!”

“You've named your cat after the Queen?” That brought a whole host of thoughts rushing back into my head.

He laughed, “I know it's not fitting. Our Queen May is much less demanding!”

“What a truly remarkable thing. Thank you, Mister Ördelon! I appreciate that you're erring on the side of caution and pray it won't be necessary.”

“We would be fools not to take extra measures, Mister Bascombe. There is much afoot in these times that call for them. Swalesian Assassins being but one of the many hazards. And for you! Not even being able to trust your own father. You have my sympathy, Sir. Ah, I forgot something!”

Speaking quickly to one of the valets, he sent the boy running headlong down the corridor.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“He'll be right back with another gift before you go, Mister Bascombe.”

“I'm sure I've quite enough, Mister Ördelon! I shan't be gone long!”

“That's another thing we haven't discussed, Mister Bascombe. You'll be leaving at just past seven bells. I'm giving you one hour with your father then I'm coming for you if you haven't used the scroll by then. I don't like the energy we're seeing from that chalet — why all the extra caution on their part of a sudden? Something's coming, Mister Bascombe, and your father has some answers.”

“He'd best have answers for my mother if she catches him!” I laughed, though the thought of his philandering did sadden me to a degree.

We had never been a close family, their marriage one of politics and money. But there was a time in my life when it all felt very normal and loving, typical. Before the covers were thrown back on that charade, I had a happy childhood. A child should be allowed a childhood like that. For a time at least. Before the long shadow of truth becomes visible everywhere you look.

“Are you sure you're ready for this, Mister Bascombe? You seem terribly distracted,” the sound of his voice breaking my reverie.

“Terribly sorry, Mister Ördelon. Just musing over life issues I'm sure we all share to some degree. I don't have time to indulge in that sort of nonsense right now. Too much on my plate.”

“Agreed, Mister Bascombe, and I'm trying to think over any contingency I'm missing. I won't lie and say I'm comfortable with this mission or anything about it. The Hard Coast Company is going far and beyond what their normal defenses are to protect your father.”

As he was in thought, the valet came running back in with what looked like a huge animal pelt.

“Ah, here we are!” said Ördelon. “You forget you're going to the Northern Peaks. It will be freezing up there even this time of the year.”

Offering it to me and unfolding it, the pelt was a cloak of gray wolf fur lined with silk and extremely well-made. Knowing how cold it would be, I donned the garment immediately.

“Well, Mister Ördelon,” I said, “there's nothing to do now but see what happens. At least it's just my father and not an enemy I don't know. Send me please, when you're ready. And thank you for the cloak, it's beautiful.”

“Very well, Mister Bascombe and you're welcome. Just remember, you have one hour and then I'm coming for you if you haven't returned on your own. Here we go.”

I had all I needed in a satchel he had provided. Quill, ink, and paper, my scroll, and all of the paperwork the Hard Coast Company had originally sent with me. I had some questions for my father about the wording of the agreement to be signed with the Elves, nothing seemingly out of the ordinary, just clarification.

Ördelon backed away from me, waved his hands, made some symbols with his fingers, and said “Tembrist finia abnurdum santrio plata!”

The next thing I knew, I was in my father's chalet and thank gods for the cloak. The building was of an open design. A kitchen and sitting room were downstairs with a great hearth that was ablaze and well-tended. A flight of stairs in the middle of the room led up to a loft which was the bedroom, open to the rest of the space. The place was silent save for the crackle of the fire and the pattering of snowflakes on the window panes.

Not too loudly, I called out, “Father?” Not hearing a response, I was about to call out again, more loudly, when a woman's face peered over the loft's bannister, a haunting, pale face with jet black hair and a black robe. Gathering her garment about her, the woman called over her shoulder, “Culver, is this your son?”

I couldn't see the face clearly, but something about it caused a shiver to run down my spine. My head was spinning trying to place it.

“Hrmph, harrumph, what's that you say beloved?” My father was obviously rousing from sleep, disoriented.

“There's a young man here, Culver, calling for his father. Should I tell him he has the wrong chalet?” She giggled a rather sinister sounding giggle and I could hear my father getting out of the bed, throwing his dressing gown about himself.

“Father, it's Tendil! I've come from the Taliswood to see you on a matter of some import!”

The woman's face was just a broad smile beaming down from the upstairs.

“Tendil? What on earth are you doing here my boy? Um, this is my nurse, er, Miss Lillia, we were just …”

“I know you've a mistress, Father. You can save the lies!”

“Well, then, young Mister Bascombe,” the woman spoke, “Introductions are in order.”

As she began to descend the staircase, her face slowly revealed itself as she came into the full glow of the hearth light. I noticed her ears firstly, they were pointed, like Elf ears but slightly less so. She was short, perhaps 4’10” and very petite. Her hands, gripping the bannister, ended in long fingers of an alabaster paleness. Her light gray eyes were large and her eyebrows arched over them giving a malevolent cast to her face though her smile was still there.

She wasn't an Elf, not completely, but I still couldn't get a bearing on her age. She certainly appeared much younger than my father. Then it struck me. I knew this woman! Everyone in Wikehold knew this woman! This was the Half-Elf Witch, Clarix, a woman known to move from wealthy suitor to wealthy suitor, a scandalous revelation to say the least. She was infamous for bleeding her lovers dry and leaving them in ruin, and this based on her beauty alone, nevermind her magical abilities which were rumored to be of the highest sort.

“What…” before I could get the words out, she waved a hand and said “Trellentis!”

I was suddenly unable to speak, or, as I found out, even move. I was frozen in place. Not petrified or anything of that sort, but paralyzed. I found I could struggle, but only a little, and the spell pushed back against me.

“Oh, this will never do!” said the Witch as she finally stepped to the floor of the sitting room. “Get down here, Culver! At once!”

My father was down as quickly as he could move, having gained at least another ten pounds since the last time I saw him, and he fought to catch his breath.

As she sized me up with her eyes, Cralix looked to my father, “What's he doing here, Culver? We were supposed to be in secret!”

“Oh dear!” my father spoke, “What have you done to him, my Love?”

“He is merely held, Culver. As a safety precaution. He's unharmed. You don't hurt do you, Master Tendil?”

Addressing me as a child was quite annoying. Knowing I couldn't answer or even make a small gesture was worse. I couldn't remember all of the rumors regarding Cralix. She was said to be over 200 years old though a Half-Elf could expect to live to be well over 500. She didn't look a day over 30. Exquisitely beautiful.

Her involvement with my father was obviously about money. What else might be involved I would have to find out for myself.

“Allow me to help you with these, Master Tendil,” she said, pulling the ring from my finger and the necklace from about my neck. Pocketing them, she said “Ordenarix.”

And suddenly, I could feel her in my head, like fingers sifting through sand. It was the same feeling I had had from being with Count Pelisir that first day in the Queen's quarters but much more intrusive, not trying for any sort of discretion or delicacy.

“Oh my, Culver,” she said to my father. “This will never do.”

Just then, the front door of the chalet opened and a blustery cold breeze swept across the room. One of the Swalesian guards stuck his head in, looking surprised to see me, and asked if everything was ok.

“We're fine, Demyet. Resume your watch, if you please.” My father commanded. He seemed to be quite alright with me being incapacitated like this.

“Yes, my Lord,” Demyet replied and ducked back outside.

Cralix moved over to a long sofa with a large quilt thrown over it and took a seat. Sighing heavily, she said “He either knows or suspects quite a bit, Culver. Though he knows neither my or your place in the scheme.”

“Good, then, “said my father to her, “You can let him go, unharmed.”

“Yes and no, Culver,” she replied. I need some time to dig further here. That boring old Elf, Ördelon, has stuck his nose into Tendil’s business quite heavily. I don't think I mind that they know I'm involved. We're past concerns about that now.”

She studied me very carefully for what seemed like an eternity.

When she spoke again, she said, “Ördelon will be arriving here in less than forty-five minutes. If we leave your son here like this, he'll be fine and we'll have time to go to our backup plan without fear of pursuit or any further meddling.”

My father was all too agreeable. “Very well, my Love. Let me pack our things quickly and we can be off.”

“How I do love you so, Culver,” she said with no emotion whatsoever, almost contemptuously. “I'll summon some clothes more suitable for the warmth once we get there.”

She glared at me. “And there's your only clue as to our destination, Master Tendil.

As they readied for their departure, she said to me boastfully, “You've done well with some of your suppositions, Boy. Others, not so much. But it matters little as everything is in motion now, the plan near completion. I will congratulate you and say that I underestimated you. Perhaps I should have gone after you rather than him,” she indicated my father with a toss of her head.

Coming over to me, she reached into my satchel and removed the scroll. “You won't be needing this, Love,” she whispered in my ear, sending a hot flush through my body. An embarrassing and maddening flush! This was the enemy, Tendil! Keep your wits about you!

Once all of their belongings were gathered in the sitting room, my father gasping for air and wheezing, the Swalesian guards were summoned in and Cralix spoke, “Tembrist finia abnurdum santrio plata!” and they were gone.

image [https://i.imgur.com/zGYFMl5.jpeg]