VI. IMMIGRANTS AND HYPOCRITES

  “No admittance.” The guard repeated tersely.

  Rémann took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, shedding dirt and ash. The guard twisted his face in disgust and took a none too subtle step away from him and his dirty band of knights. A week-long journey had somehow devolved into more than a month-long odyssey through that cursed wood, ending with them in a town called Eefrit, run by elves. Of course, they would run into another roadblock.

  “I am an envoy of Aes Sidhe, searching for Lord Aichlan of Westfaire and Countess Alice Templeton.” He pointed to the palace atop the hill in the distance. “The very same Lord Aichlan that served with your king in The Order,”

  He paused as cartloads of produce were ushered through the gates. The streets of the bustling castle town were especially busy, as if they were preparing for some sort of festivity. He opened his mouth to continue, but was once more interrupted, this time by a small herd of pigs.

  “That king you speak of is dead.”

  “Look,” Rémann continued, not hearing the guards reply. “I know they are both there, now let us through or find someone who can.”

  The guard smirked briefly before returning to his sour, stern façade. “The king you refer to is dead. The Princess, and soon to be Queen, Aislyn Dorso now sits upon the throne.”

  “Dead?” he repeated.

  The gates creaked open once more to allow a winemaker to pass through with his cartload of casks. The kingdom of Duvachellé had very strict rules about women ascending to the throne, they simply weren’t allowed to rule alone. And if his memory served him, the princess was notorious for spurring all would be suitors.

  “Yes Mi’lord, felled by the fiend Osric when he sacked the city some month’s past.”

  Rémann glanced about incredulously. For a sacked city, it looked about as pristine as a city that size could. In fact, the way the people carried on, you’d think there were not a war at all.

  “But the Lord Aichlan and Lady Templeton are in there, are they not?”

  The guard stiffened. “I cannot disclose that information at this time as the city is on lockdown.”

  Rémann threw up his hands and walked away before the guard even finished. They were stranded. Penniless and without mounts to return home. They couldn’t even get an inn to wait this ‘lockdown’ out.

  A visibly armed young man covered in mafia tattoos, ostensibly herding a gaggle of geese was ushered through the gates without so much as a word, sparking indignation in him. Rémann emphatically gestured to the man, demanding an answer for such an oversight. For a city on high alert, there was a distinct lack of concern for who passed through. Unless of course they had the look and accent of a fey from the mariner state.

  “To all but essential personal or those with prior clearance.” The guard added quickly.

  One of Rémann’s knights placed a hand upon his shoulder and steered him away before he said anything else to the guard.

  “Master Rémann, perhaps we should find lodgings until the matter is resolved. The men are tired, especially with the horses gone.”

  “We’ve no money for lodgings Sir Cadan.” He spat, shrugging off the hand. “We’ve no money for food, we’ve no money for anything.”

  Cadan recoiled in surprise. “How is this possible? His majesty gave us a substantial line of credit—“

  “A letter of credit is valueless if it can’t be read. That detour through the southern wraith wood set us back more than time and mounts. Even if there were no war, it would take weeks to send a runner to confirm a replacement.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” he asked, barely containing his outrage.

  “We could sell our swords.” Rémann snorted.

  “Preposterous!” he thundered in response. “We are knights of—“

  Rémann held up his hand, silencing the knight. The gates had opened again to let a crowd of peasants and merchants with empty carts exit. He was tempted to make a break for it and try to force their way in, even motioning for his men to gather their meager belongings. A familiar scent stopped him however, just as he was ready to give the order to dash.

  Among the rabble was a gorgeous, raven haired woman with skin like fresh powder snow. Her eyes were an icy shade of vibrant blue, and he found himself instantly smitten with her. More importantly however, was her smell. She smelled of the fey.

  He took a cautious step towards her, quickening his pace to keep up with her. She wore a military coat, open against the cold breeze, with a short skirt, tall boots and stockings. Either the jacket was stolen from a lover or she cared not for decorum. Even over the rancid stink of the city, he could smell her, feel the whistle of the wind emanating from her. The sound of a breeze rustling through the willows, or through the reeds on a riverbank in spring. Weak, but definitely there.

  She stopped at a street corner to allow several carts to pass by. He paused, staring at her, enraptured. Who was this woman, so far from home? He called out to her in the tongue of the fey, the voice of a stiff summer breeze across a flowery meadow. She stopped and turned her gaze towards him. He called out again, and she approached, a quizzical look on her face.

  “Is there a reason you’re staring at me with your lips pursed like that? I’m not too keen on being followed, least of all by perverts.”

  Rémann frowned. She had a noticeable Rhodarcian accent. Yet still, inexplicably, she had the scent of the fey. She was in her twenties at least, born at a time when Rhodarcium and Aes Sidhe were in a heated conflict. He sighed and waved his hand dejectedly in her direction. Perhaps she was the product of two star crossed lovers or some other nonsense.

  “Nothing. I had you mistaken for someone else.”

  As his retinue approached, she cocked out her hip and looked them over.

  “Aes Sidhean knights.” She looked them up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Rémann sighed and turned to face her. Several of his men uttered curses and hurled insults under their breaths upon recognizing her accent. He was of a mind to agree, Rhodarcian’s were contemptible snakes, always calculating, suffering from delusions that they were the smartest and most civilized of all of Silex. That being said, she did have a nice figure.

  “We travelled across Sorn and got held up in the Wraith Wood when winter came early.” He lied.

  She smiled and wiped her finger on his shoulder, holding up a finger covered in volcanic ash. “The volcano in Rhode erupted recently. I’m guessing you got lost in that wood, going south instead of north.”

  Rémann clenched his fist and ground his teeth. Pretty or not, he’d not stand to be embarrassed by some Rhodarican broad. “Very observant. But if you’ll excuse us, we’ve places to be.”

  He waved his fingers in a circular motion above his head, signaling his men it was time to go.

  “You were attempting to gain access to the palace.”

  He paused, turning back to her. If she were trying to start a fight, she foolishly had one.

  “What of it? Who are you?”

  She held out her hands in surrender. His men relaxed their grips on their swords, likely unaware of the rings she wore upon her fingers. She was a mage, likely a mage knight. Could that be why he smelled the wind of the fey on her? Regardless, Rémann remained firm, inching his blade from its sheath.

  “You wouldn’t come all of this way if you weren’t searching for someone, there are currently around two-hundred Aes Sidheans that arrived within the past several months.”

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  Rémann dropped his sword back into its sheath, and the woman in turn lowered her hands. He snapped his fingers and one of his knights tossed him the small memory stone. She took it from his outstretched hand and placed it to her temple. As she got closer, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of familiarity, a feeling that went beyond her uncharacteristic scent.

  “I assume you are searching for this woman then?” she returned the stone, flashing a smug grin.

  “Indeed.” He said, handing the stone back to a knight. “Have you seen her?”

  She nodded and tossed her silken hair. “I have. She is the proprietor of General Aichlan’s Army, currently housed in the Mission districts of Marquez proper.”

  “They are here?” he asked.

  “Yes. And you are?”

  He released a breath of relief. “Rémann Coventide, squire to King Céolsige.” He motioned to his band of weary knights. “These men are members of the King’s Guard. “

  She placed a finger to her chin and regarded him with a sly glint to her eyes. “Coventide, that’s not a real surname is it?”

  He recoiled, surprised that she would know that. “No, it is not. I am fey, we have no surnames. However, it makes things easier to adopt a placeholder when dealing with those unfamiliar with our kind and customs.”

  She nodded slowly, still appraising him. “My father didn’t have a surname either.”

  Before he could ask further, she motioned for them to follow her.

  “Why do you seek them?” she asked conversationally.

  Rémann was becoming irritated with her familiar way of speaking to him, and the constant questions on things that did not pertain to her. Unfortunately, he needed her for the time being.

  “We were sent by his majesty to retrieve Lady Templeton and her guardian, the Lord Aichlan.”

  “A noble charge sir, but Lady Alice has an army of more than six-thousand, led by General Aichlan, son of the famed general Garrick; in addition, she has three vessels to her name.” she turned and smiled at him. “Even if she had cause to return home, I doubt she’d want to.”

  Another train of artisans of farmers jostled their way through the gate towards the palace. Rémann took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to scrutinize her in return. Alice was too far removed from the conflict to hold any real opinions on Rhodarcium, but Lord Aichlan lost his father to the bastards. There’s no way in hell they could be so buddy-buddy as she seemed to be insinuating.

  “What the hell is going on up there anyhow?” one of his knights asked.

  She turned her gaze to the palace. “There? The princess Aislyn is taking a husband.”

  “That cold fish is finally taking a man, is she?” another knight snorted. “I feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

  “Be quiet.” Rémann snapped as they passed by the obstinate guard. “Who is it? A local Lord I presume?”

  “No actually, it’s neither.”

  “Neither what?” he asked, assuming she made an error.

  “Neither a local nor a Lord.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “He’s a commoner. A young archer by the name of Odell I believe.”

  Rémann and several others snickered aloud. A common boy with a common name from Aes Sidhe was to become the next King of Duvachelle. The world truly had gone mad.

  “Odell, you say?” Cadan asked, incredulous. “So, he’s one of ours is he?”

  “I feel the need to intervene now.” Another said.

  “From whence does he hail?” Rémann asked, unable to hide his mirth. “Briartach? Ildathach?”

  “Barrington hills” she said flatly. “A young farm boy of the fey.”

  Rémann and his men erupted into riotous laughter. He couldn’t be sure if he should feel pride or embarrassment.

  “A Hillman?” a knight blurted, wiping tears from his eyes. “That cold bitch is so spiteful as to marry a bumpkin over the feckless lords of Duvachellé?”

  The woman remained stoic. “My understanding is that they love each other.”

  Rémann wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. Stranger things have in fact happened, however, Aislyn had a reputation. More curious was how a Hillman even came to be so far from the hills. Those people have resided in that part of Aes Sidhe since before the collapse. They never left.

  “I see…”

* * *

  The woman, called Siegrun, led them through the winding streets and over several hills to a distant corner of the city. Noticeably working class and along the cities wall, he began to wonder if this was some elaborate ruse to rob them or sell them into slavery. His concerns were assuaged somewhat when she led them to a large hotel. A group of mages in academy garb mingled out front, smoking cigars that emitted a queer violet smoke.

  “What is this?” Rémann asked.

  “Lady Alice has leased this hotel to house her mages and much of the army.”

  Rémann turned to the building, several stories tall and a block long. He whistled, impressed, Alice had been busy. Her father had been so concerned, one would think she were a mewling babe, but here she was, having amassed an army.

  “There is a royal wedding to be held two days from now. Inform the clerk that you are with the army and she will get you housed.”

  Siegrun looked them over, though her face was placid, he was certain he registered a hint of disgust in her eyes.

  “Take the opportunity to bath and launder your uniforms. I don’t need to remind you how Duvachellé likes to stand on ceremony.”

  “Noted.” Rémann gestured for his men to make the arrangements. “And when will we be able to speak with Lord Aichlan and Lady Alice?”

  “They are both guests of honor at the wedding and will be occupied with that for the next week at least.”

  Rémann opened his mouth to protest, but she only raised her own voice, speaking over him. “However, I will inform them of your arrival. They will likely see you within a day.”

  Rémann nodded, not entirely convinced or satisfied, but too tired to argue further. Siegrun bowed slightly at the waist and turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” he called after her. “Don’t you stay here too?”

  “I am not a part of Aichlan’s army, I have quarters in the palace.”

  “Oh…”

  She smirked coquettishly. “I will be back to check on you later.”

  Rémann cursed his awkwardness and attempted to hide his look of disappointment. He would have liked the opportunity to talk to her more. She was very odd for a Rhodarican, and he was curious as to why she had fey blood in her. Among other things.

  “For a Rhodarcian harpie,” Cadan said as she vanished into the crowd. “She’s not bad on the eyes.”

  Rémann rapped the back of his hand on the knight’s chest plate. “Come on, let’s get settled in.”

* * *

  “What the hell have you idiots done?” Osric thundered.

  “Hey!” Alden shot back as he aimed a finger at Morana, “I wasn’t even a part of this!”

  Osric swept his hair from his face as he stomped rapidly back and forth across the room. “I explicitly told you to keep an eye on her.”

  Morana laughed as she idly applied black lacquer to her fingernails. “You should know better than that Ozzy, I do as I please.”

  “We still need them!” Osric hissed through clenched teeth.

  Morana blew on her fingers and held them out to admire her work. “The woman isn’t dead, and it’s not like she needed legs anyway.”

  Alden shrugged with a chuckle. “She has a point.”

  “And Laelianus?” Osric roared. “How are we to find this blasted tomb now?”

  Morana frowned. “Shit, I forgot about that…”

  “I have come too far to fail now due to your incompetence!” Osric thundered, sending shockwaves of malevolent energy rippling through the room.

  Morana turned her cold, indifferent gaze towards Osric, instantly dispelling his magic and turning the air frigid. Osric stumbled back a step as terror gripped his heart, and he broke into a cold sweat. Even Alden shivered and quickly slipped out of the room.

  “Watch it child.” Morana cautioned. “I like you, but not that much.”

  Osric nodded and bowed his head. A hard lump had formed in his throat and he had difficulty forcing it down. Morana was the name of an ancient deity, one of four, according to Alden; and it was strongly believed by the old soldier that it was not merely a name she had adopted on a whim. Given what he saw, Osric could no longer dismiss this theory outright himself.

  “I goofed.” Morana said with a dismissive shrug, “My mistake, but it’s not the end of our plans.”

  “Do you know where the tomb is?” Osric croaked after summoning his courage.

  “Not exactly, but I don’t need to. We can send someone to find Laelianus and follow him to the tomb.”

  Osric shook his head. “Laelianus is dead, and I cannot venture freely into their realm, only peer into it.”

  “Alden.” Morana called out, and the Soldier appeared at her side almost instantly. “We send him.”

  “Send me where?” Alden asked guardedly.

  “To the land of the dead, find Laelianus and follow him to his tomb.”

  “Why don’t you go? That’s your domain after all.”

  Morana fanned her hand to hasten the drying. “I’m needed here for one, but more importantly, I told you to go. Now give me your eye.”

  Osric watched curiously as Alden dug his eye out of its socket with a large knife and placed it in Morana’s outstretched hand. She casually dropped it into a nearby glass of water as Alden wrapped a bandage over the empty socket. The whole exchange was rather surreal, even for Osric.

  “We can use this to follow his progress.” Morana explained. “And when the time comes, use it to travel to his location without having had to have been there.”

  “I see.” Osric said as he watched the two with newfound fear.

  It was quite obvious by this point that much of what Morana did in regard to spells was more for his sake than her own. His limits were holding them back, and out of politeness or pity, she played along as if she suffered the same limits. Yet he realized something when Morana first began her tutelage, she needed only to will something for it to be done. A revelation that utterly terrified him.