AZZANON – THE GOLDEN UNICORN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
[https://i.imgur.com/13l3JXM.jpg]
9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Upon arrival at the Golden Unicorn, the guard quickly arranged their accommodation. This consisted of a spacious multi-room suite with two double beds, three single beds and a king-bed spread over three bedrooms and a central living room. The beds were quite comfortable and each had a nice bed set as opposed to the rather plain and uncomfortable blankets in most taverns.
‘This suite is clearly meant for a rich merchant or visiting noble and his family, possibly with a servant or two. Have to get Gaebriel comfortable. Then it is time to go. I need more information to decide my next move. And only the Agency’s contacts have that information.’
Archibald was being laid down on one of the double beds, and Mr Greaves seemed to be settling for one of the singles in that same room.
‘Good man. Looking after his man-servant rather than arguing over a bigger bed.’
I am the noble here. I get the biggest bed,” proclaimed Hawkin, rather excitedly. “And let’s order some food and drink to the room!”
‘That is more what I expected. Do I tell him she is a Princess? Would smash his claim for the big bed. Last time I checked Princess narrowly eclipses ‘heir to be Baron’ by about 15 steps on the Klydorian nobility pyramid.’
“I am happy to sleep anywhere in this place!” exclaimed Mitchell. “Some water would be good though.”
“May I have a word with the three of you?” asked Azzanon, pointing at Mitchell, Hawkin and the Guardian. They each nodded and moved into one of the rooms where they could not be overheard.
“I need to depart briefly,” started Azzanon. He could immediately see the strange looks he was getting.
‘Except for the Guardian. I cannot see anything of his face. Damn mask!’
“I need more information on what is going on,” Azzanon explained. “That was a lot of people who were used to attack the Devillier Manor tonight. And I believe a good number of them were from a Drasak assassin clan. Now I need to try and figure out who and why?”
“OK. But who are you going to ask at this time of night?” asked Hawkin.
“His contacts. I suspect Lord Ackton is a spy,” deduced Mitchell. Reactions of surprise and shock were apparent on both Hawkin and Azzanon’s face.
‘How the hell did you guess that? Magick?’
“Why would you say that?” asked Azzanon. Partially deflecting, but also keen to know why the accusation had been made before he continued with denying it.
“You are not a normal Lotese noble. If you were, you would not be going out again tonight, and you would not leave your ‘wife’ with us,” reasoned Mitchell. “You think the danger has not passed for either herself or her. Which potentially means the attack at the manor was actually directed at you, or you did something during the attack so severe that you think those responsible will now seek vengeance. The first is the most likely.”
‘This kid could get really annoying really fast. But at this stage lying probably does not help.’
“OK. Not sure many people have seen through my cover that fast,” replied Azzanon, somewhat amazed.
“He does that,” commented Hawkin.
“My name is Azzanon, and I am with the Drasnian Intelligence Agency,” replied Azzanon, dropping the accent and carefully watching their eyes – those eyes I can see anyway – to see if he was being believed. “Gaebriel is not from Klydor. Her parents are hiding her here. But the wrong people found out and some Drasak assassins were sent to kill her. Now I need to try and find out as much as I can on who is helping them within Klydor so I can keep her safe.”
“I have met one of your order before,” replied Mitchell. “One of your order is an old friend of my father.”
‘Who on earth is this kid?’
“And what is the name of your father’s friend,” Azzanon inquired.
“To be honest, I only know him by what I think is his nick-name. At least I hope his name is not Javelin,” replied Mitchell.
‘I know that operator name. But it can’t be. Could he actually be referring to the ex-head of the entire Agency?’
“Who did you say your father was?” Azzanon asked. He could see a reluctance to answer forming on the young man’s face.
‘Ok. You have secrets too.’
“Maragon, the teacher,” replied the Guardian. “Also known as Maragon Ward.”
‘Never heard of him. Not sure if that is better or worse.’
“I do not know that name. I may know Javelin though. He was a big deal in my Agency for a long time… if it is the same man,” conceded Azzanon. “I am going to take a leap of faith here and trust you three. Partially because I know his father, you may know Javelin, and I know what you are.”
Azzanon gestured to Hawkin, Mitchell then the Guardian in turn as he spoke.
“And partially because I do not have much choice. I need the information my network has. I will be gone a few hours. If by some chance bad people come for Gaebriel, please keep her safe. I will make it worth your while.”
“We do not need a reward to keep her safe,” replied Mitchell, although Azzanon sensed the others were all about to make similar responses.
“Keep her in the room with you,” requested Azzanon. “I ask that you grant her the double bed and at least two of you sleep in here with her.”
“Where will you sleep?” asked Mitchell.
“When I return, I will sleep on the floor next to her bed,” Azzanon replied.
‘It is a little too early in our relationship for sharing a bed. I haven’t even bought her dinner yet.’
‘Besides, sharing a bed with a Princess really could get me in trouble. Or married. No. I am Drasnian. The shame would be too great and her family would have me killed. Or worse. Crippled? Unmanned? Best not to think about it. Just leave her be. No matter how she beautiful she is.’
Azzanon made to leave. Mr Greaves briefly interrupted him, asking questions about what happened in the manor, but Azzanon just told him that he and his wife were sharing a moment in the garden, and had escaped over the wall. Gaebriel was tending to Archibald until the guard could return with a cleric, so Azzanon slipped out the door without her noticing.
‘I need more information to decide what to do next. I hate to leave Gaebriel, but with that group with her, and an armed Klydorian guard outside the door, she is unlikely to be in any danger.’
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
‘Off into the night I go. I hope the Agency’s contacts are open to late night meetings.’
9TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
With Azzanon gone, the Guardian anticipated the inevitable barrage of questions from Hawkin and Mitchell. And to the many unanswered questions they would have.
“So, who are you?” asked Hawkin, using his usual subtlety and charm.
“Forgive my friend, what he means to say is ‘Thank You’ for saving both of our lives tonight,” interrupted Mitchell.
“Illian’arner kaffenen noh’keratu, Layluur,” came her reply, in a slightly higher pitched harmonic voice.
“Well that helped heaps, thanks,” scoffed Hawkins.
‘This one is brutish, and not very smart. Why would Maragon choose him to help guard the Stone?’
“That’s Elven,” responded Mitchell, familiar with the language from his arcane studies.
‘This one has some potential perhaps, but his choices tonight suggest he is also either a fool, or one that can be too easily led astray by other fools. Neither makes him a good choice to be the ward for the Gem of Inspiration.’
“Ok… So she is an elf. But what is she saying,” pressed Hawkins
“I am not sure,” replied Mitchell. “I mostly read Elven. I speak it a little, but she is speaking too fast for me to make sense of it.”
Behind her mask, the Guardian smiled. It was amusing to be able to hear them talk almost like she was not there and to study them, all the while, they have no idea what she was saying.
“Kavana, Layluur, Est santuna ta verasich ge Maragon Laygarna,” replied the masked figure.
“I think… its something about Maragon sent her to watch us?” asked Mitchell.
‘But I do not have the luxury to waste time. I have made contact, and now we have things we must attend to.’
“Very good, young one. Your instincts serve you well” she continued, this time in a melodic common tongue, “I was sent by Maragon the Teacher to protect you until he and the rest of the Seven arrived,” she continued. “He thought it too dangerous to allow you to run the streets on your own. It appears he was right.”
Both Mitchell and Hawkin sat there mesmerised by both the beautiful voice that came from her mask, and the reflections of themselves from her mirrored face-plate.
She knew the magic of her people powered the mask, as it did for all Guardians. Most people would lose themselves in their reflections, the mask reflecting back at them an image of their real self. For good and pure people it showed them all their positive qualities, and an image of the best they could be. For the darker and more evil souls, it showed them all the horrors they had committed and what they had become. In either case it usually resulted in total mesmerisation of the target, and frequently a diminished ability to fight, either from rapture or horror.
‘But right now I need these two to have their wits.’ So she took the helm off.
As her hands reached for the back of her head, she quietly uttered the incantation that released the mask. Small clasps appeared in the smooth surface near the back of her neck, which she deftly manoeuvred. The back of the helm fell away leaving only the mirrored faceplate and allowed her long golden hair to cascade down past her shoulders. As she pulled the faceplate away with her other hand, her beautiful elven face came into full view.
Both Hawkin and Mitchell gasped. She had the most perfect face, with high cheekbones, small delicate features, and the most amazing violet-coloured eyes that were the equal of any flower or royal silk. And like all elves her ears were elongated and came to a gentle point.
‘By the Earthmother, they seem as mesmerised now as they were before. Maybe I have to put the mask back on.’
“You know M…Maragon?” Mitchell stammered, even though the answer was obvious from her previous statement. She nodded, allowing him to continue, “And is he all right?... Can you take us to him?”
“Maragon was being followed by a large group of mercenaries, led by an evil sorcerer. He asked me to come here and meet you in case he was delayed. We are to wait here no longer than a day and if he has not turned up by that time, he wanted you to use this.”
The Guardian reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out a small scroll case, from which she unrolled a group of maps and other documents. From the documents she picked up a scroll covered in strange sigils and patterns and handed it to Mitchell. She knew Mitchell would recognise it as a spell scroll, from which the uttering of the words would release the magick contained on the page. They made casting spells easier as much of the power to cast the spell was contained in the scroll as part of the magickal process of its creation. They also allowed a caster a much greater chance of success to cast a spell more powerful than what they could normally cast.
“This scroll contains a Summoning spell. You can read this, and it will allow Maragon to find you,” continued the elf. Mitchell took the scroll carefully and rolled it up, placing it into the pockets of his tunic. The Guardian could see on his face that Mitchell hoped desperately he would not have to use it.
‘I hope the child is up to this. Summoning is a dangerous art. Summoning opens doorways into other Planes, and there are many very dangerous and strange creatures living in these planes. If he opens up the portal in the wrong location, who knows what sort of demon, elemental or magickal beast may come through. And if that happens, will his summoning circle hold?’
“In the past my summoning circles have not been strong enough to prevent anything bigger than a small mouse from leaving whenever the creature so desired,” offered Mitchell. “But provided I can cast the spell on the scroll correctly, we will not have to worry about my summoning circle failing, right? Maragon will not need to be in one.”
“Still, a good contingency plan will be for everyone with a weapon to be at the ready… if it comes to that,” Mitchell finished.
“Sorry. I don’t understand any of that. But it sounds like you think my friend here is some kind of powerful wizard. That is ridiculous. And you still have not told us your name, which is now quite rude under nearly all the rules of etiquette,” scolded Hawkin.
‘The noble forgets his place and speaks based on birthright rather than merit. How have these humans become such a dominant force in Driax. Is it just birth rates? But he is right on the introductions.’
“I am Eva of the Llewyrr, and I will protect he who carries the Stone of Evronn,” she said, looking at Hawkin as she re-answered his question in the common tongue.
“So why not just talk normally all the time?” Hawkin fired back. “It is rude to speak in another language in front of someone if you can speak in a language, you both understand.”
Mitchell did not seem to mind, however.
“Some of what I said was indeed words that could have been said in your tongue, although most of the meaning would have been lost. And that meaning conveys an old elvish blessing that will ward you both from evil spirits,” replied Eva.
“Right…,” responded Hawkin doubtfully.
“We will now stay here tonight. If Maragon has not arrived by tomorrow night we will use the scroll,” she continued, ignoring Hawkin’s sarcasm.
“OK. I could do with some warm food and a proper bed anyway,” agreed Mitchell, “But in the morning we will need to go and get some companions of ours who are staying at another tavern, and possibly another who is being tended to at the church.”
This confused Eva, but she nodded her head in agreement initially.
‘That makes no sense.’
“Why would you split your group up unnecessarily?” Eva asked.
“Because the others are too weak to come out and party,” replied Hawkin. “We…”
“Ah…One of our companions was injured on the way here, and the others stayed nearby to help tend to his wounds,” Mitchell interrupted.
“Even though you carry an item that could bring about the destruction of Klydor, the Llewyrr, and all of Driax, you willingly take this item out into the reach of Evil just for some fun?” countered Eva, an incredulous look on her face.
Both Hawkin and Mitchell’s expressions changed to that of little children when being told off by their parents. Neither said anything, and just lowered their heads, unwilling to meet her unflinching gaze.
“You carry a very powerful item, and with that goes a great responsibility. You do not yet understand the evil that is out there, right now, looking for you. Things that do not sleep. These monsters will never stop hunting you. The forces of Razilin’Tera seek you. They think the stone can be used to bring their Dragon God back to life. They may well be right.”
“The Seven fight against Razilin’Tera and his return?” Mitchell said in what was somewhere between a question and a statement.
“The Seven stand against any evil which threatens to destroy the world as we know it. Which includes the forces of Razilin’Tera,” replied Eva. “But they are not all you should be worried about, young one. Then there is The One. He who carries its soul. He knows where you are at all times. And he is coming, even now, getting closer to claiming you and the Stone he so desperately seeks.”
“The One? Who is he?” asked a shocked Mitchell, only partially wanting to hear the answer.
“He is the Black Baron. And he wishes to rule Klydor with an infernal ambition that carried beyond the mortal realm. He will never stop seeking the power of the throne. And his hunger for the stone means he can sense it, wherever it is in Driax, or I suspect any of the Planes of existence.”
“And he is coming here, now?” asked Mitchell
“He is. But I have concealed us using an old Elven prayer,” replied Eva. “He knows now that you are in Chandrex, but he will get no closer than that this night. For now, you should get some sleep. You will need it in the future. I will watch over you till dawn.”
“But when will you sleep?” Mitchell asked.
“You need not concern yourself with my sleep,” instructed Eva. “I have been preparing for this moment since before you were born. I will be fine.”
After a few awkward moments of silence, Mitchell feebly added, “Sorry… and thank you again.”
“Get some sleep young one. You will need your strength in the journey to come,” counselled Eva. Soon after both he and Hawkin were fast asleep. Her elven prayer ensured a deep restorative sleep, the hectic events of their past few days momentarily forgotten.