Summer 4981, 6 Akamoth
“So... is not eating meat related to not riding a horse?”
There was always someone in each new group that wanted to know more about Veon-Zih and his strange ways. In this party, it was Logan. He was barely a man, only about eighteen, though with the smooth face and wide-eyed wonder of a boy much younger.
Veon-Zih chuckled as he continued to fish around in the stew pot for more of the potatoes and carrots, leaving the chunks of venison for the others, “Not at all. I simply don't need a horse to keep up with you. And...” he scooped up a spoonful of meat and splashed it into Kollen’s bowl to get it out of his way. The Ranger nodded gratefully, and Veon-Zih continued, “It offers the perfect opportunity to keep myself in shape.”
Every moment presented an opportunity to train, and Veon-Zih liked to think of himself as an opportunist. This particular group was moving at a steady clip towards woods reported to house a particularly violent clan of draken. But they weren’t pushing their mounts, so the Monk found it a pleasant exercise to run beside the horses rather than ride one himself. He wasn’t about to tell Logan that he could have kept up with them even if they had decided to push harder. The boy was confused enough as it was.
“Stay in shape…” Logan looked down at Veon-Zih’s loose clothes hiding the old man’s wiry strength, then sharply away when he saw Veon-Zih smiling at him again, “so you can fight... but with no weapon…”
The second enlisted soldier, an older man with a messy beard graying at the chin, gave Logan a solid punch in the shoulder, “How many times does he have to tell you, boy? No weapon and no armor.” Hoan was the grizzled sort. He never would've made it as Paladin, and though he was a soldier, he had only ever served in his small village. The one that had been attacked.
“I am more likely to stab myself than so much as nick my enemy, I’m afraid,” Veon-Zih confirmed. Behind him, in a smaller diner circle, the older of two Paladin officers scoffed. They retained their haughty detachment, always trying to act as an example of honor and discipline for their men, who were similarly always ignoring them.
“But how?!” Logan protested, rubbing his arm.
Kollen snickered, lifting a spoon full of soupy venison to cool in the night breeze, “I suspect you'll see soon enough,” the Ranger smiled knowingly. She had grown up with stories of Monks, and had told Veon-Zih that one of the most revered of her order, back home in the Southernwood, had traveled the kingdom with a quite powerful one. Or so the rumors said. Veon-Zih wasn’t about to tell her that he knew both the Ranger and Monk. Intimately. Instead, he'd just grinned at her.
Filling his bowl with enough vegetables to satisfy, Veon-Zih nodded at the still bemused Logan before walking the short distance to the Paladins. He'd spent this journey with the common enlisted, but now that they were so close to their destination, he thought it was about time he gave the officers some of his attention.
“The journey, at least, has been uneventful,” he said by way of greeting to the two men, still armored despite having made camp for the night.
“Thank Hengist,” Narvin, the younger of the two, responded. He was freshly Oath-sworn, no older than Logan, though he carried himself as a man. As comfortable in his platemail as someone twice his age, his brown hair cut regulation short, as neat and controlled as his demeanor.
His senior, Banril, was no less immaculate, with a blond beard kept perfectly trimmed, almost like a purposeful contrast to Hoan’s scraggly mane. “We are honored to have you with us, Master Veon-Zih,” Banril said, ignoring the Monk’s nervous glance over his shoulder at the use of his rank and title, “It’s not often an ally of such renown comes so far north.”
“And for something as mundane as a draken raid,” Narvin added.
Veon-Zih took a bite of his stew and shrugged as he chewed before answering, “I was in the area.” He scooped up a potato and carrot together and explained, “Sir Rasnah is an old friend, and,” he let the spoonful of stew sink back into the broth, “I heard there was more than just theft and casualties…”
The Paladins exchanged looks, and Banril nodded to Narvin, who confirmed the report already given to Veon-Zih by their General, “Six dead and two missing. Kidnapped.”
“Draken don’t take prisoners,” Veon-Zih stated.
“And yet they went straight through the town guard to the victim’s home and brought them out kicking and screaming.” Narvin shook his head in confusion while Banril nodded sternly in confirmation.
“That's one of the reasons we enlisted Ranger Kollen and are grateful to have your assistance, Master,”
Veon-Zih sighed loudly at the second use of his rank. Maybe if he showed enough exasperation they would get the point and stop using it. But knowing Paladins in general… probably not. They were as bad as his Monk brothers when it came to decorum. “So we'll follow them back to their camp,” he said, “and hope we find the two alive and with all their limbs still attached.”
“Yes,” Banril didn’t bother to sound hopeful. The attacked village had fled with its survivors to the larger town of Stoneguard, and from there, had sent a message to the Temple in Smilnda. It had taken them over a week. Then another for the Temple to organize and send a force to Stoneguard to assist the refugees and support its fortifications. It took a third week to reach Stoneguard, and only after that did they send this smaller party out to the abandoned town to attempt to find the draken trail and hopefully save the captives. Nearly a month had passed since the raid, and as Veon-Zih had stated before, draken didn’t usually take prisoners.
***
“They came back… but why didn’t they stay?” Logan muttered. The party stood at the edge of what had once been a quiet little village. Only Hoan was absent, still picking through the ashy remains of the buildings. This had been his home, and though his wife and children were among those who had escaped, his brother had been one of the six killed.
Banril grunted, but Narvin answered, “Why would they? Draken are nomads, bandits, monsters! Worse than the barbarian tribes.”
“Sir Narvin,” Banril chastised the junior knight.
“I’ve known some very honorable barbarians, good knight,” Veon-Zih added a bit more kindly, “They may raid on occasion, but this…” he gestured to the skeletal remains of burned-out homes and the broken wall, shaking his head. Turning to Kollen, he asked, “You’ve found the trail?”
The Ranger kicked at a broken arrow, sending it tumbling away along the line of deep clawed footprints leading towards the distant wood, “You hardly need me at this stage. We'll see once we get among the trees.” She scanned the town again, holding up a charred piece of wood and crumbling it in her hands, “This fire is only a few days old at most. Most likely, they did come back and stay after the villagers evacuated, using up all the resources they couldn’t carry before burning the remnants and returning to the wood.”
“Then let’s get to it,” Hoan called, returning to the group. He moved with detached ease, but Veon-Zih could see the effort it was taking him to maintain the front. His right hand was balled into a fist and his eyes were bloodshot from more than just sifting through ash. “We need to find the fire-starters, even if it’s only to give their family closure.”
“Fire starters?” Logan asked. “You want the draken that did this specifically?” he sounded more than a little incredulous.
In further evidence that Hoan was more affected by the destruction than he wanted them to know, the old man’s answer lacked his normally gruff and annoyed tone, “No, Fire-starters was what we called the ones taken. They were sorcerers, though not very powerful.”
“That wasn’t part of your report…” Banril said, disapproving. Hoan merely shrugged.
“It could be important,” Narvin argued with the silent Hoan, but Kollen cut across him,
“We’re losing daylight. Monk, you’re with me. The rest of you stay back.”
“But not too far back,” Veon-Zih added with a chuckle, “you’ll want to hear if we have to start a fight.”
Narvin glanced between the Ranger, a woman who was only an ally and, therefore, not part of their chain of command, and his senior, who in turn merely nodded, “Don’t engage if you can avoid it. We want to find these Fire-starters first.” Veon-Zih was glad Banril had enough experience not to be offended by Kollen taking charge of his command.
Veon-Zih didn’t specialize in stealth, but he also didn’t clang with every step. He moved with a lighter and faster step than a standard fighter and ran easily beside Kollen towards the forest, falling back only when they reached the tree line. The Ranger didn’t slow her step and ran right up the nearest pine, reaching one of the lower branches and jumping from it to another further in. Veon-Zih focused on the ground, hopping from rock to root to reduce the risk of shuffling fallen needles or breaking sticks as he followed the still clear trail of draken destruction. Once the draken had broken into smaller groups, the trail became less obvious, and Veon-Zih fell back, allowing Kollen to scout ahead, relaying messages from her to the fighters further behind.
They had been following the trail for hours, nearly to sundown, when they finally found fresh evidence of their quarry. “Well… at least we won’t be tracking them back to the mountains,” Veon-Zih muttered, wrinkling his nose as Kollen stuck an ungloved finger in said evidence to check its temperature. With a few days' head start, there had been the possibility that the group would be tracking the draken for at least a day or two.
“This is only an hour or so old,” Kollen stated, pulling a handkerchief from her pouch and wiping her finger clean before pulling her glove back on. Veon-Zih suppressed a shudder of disgust. They would all need a long hot bath when this was over.
Behind them, the clanking of metal on metal and crunch of pine cones told the pair that their fighting companions were catching up. But Kollen didn’t start forward again, “Something’s wrong. We're too close. And they didn’t try and hide it...”
“Hey, did you find something?” Logan had spotted them and rushed forward to stand beside Veon-Zih, opening his mouth to say something more when Veon-Zih’s hand snapped out faster than the eye could follow, snatching an arrow from the air before it could hit the dumbstruck lad in the chest.
“Form up!” Sir Banril shouted. Drawing his sword, the Paladin brought up his shield in time to block a second arrow as Logan stumbled, falling onto his backside. The young soldier scrambled back to his feet, drawing his short sword in the process. So not completely useless.
Veon-Zih flipped the arrow in his hand and threw it back the way it had come, grinning at the guttural grunt of pain that followed as the arrow struck true. Kollen drew her own bow and scaled the nearest tree, taking aim as she did and shooting the first foolish draken to charge the group. The arrow struck the draken in the face, avoiding its thick scales and piercing the thin flesh of its cheek. The brute roared in pain and fury but was overtaken by another who continued the charge towards the fighters.
The humans made a box formation, the two Paladins fighting back to back at the north and south sides and the two enlisted taking position between them in the east and west. Veon-Zih allowed himself one glance at the formation and, finding it solid, sprinted instead to the side and toward another oncoming opponent.
Sometimes known as 'lizardmen,' the draken were humanoid in basic shape but covered in dull scales, often painted with brightly colored stripes from their snout to their thick muscular tails. Their hands and feet were taloned, and their elongated muzzles held rows of sharp alligator-like teeth that slurred their words, making their strange language sound guttural.
The one bearing down on Veon-Zih was brown scaled with white stripes and was at least seven feet tall. With a chest half again as wide as the Monk, it wielded a club in both clawed hands, but the heavy weapon would do little good against Veon-Zih. The Monk ducked the swing aimed for his head and hardly slowed as he pivoted, kicking the draken in the knee and elbowing it in the ribs with force and focus. Joints snapped and the leg gave out while a second elbow from Veon-Zih on the draken’s head sent it the rest of the way to the ground. Where it stayed.
Battle started in earnest behind him, and Veon-Zih heard the Paladins cry Hengist’s name, smiting with righteous fury the draken who dared to attack their citizens. The whistle of Kollen’s arrows pointed Veon-Zih in the proper direction, and he sprinted again. Around the bulk of the charging force.
The reports indicated approximately twenty draken in the raid against the village. Five of those had been killed by the defending villagers. Leaving fifteen, give or take, for the hunting party of six kingdom warriors. Even with the relatively inexperienced Narvin and two simple enlisted, Kollen evened the odds. With Veon-Zih, the draken didn’t stand a chance.
Veon-Zih had hunted enough draken raiders in his nearly forty years of adventure to know with confidence what was happening beyond his own personal fights. Kollen, a ranger of the Southernwood, would be raining death from above, focusing first on any enemy archers. The martial fighters below would defend her perch and each other, fighting back to back against any that managed to get that far.
The Monk let a few slip by, trusting his companions to hold their own. Circling around the trees, he came at those trailing behind.
He leapt at the nearest draken, driving his knees into its face. Grabbing its horns, he kicked off its chest and swinging around to kick its companion. His feet landed two solid blows as the first screamed before the protest was cut short and Veon-Zih let go. The beast fell on its belly, staring at the sky above.
The second draken managed to keep its feet, bringing up its great ax and swinging for the Monk who side-stepped while striking the beast’s reaching arm. His first hit broke the draken’s elbow, reversing its bend, the second smacked the wrist so the ax swung back towards its owner’s face. Veon-Zih continued running before the second draken hit the forest floor.
He lept over a pool of blood seeping from the corpse of a draken archer. Three of Kollen’s arrows had found their mark, and Veon-Zih grinned at the fourth, one of the draken’s own, sticking out of its shoulder. He might not wield any weapons of his own, but if his enemies were foolish enough to give him theirs… Well, it was only polite to return them.
He would find no prey behind the archers so began to circle back around. Putting on a burst of speed and coming from behind, he dashed between another pair. With a mighty jump, he kicked them simultaneously in their heads. Keeping his split, Veon-Zih rolled forward to stand on his hands. Spinning, he kicked them again in the ribs. Bones cracked, and draken roared as Veon-Zih righted himself, punching the nearest draken with a flurry of blows that ended in a powerful push of energy, sending the beast sliding ten feet away before falling to the forest floor. Without turning, Veon-Zih dropped to his belly as an ax swung over his head. Pushing up with his arms, the Monk kicked out with both legs, landing a solid hit on the draken’s chest before he landed on his feet again and turned, his heel cracking into the draken jaw, dislocating it and sending the beast sprawling to the ground.
Something caught his eye just in time to jump, tucking his knees to his chest. A bolt of black lightning arched into the tree behind him, blowing a chunk out of it and sending a rain of pine needles down on his head. Veon-Zih landed at a run, following the bolt's path towards a small figure in red, ducking behind another tree. Passing the trunk, Veon-Zih swung with a backhand fist. He only brushed fabric, and the figure in red rolled away, coming back to its feet with a hand stretched out towards the Monk.
A black tentacle stretched from the human’s palm, its tip reaching for Veon-Zih but finding only air as he dropped onto his back, watching as the strange weapon swooped above him then zipped back to the figure in red. Veon-Zih rolled onto his shoulders and kicked back up to his feet, sinking into his stance but hesitating as the tentacle shifted, solidifying into a sword with a back blade.
A human Battlemage? With draken? There would be time enough for questions later. It was never a good idea to give a spell caster space. Veon-Zih rushed ahead with a double step that had him striking at the Mage in the blink of an eye. But this was no novice, the human managed to dodge Veon-Zih’s punches and lept over his sweeping kick.
She tried to counter, swinging her thin blade in a wide arch to push him back, but all that did was put it in his range. Veon-Zih stepped into the swing, slapping the flat of the blade up with his right hand and hitting the Mage’s wrist with his left to disarm her. The blade flew free but dissolved into smoke, only to form again in the woman’s other hand. She stabbed a hole through Veon-Zih’s shirt as he rolled back. Halfway through the backward roll, he stopped, pushing off with his hands and kicking at the blade again. It flew high, but the Mage managed to keep hold of it, stumbling away from the Monk.
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Veon-Zih kicked back to standing again, but the Mage had had enough. She was running away, spinning around just long enough to send another black bolt of lightning for him to dodge before she cut a circle in the air with the sword. A black night full of stars appeared in the circle and the Mage dove through it. Between one heartbeat and the next, she was gone, fine ash falling to the pine-strewn floor where the portal had been.
“Master Veon-Zih?!” Narvin’s voice split the sudden silence.
“Here,” Veon-Zih bent over the remnants of the Mage’s magic. He'd fought both with and against magic users, but he'd never seen a portal quite like that before.
The clanking of armor signaled the arrival of the fighters, though it was Kollen who reached him first, dropping from a nearby tree as he rubbed sooty ash between his fingers. “I got three, not including the one you shot. What happened here?” she narrowed her eyes pointedly at the tree left barely standing with a half-circle cut from its trunk, the broken edges curling black smoke.
“You can have half of that one. I took five. And that was a spell. There was a Mage with them,” Veon-Zih answered, trying to grin, “She opened a portal. Perhaps I’ve grown slow in my old age, but she got away.”
Sir Banril's sword was glowing with a faint white light, and once he sheathed it the wood seemed much darker than just the twilight could explain. The Paladin leader grunted, “A teleport can be tracked, the Mages Guild should have a record…” but Veon-Zih was shaking his head.
“That was like no Mage gate I’ve seen before.”
“Illegal magic?” Sir Narvin asked, looking from Veon-Zih to Banril and back again.
Sir Banril hummed, “I will need you to give a detailed report, Master Veon-Zih,” the Monk sighed but nodded. The Paladins always wanted detailed reports. This one was just going to be much longer than usual.
***
Shaloon hit a pair of dangling legs as she rolled over the stone floor. In a crouch, she spun, her black sword before her, half expecting the Monk to be right behind, but only finding her robed associate.
Morndancer arched a blond eyebrow at her, “I thought you said you were bringing one more?”
“Two will have to do for now,” Shaloon sighed, letting her sword dissolve as she stood stiffly. She'd had to channel much more magic than she was used to in order to keep up with the Monk’s attacks. She was going to be hurting for a few days, at least.
Morndancer scoffed, turning his back to her, “Their blood is thin, but it is better than nothing.” the owner of the dangling legs groaned. Two villagers hung suspended off the ground with chains around their wrists, neither coherent enough to understand the conversation going on. “I suppose we will need to find a new tribe for next time?”
“The Temple responded faster than I expected. We should probably wait at least a few seasons before hunting again.” Shaloon agreed. They couldn’t risk the province, or worse, the kingdom, interrupting their experiments.
***
Veon-Zih strolled wearily down the bustling streets of Smilnda, continuing the internal debate he'd been having since walking through the city gates. It was almost time to make a decision. He could see the towering spires of the Church of Soleil arching gracefully towards the noon sun, and beyond them, the parapets of the Temple of Hengist, patrolled by knights in gleaming armor. One offered a bath and some time to relax, the other, hours of reports and at most a quick scrub down.
The fact that he was having this debate at all was a testament to his loyalty. Still, as Sir Banril led the others towards the Temple, Veon-Zih made his decision and turned towards the Church.
Sir Narvin noticed, “Master Veon-Zih?”
Veon-Zih rubbed his shaved head sheepishly, “You lot go ahead and make your reports. I'll give mine to Sir Rasnah personally once she has time to digest what you have to say.” as long as he reported before nightfall, he would be within regulation. So though both the Paladins scowled, they also nodded, continuing on their way and offering no more protest as Veon-Zih entered the Church.
The chapel was furnished with pale woods and yellow tapestries. The noon sun shone through the skylights in the arching ceiling, causing the gold accents throughout the chapel to gleam and glitter. Veon-Zih bowed to the central altar but preferred not to approach for a blessing until after cleaning off the road dust. He started to make for the side door leading to the courtyard when Father Branston descended from his office behind the altar.
“My friend!” he threw his arms out wide in greeting, “Still in one piece I see.”
Veon-Zih bowed to his old friend, right fist in left palm, to dissuade Branston from his usual hug, “Yes, though a very dirty one piece, I’m afraid.”
Recognizing the hint, Branston clasped his hands behind his back and offered Veon-Zih a rather sinister grin, “So you're here to take advantage of our sun-warmed baths? And you still wonder why I would choose retirement to the road?”
Chuckling, Veon-Zih turned away from the Abbot and waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder, “I know exactly why you chose retirement. What I don’t understand is why you keep thinking I should.” he exited the chapel and immediately had to jump aside as a set of young girls ran past, squealing in delight as they chased each other around the courtyard. The sight made him smile. Meeting Branston’s twinkling eyes, the Monk continued, “The Monastery is a beautiful place. Carved from the peak stones of a sacred mountain, full of my fellow Monks who share my dedication and philosophy. In other words, it’s a dreadfully boring place.”
“And here I thought the Monks of Oane took at least half as many children as we do,” Branston laughed one of his full laughs that made his round belly jiggle. A young boy, no more than five or six, was trying to keep up with the girls and barely dodged around the head of the Church without paying any mind to who he'd almost run into, “I have never known even a small group of children to be boring.”
Veon-Zih sighed, looking up to the sky and the sun rays filtering through the leaves of the great central tree, “The Monastery requires a certain amount of discipline from their wards. I’m afraid it can be… smothering for many of the children there.”
“That's a shame…”
“Master?” a young voice interrupted and Veon-Zih looked down to see Shon sitting at the same bench where he'd been bullied a month previously. Veon-Zih had nearly passed the boy without noticing. Shon had his journal spread open on his lap, and a pencil held loosely in his left hand. The book was full of what looked like sketches of the other children running about the courtyard.
Shon seemed to realize he'd interrupted a conversation, a bit of pink rising in his cheeks as he looked away, “I’m glad you made it back safely…”
“You doubted me?” Veon-Zih arched an eyebrow at the young boy, and Shon shook his head, looking back up at the adults. He narrowed his eyes at Veon-Zih, his hand moving on the page. Glancing down, Veon-Zih watched as Shon began to draw the arch of his eyebrow. Once Shon noticed the Monk watching, he dropped his pencil, closing the book quickly over it.
“I practiced every day like you told me, Master.”
“Shon, Master Veon-Zih has had a long journey. Perhaps tomorrow…” Branston started, and the boy’s face began to fall.
Veon-Zih raised a hand to stop his friend. Speaking to Shon, he ordered, “Show me.”
Shon jumped to his feet, set his book down on the bench, and rushed over to the clearing beneath the tree. Veon-Zih following at a more leisurely pace, watching. Shon dropped into a low and solid horse stance, most early students were lazy with their stances, rising out of it as they worked through the strikes. Shon took a deep breath and punched with his left hand, muttering a quiet “One.” He didn’t rush through the strikes, taking his time to pull his fist all the way back before punching with his right hand and saying, “One,” again.
Veon-Zih furrowed his brow, circling around the boy and stroking his chin when Shon again punched with his left hand, counting “Two,” then with his right, saying, “Two,” again.
Veon-Zih continued to circle, watching Shon’s slow and measured punches and paying careful attention to the boy’s stance. He started to rise out of it around his second count of twenty-three, but took a moment to fix it after counting to twenty-five. Then he punched again with a quiet “Twenty-six,” and Veon-Zih’s eyebrows shot up.
Circling one last time, Veon-Zih made his way to stand beside Branston, who gave a muffled chuckle, “You look impressed, my friend. Is this not what you told him to do?” he whispered.
“I left the instructions vague, as a kind of test…” Veon-Zih explained.
“And has he passed?”
Veon-Zih shook his head in wonder rather than answer, explaining, “I told him to do fifty punches and kicks every day and gave him five different of each.” he gestured at Shon then began rubbing his chin again, “Most younger children interpret that as fifty total punches, so ten of each punch. Some work a little harder and do ten of each hand for each punch, and others only five each. Some older apprentices assume we want more and do fifty of each punch, twenty-five on each hand.”
Shon moved on to his second set of strikes, starting again with a count of “One” for each hand.
“But Shon chose to do more, double, in fact.” Branston crossed his arms over his chest, also focusing on the young boy.
Veon-Zih nodded, but it was more than just that. His stance remained strong for the most part, and his slow pace allowed Shon to correct it when necessary. Though even that didn’t seem as frequent as it should have been for a boy his age, “He really did practice every day…” Veon-Zih breathed.
Branston nodded, “The kitchen staff informed me shortly after you left that Shon asked them to wake him in the mornings.”
Shon glanced over his shoulder at them for a moment then hurriedly back ahead, staring a hole into the far wall as he continued his counting and strikes. He could hear them talking but probably couldn’t make out exactly what their whispered words were. Veon-Zih tapped his lower lip in thought, asking, “How old is he exactly?”
“Ten this last Solstice.” Branston shot Veon-Zih a sideways glance from the corner of his eye, “You want to take him to the Monastery, don’t you?”
“I thought he was slated for the Temple?”
“Not many meet the necessary requirements.” Branston countered, “If you think he would be better suited…” he let the thought trail off, looking again at Shon, who had moved on to his kicks and practiced them with the same slow discipline as he had the punches.
Veon-Zih hummed at the thought but was stopped from speaking by a new voice, “First you fail to make your report, and now you’re trying to steal away potential Squires. Master Veon-Zih, I am not only disappointed but ashamed of you.” A woman in a sharply starched uniform approached with the bearing of a queen. She drew Shon’s curious gaze, and Veon-Zih noticed the boy’s eyes widen in wonder before he shook his head and fixed his stance to continue his drills. Staring determinedly ahead.
“You caught me.” Veon-Zih said with a sigh, slumping his shoulders in defeat, “Though I assure you, Sir Rasnah, I had every intention of making my report after a bath,”
The lady knight wrinkled her nose at him, “A bath wouldn’t go amiss. But what's this I hear about you taking a child slated to the Temple?” she arched a severe eyebrow at him -a much more impressive expression coming from her- then let her eyes scan over Shon.
“You remember Shon, m'dear,” Branston said with a laugh, “he asked our old friend to teach him the way of the fist,”
“And the foot…” Rasnah noted, watching the kicks and looking from Shon to Veon-Zih and back again, “You're impressed.” she stated with a lopsided grin.
“Am I so easy to read?”
Both Branston and Rasnah laughed in answer.
“If you think he's better suited to the Monastery…” Rasnah started,
“I want to join the Temple,” Shon stated, dropping his kick and actually turning to face the adults, his chin held stiffly high, as though waiting for them to argue.
Rasnah looked down at him. Most would fold beneath the General’s stare, but Shon managed to tilt his head a little higher, holding her gaze with cold blue eyes.
Rasnah held his stare a moment longer, then said stiffly, “We shall see. If you can pass the first test, we would be glad to have you. Anyone capable of impressing this one,” she nudged Veon-Zih with her elbow, and he rubbed the spot as though it had hurt him, “will do just as well serving Hengist.”
That brought a small smile to Shon’s lips, and Veon-Zih sighed, “There are far more Paladins in the world than Monks, now who is stealing from whom, Sir Rasnah?”
“I want to join the Temple…” Shon stated again, looking down at his feet rather than at Veon-Zih, as though truly afraid he had disappointed the Monk.
“But until then…” Veon-Zih said loudly, drawing Shon’s gaze again, “I would be honored to continue teaching you.” it surprised him how much that small smile warmed his heart. He had never met a boy quite like Shon before. He showed a level of dedication and patience that would shame many grown men. And the way he'd studied every movement of their last lesson and moved with a slow purpose through his exercises, bespoke a level of interest and passion Veon-Zih had only rarely seen, even in his fellow Monks.
It truly would be a shame to lose such a student to the Paladins. But as Branston had said… not many could meet the necessary requirements to join a divine order. “I will meet you here tomorrow to continue your lessons. For now, I need a bath.” beside him, Rasnah cleared her throat, “And I have a report to give. You will learn all about that once you join the Temple,” he turned to the Paladin, crossing his arms over his chest, “Slaves to paperwork you lot.”
Branston laughed again, and Rasnah snorted, rolling her eyes. Veon-Zih couldn’t hold the disgruntled act for long and chuckled, turning back to Shon and resting his right fist in his left palm. Shon quickly mirrored the motion, bowing low to the Monk, who couldn’t help but smile.
***
Sir Rasnah stood at her western window, watching the sunset paint the sky in colors of fire. With her hands clasped loosely behind her, and her shoulders held straight, though soft, Veon-Zih was sure he'd succeeded in sneaking up on her.
He considered palming the young knight guarding her door some coin for agreeing to let him slip in while the evening bells from the Church muffled his entrance. He wouldn’t have managed it if the young man hadn’t been the same as his last meeting, nor if the recently oath-sworn Paladin had insisted on announcing him despite the Monk being expected. In the end, Veon-Zih didn’t bother. The Paladin would've been more offended than thankful.
The office of the General of the Temple of Hengist in Smilnda, was far less grand than that of the Abbot of the Church of Soleil. It had a large window on the west wall, though smaller than those of the church. Her desk faced the center of the room and the window, leaving her back to the security of solid stone and the door to the south within easy reach. There was a small shrine to Hengist in the northeast corner and a grand tapestry behind her desk bearing the Temple's seal, a raised silver sword over a blue shield. The only personal additions Rasnah had made when gaining the position and office were a fine blue and silver carpet from the deserts of Halakon and a small tea set from Oane on her desk.
Veon-Zih stepped carefully as the last of the evening bells tolled, watching her silhouette and sure that he had indeed gone unnoticed when- “I half expected you to wait until the sun was merely a sliver. That way, you wouldn’t technically be late.” Rasnah turned to face him, her warm smile a contrast with her cold tone. Her smile turned to a lopsided smirk as Veon-Zih slumped, rubbing his bald head, as though he were no more than a child who'd been caught stealing cookies. She arched that impressive eyebrow, asking, “Are you training as a Rogue then? Expanding your already considerable repertoire of killing techniques to include backstabbing?”
Veon-Zih scoffed, “I’m offended, Sir Rasnah, and after I rushed all the way here so as not to be too late.”
“Rushed… and here I thought you might have fallen asleep in the Church's baths. Old man.” He was only a year older than the knight, her steel gray hair showing no hint of its former golden hue.
“Now you listen here, greenhorn,” Veon-Zih shook a fist at Rasnah, smiling broadly at the old game between them, “if this is the thanks you give your seniors for so graciously giving you time to review the others' reports, then perhaps next time I will come right away and bombard you with both my stench and elderly wisdom.”
Rasnah laughed, throwing her head back in mirth before shaking her head and gesturing for the seat in front of her desk. Veon-Zih took it with an exaggerated sigh, watching as she rounded her desk like a marching soldier but sat in her chair as though it were a throne. “As it stands, I only need a small part of your elderly wisdom.” she assured him.
“So they told you we ran out of potatoes on the way back?” Veon-Zih asked, then snapped his fingers, “Oh! You mean that Mage we ran across…”
“You ran across,” Rasnah corrected, finally growing serious, “I did actually take advantage of the time you so graciously granted me and checked with the Mages Guild. There should be no Mages in that part of Clearhelm. The closest is a man just north of Hamerfoss.” lacing her fingers together she leaned over her desk, “Tell me what you saw.”
Veon-Zih leaned back, stroking his chin as he relayed the details of his relatively short fight with the magic user, “I’ve never seen a spell like that Rasnah, no flash of light and vanish. It was as if she'd cut a hole in reality itself, and I couldn’t see beyond it. Even the lightning she threw around was unnaturally colored. Though we’ve seen its like once before…”
Rasnah sighed and began sifting through the papers stacked neatly on her desk. She remembered, he could tell by her discomfort as she changed the subject, “What of those taken?”
“No sign, but you knew that from the other's reports.”
“Yes, and I also learned that they were Sorcerers.” she pulled two sheets of paper from the pile and set them aside, “A mother and son, both with fire magic and sealing tattoos. I questioned Private Hoen further, and he told me there was another in the house, an older daughter who showed no signs of magic. She was there but wasn’t taken.”
“You think they came for the Sorcerers?” Veon-Zih eyed the papers. They included drawings of the sealing tattoos the Sorcerers had received and the locations on their necks, “They wouldn’t have been able to resist with magic. They couldn't even light a candle after being sealed. So what use would they be to draken or even rogue... magic users?”
Rasnah hummed, looking tired for the first time, “I don’t know. What I do know is that they weren’t the only ones.” Veon-Zih arched an eyebrow, but Rasnah shook her head, “Talkar and Lenare have both seen Sorcerers disappear over the last year. They are hardly the only citizens missing in these dangerous times, which is probably why they aren't being seen as connected, but… I have a feeling…”
“Hengist whispering in your ear again, Ras?” Veon-Zih whispered with concern.
“I wish. If only it were that easy.” Rasnah muttered. Though the gods could communicate with their followers, it was through symbols and intuition rather than words. The human body and mind couldn’t handle direct communication. In this case, if the god of protection wanted his Paladins to look further into something, his unspoken worry would seep into their minds through their divine Oath, it was up to them to decipher the meaning.
Rasnah shifted the conversation back onto more solid ground, “It seems heirlooms have started being taken in Halakon again as well.”
“But we stopped that operation thirty years ago,” Veon-Zih sat straighter, remembering that adventure particularly clearly, “If that same group is back then we should tell the Monastery in Halakon-”
“How is Monk Velona?” Rasnah interrupted, her lips tilting up in a sideways smirk.
“I…” Veon-Zih cleared his throat and leaned back again, “She's a Master now. Took a position teaching.” he couldn’t hold Rasnah’s suddenly twinkling eyes and looked away.
“If they are connected,” she started slowly, “you could go south and offer some of your ‘elderly wisdom’…”
“I have my own student to teach up here, but I can write a letter.” In truth, he did want to go south, see this through to the end. It wasn't about Velona. He convinced himself instead that it upset him to think that something they had thought solved thirty years previous had suddenly reared its ugly head again, “Are you sure this isn’t just some rogue Mage?” he asked to get back onto the more immediate, and local, topic.
“Just a rogue Mage?” Rasnah asked, returning the Sorcerers' papers to the larger pile, “though I suppose that would be better than Warlocks…” she rubbed her temples, a rare sign of stress, “Either way, it looks like I may have some more work for you while you’re here teaching my future Squire.”