PART TWO
“Sometimes the future is more important than the past.”
- Harlow Gant
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CHAPTER THIRTY
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Iris Everton
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Febria, 927 PC
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The table was set for four with Serelly dinnerware so fine it had no business being used during a simple dinner party. In fact, Iris couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would ever use such gorgeous plates and cutlery. It all deserved to be protected in a glass case, only to be observed for its beauty, not put to work like a servant. But, Master Rellin was a man of culture, expensive culture. Dinnerware from Serelle, pottery from Tevron, even a handful of ancient artifacts found all over the world. Any one of the spectacular items he possessed could have brought hundreds of Leos, but monetary value meant nothing to him. It was the thrill of the hunt, the intensity of the haggling, that he loved. Thus, when Urman Gant knocked an ancient urn from the Birthlands off its stand, Master Rellin simply shook his head and commented on the man’s lack of grace.
“Ah, shit. Sorry, Donovan. I can fix that up for ya.” Urman bent down and picked up one of the jagged shards like a child might pick up a ball, with absolute disregard for sharp edges. His brother, Harlow, joined him at the disaster. Neither could possibly fathom how much the vase had cost. Or the incredible history it had possessed mere moments before; the ashes of the first priest to ever speak the word of The Creator. Ashes that were now stuck to the bottom of Harlow’s wet boots.
“There ya have it. That’s why ma calls ya her little bull.” He smacked his brother on the arm, causing the large shard in Urman’s hand to become several smaller pieces when it hit the ground again. They looked at each other in equal disgust, then their host with hopes of being forgiven.
Both men had short black hair, still drenched from the snow they’d walked through to get to the university. Neither cared a bit that it looked like they’d just woken up. Harlow was less a presence than his brother despite being a thicker build. His softer features dulled the real possibility that he had likely done unthinkable things to survive as long as he had. The same could not be said for Urman. Everything Master Rellin had told her about the older brother was written in his appearance, slim as a dagger and sharp as one too. He had a jaw that could cut glass and angry teeth that weren’t afraid of making an appearance. The kind of man who turned you on your heel in a dark alley.
“It’s fine gentlemen, truly. I’ll find another.” Would he? Were there other urns with the ashes of the first priest out there floating around the world?
Master Rellin summoned them to him, gesturing to Iris as well, who until this point had been keeping her distance at her own desk under the massive mural. He’d warned her of the two brothers. Friendly chaps on the surface, he’d said, but cold-blooded criminals when necessary. She’d questioned his decision to bring them into his study but he’d been adamant that both brothers respected him far too much to harm either of them. And that their skills were too useful to ignore. Harlow was what the street urchins would call a pickpocket. A master of misdirection and sleight of hand. He could slip a pouch off your belt without a trace while talking your ear off like an old friend. He’d steal your ear too if you weren’t careful. Urman on the other hand could find a way to put it back on your head. A resourceful man. Brilliant in a way not often acknowledged by academia. He was full of street smarts and equipped with fists to solve the problems his brain couldn’t figure out. If not for a temper that could rival those of the three devils, he might be studying at the university as well – spending time in the stocks immediately squashed any opportunity of being admitted to the University da Mi’lier.
“Thank you both again for coming across town in this weather,” Master Rellin said as he pulled out a chair for Iris. She’d eaten at this very table in his study several times before, but never so formally. Give her better dinner guests and this evening would be a delightful time.
“Here, fine?” Urman asked, picking the chair directly opposite Iris and not waiting for a response. A row of sharp teeth waved to her from above his lip. It resembled a smile but it certainly didn’t deliver the same feelings.
“I’d do it twice over for you, Donovan.” Harlow started to sit down at the head of the table but Master Rellin politely guided him toward the seat beside his brother. The one clearly set for a guest.
“Symmetry or my mind will itch all evening,” Master Rellin said. To which Harlow shrugged, clearly having no clue what symmetry meant.
Urman barreled through his first cup of wine. The precious goblet was like a ring on a pig’s hoof in the scroungy man’s hand. “A fool, this one.” He reached for the pitcher. “Wind’s blowin’ hard enough to make a sail beg for mercy and the snow’s a foot deep.”
“It ain’t that bad,” Harlow said, drinking his own wine just as clumsily as Urman. Red lines ran down both sides of his chin. Somehow Iris’ eyes locked with Harlow’s. “Barely got the slouch out of bed. Every time it snows he wraps himself up in blankets for days at a time. Never seen a man hate the cold so much.”
The heavy oaks behind Iris opened proudly. In poured half a dozen of the university’s servants that worked in the dining hall, carrying platters full of extravagant food; roasted duck, meat pies, roast rolls, lamb shanks, and chicken drumsticks. Among other things. Master Rellin was notoriously good about putting his guests in the most pleasant of circumstances when he was in need of a favor.
“Gentlemen! If you would, please enjoy the feast!” Master Rellin’s true intentions were buried deep beneath a beaming smile.
Harlow slapped Urman’s hand as he reached for a drumstick. He glanced at Rellin. “Manners of a barberarian, this one. Ma says it all the time.” He turned back to his brother. “Keep your hands off the food for one minute while I say The Creator’s Prayer.”
“We never pray.”
“Never had a reason to before. But we’re in good company this evening.”
Urman rolled his eyes and reluctantly bowed his head. Iris was a good sport when it came to prayer. Its value had diminished after Candice’s death, but she hadn’t abandoned it entirely. She laced her fingers on her lap and created two interlocked circles with her pointer fingers and thumbs, keeping space above them to create something similar to the three crescent moons. A ritual specific to The Creator’s Prayer. She never quite saw the resemblance but it was an admirable effort.
Harlow led the prayer. “To our Creator, who died to giveth life where life was not. We thank you for your divine deed and for all the good that cometh with it. Your creation is our temple, your vision is our purpose, your word is our law. We ask only of you to lead us in our times of need and in return we giveth you our unconditional love. In doing so, may all walk the road home in good health and good fortune. In your name, we pray. So be it.”
The rest of them echoed the last three words. How else would the prayer come to fruition?
“And let us remember,” Harlow said. “Sometimes the future is more important than the past.” No one had much to say to that and he could tell. He shrugged. “I read it in a book once. Figure if I keep sayin’ it I’ll use it at the right time someday.”
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Urman was first to the drumsticks. And the roast roll, and the quiche - an interesting choice for him. His plate looked like the Pettermine Mountains by the time he sat back in his chair and admired the mound of food. Master Rellin politely filled Iris’ plate with tactful helpings before he began on his own. She nibbled on what might have been the most delicious piece of duck to ever be cooked and listened, waiting for the appropriate time to enter the conversation.
Grease splattered the green tablecloth as Urman waved his drumstick. “If I had to reckon, I’d say ya brought us here for somethin’ mighty important if ya went through all this hassle.” He spoke with his mouth full, just like Jameson.
“Did I make it too obvious?” Master Rellin said.
Harlow laughed so hard he coughed up a piece of chicken. He stared at his brother, chewing wildly and grinning at the same time. It looked like words were in there somewhere but they were being pulverized to the point that all he did was stare at Urman for an awkward moment before taking another bite of the drumstick.
“What do ya need?” Urman asked.
“Well,” Master Rellin joined his guests in the barbaric display of tasteless talking with your mouth full. “Iris and I have been doing some research.”
Harlow nodded at her appreciatively. “You’re an al-, an alc-” He paused. “You do what he does?”
“I do,” she said, still unsure how pleasant she wanted to be with these men.
“And she’s quite good at it. So good in fact, that she is on the verge of changing the world. For the better.”
Urman sat back in his chair. Harlow mimicked him. Both had a drumstick in one hand, a goblet of wine in the other. “Ya don’t say…” Urman took a bite of chicken. “The whole world?”
“Indeed,” she said.
“But ya haven’t yet?”
“No.”
“Talkative, ain’t ya.” Urman tossed a mostly bare bone on his plate and snatched the out-of-place piece of quiche. He examined it suspiciously. “Let me guess. Whatever’s stoppin’ ya is why we’re here…” A silence confirmed his assumption. “Well, get on with it.”
Iris cleared her throat softly and sat up straighter. “According to our research there is an ancient alchemical called Rubach buried deep beneath the ruins of Kryte.”
“Never heard of it,” Urman said.
“I have.” Harlow looked proud of himself. “Little place up by Iron Helm.”
“Not at all,” Iris said. Harlow frowned. “It was a small village in the Emerald Forest. Centuries ago. It’s long gone now though.” She left out the fact that it had been burned down by Purists, the people slaughtered. No need to get herself worked up. “The people that lived there were the first alchemists. Extraordinary brilliance. Inventions we still can’t explain today. We’re hoping to change that.”
Harlow tried to impress her again. “Because ya found out about the Rupert?”
“Rubach… but yes. It is capable of things unlike any other alchemical in the world.”
“And ya need some?” Urman spit his bite of quiche onto his plate and took a drink of wine. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“A lot, actually. And we’re prepared to pay whoever secures it for us quite well.” The lie slid off her lips so smoothly even she was compelled to believe it. Unsurprising. She’d practiced it enough to fool The Creator.
Urman raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin. “How well?”
“A thousand Leos each,” Master Rellin said. He continued when Urman’s narrow eyes insinuated he doubted they could pay that much. “I would hope you realize I’m good for it. The university doesn’t buy this food for me. Nor do they pay the cooks to stay after hours and prepare it.” The university did in fact do that, but the lie slid off his lips so smoothly even Iris was compelled to believe it. Master and apprentice.
“Why ain’t the two of ya doin’ it yourself?” Harlow asked.
She could think of any number of reasons; the frightening alterations the Krytens had made to their part of the woods, the bandits that lurked in the Emerald, and the sheer duration of the journey, to name a few. All reasons anyone would turn down the task. “Our current project is quite demanding of our presence,” she said.
“I ain’t wandering through the Emerald. Even for a thousand Leos. All kinds of shit in there. Shit ya don’t just scrape off your boot,” Urman said. The way he sucked at something in his teeth with his tongue nearly made her stomach hurt. It also told her he was planted firmly in his decision. A stiff shot of disappointment warmed her chest. Not because Urman had rejected them, but because of how Master Rellin intended to change his mind.
“I’ll do it,” Harlow said. “I’d do anything for ya, Donovan. After what ya did for ma and pa… I owe ya my life.” He glared at his brother. “We both do.”
“No, no. Of course not. It’s a two-man job and your brother isn’t interested. Which, of course, is understandable. The Emerald certainly is dangerous.” Master Rellin stood from his chair. “More wine?”
“Yes, please,” Iris said, just as she was supposed to.
Master Rellin swept up the nearly empty pitcher and headed toward his desk where he’d stashed the small tube of Red Venom she’d prepared for him earlier that evening. A few drops and Harlow would present symptoms that would suggest he might survive but there was no chance of that.
Iris dove into her next role; charismatic distraction. The lords knew she’d seen Jameson perform this act enough times to do a decent job herself. “Are the two of you from Locke?”
“Never been anywhere else,” Harlow said proudly. As if that was impressive.
“Is that right?” She looked at Urman, accidently bumping his foot with hers below the table. His foot withdrew instantly. His eyes shot to hers like a man who’d spotted a deer’s movement through the trees. “I grew up in Faylawn.” Her eyes were still locked on Urman, though his own had found a piece of duck in the center of the table.
“I’ve heard of it,” Harlow said. “Over in Serelle?” Faylawn was in fact, at the southern tip of Tevron, on the other side of the continent, but it really didn’t matter at that moment.
“Precisely,” she said. “What about you, Urman? Have you ever traveled? Perhaps with your wife?”
Harlow laughed so hard he nearly spit the last of his wine on the table, covering his mouth as he gulped the liquid down. “Urman ain’t married. Man hasn’t touched a woman in…” He looked at his brother. “Have ya ever touched a woman?”
“Shut your mouth,” Urman said through gritted teeth.
Master Rellin floated around the table whimsically, arms wide, hand sliding across Harlow’s back, pitcher curling around him and heading straight for his goblet. “Oh yes, the mystery of intimacy. Anxiety-inducing if you ask me.” He poured so much wine that Harlow had no choice but to rush his lips to the brim to keep it from spilling.
And that was it. With that small sip, Urman, and more accurately, his unbreakable bond to his brother, belonged to them now. Despite what Master Rellin had said, they only needed one of the brothers but he had to be bound to them so tight The Creator herself couldn’t pull them apart. The debate hadn’t taken long. Harlow was the better man for the world but Urman was the better man for the job.
Harlow giggled lightheartedly, smiling at his brother as he took another drink. Drunk not poisoned. Yet. He was still smiling when his eyes started to blink, getting heavier every second. He leaned forward, breathing heavily and rubbing his eyes. Then he made a horrible face. She’d seen it once before. On Candice. He clutched at his chest as he sat his goblet down roughly, spilling wine on the table. He coughed and tried to stand. Master Rellin stepped away and winked at Iris proudly.
Urman shot out of his chair. “Harlow! What’s wrong?”
“My-” Harlow tried to clear his throat. Useless. The Red Venom would make sure he felt like a cork stopper had been jammed down his throat nice and tight. “I-” He grabbed at his neck with both hands. His eyes were so wide there was a chance they might fall out of their sockets. She flinched uncomfortably as his head hit the table on his way to the ground.
A similar feeling to what she’d felt when she’d stared at Ceralline’s shattered body wiggled into the forefront of her mind. She gripped the antidote she’d made as a precaution in her pocket. She may have brought it out if her sympathy hadn’t run off to a place her heart couldn’t find. She wanted the Rubach.
“Harlow!” Urman dropped to his knees, trying to will life back into his brother’s body. “What did you do to him?!” he shouted at Master Rellin.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” The lie slipped off his lips so smoothly even Iris was compelled to believe him. “All you have to do is help us.”