Sword and Sorcery and Romance (IC)

“I don’t like this one bit,” Catrin snapped, turning her back on her father and brother in a huff. A part of her knew she was behaving childishly, but she was too angry to care. She hated politics. It was bad enough that her idiot brother, Lachlan, and her father were willing to let themselves be dragged into that sucking mire, but now they wanted to pull her in as well. And for what? To regain a bit of standing with the king?

She knew the allegations of smuggling had hurt her father’s pride, but they hadn’t really hurt business. If anything they seemed to have helped some. Lachlan hadn’t been able to resist his supposed patriotic duty though. He’d been in port at Alfelium when he thought he’d seen the missing princess. He’d rushed back to Iselde without hesitation, pushing his crew and his ship straight through a storm to get home. He hadn’t even waited picked up the shipment of wheat he’d gone there to get. It had been their father who had decided to capitalize on the situation by offering the king any assistance his company and family could provide.

Now it seemed the king and his council were taking her Father at his word. He’d been called in for a personal royal audience this morning and had returned several hours later, calling Lachlan and Catrin to him as he relayed what he had learned. Iselde could not risk making an outright accusation of the princess’s kidnapping, especially when they had been publically denying that she was even missing. Still, the king apparently had proof beyond Lachlan’s word that some girl he’d seen on the docks was indeed Princess Olwyn, because they wanted to follow up on it, and they wanted her father’s help to do so. Of course, her father’s help had somehow transformed into Catrin’s help as well.

“You’re the best man—woman for the job, Catrin!” Lachlan insisted. “I made too much of a scene on the docks that day,” he admitted ruefully. “The guards around the princess saw me. Father’s too well known all around to sneak a ship into Alfelium, but you—you can do it easily.”

There was sense in what Lachlan was saying. Catrin still had her former husband’s surname rather than her family’s wider known name, and most of her trading for the past few years had been south along the Brewyllan Empire. She still had a good number of contacts in Alfelium though, many of whom were involved in her family’s occasionally less than legal dealings. The king wanted to send a small group into Alfelium to ferret out what had happened to Princess Olwyn and, if possible, get her back to Iselde by any means necessary. There were no ships faster than the Petrel, the ship her father had had built for Catrin and her husband as a wedding present. She could get anyone to and from Alfelium quickly and without raising many suspicions. That didn’t mean she had to like any of it.

“All I’m doing is playing ferry for the king’s men?” Catrin asked in a way that made it more of a demand than an actual question. It was a merchant’s trick she’d learned a long time ago from her father. He recognized it and a smile twitched in the corners of his usually stern mouth.

“That was the arrangement I made with his majesty. You’re sailing with a shipment of wool and iron and bringing back a hold full of timber.” Her father’s smile broadened just a touch. “I’ve arranged for a few delays with the delivery of the wood, if you need more time, well, you know how to haggle a client into a fit, dear.” Catrin couldn’t help but smile herself. She certainly did have a talent for that. “There will be no record of your ‘passengers’ on board and the crew will be made up of our most loyal folk. They won’t ask questions.”

They all lapsed into silence then as Catrin stared out the window. They were in her father’s office down by the docks. It had a fantastic view of the bay outside of Cedany and all of the ships leaving and arriving. “Okay, you can tell the king’s messenger I’ll do it,” she finally acceded. She got to her feet and headed for the door. “I’ll go begin readying the ship.”

"So, you're a knight, then?" The boy's head bobbed up and down, keeping rhyhtm with the courser's easy pace. He looked like a farmer's son, or maybe a swineheard. These days you couldn't tell, and one rat would look very much like another. His small, brown eyes traced the big man's outline for the fourth time that evening. He wore no armor, nor did his horse, and the pair only had a cloak and a saddle between them. But the big, long sword that was strapped to the side of the courser made the boy suspicious. The handle was plain, but even so, weapons like that weren't very common amongst honest folk. He was a knight or a robber, or at least that's what seemed most likely. If he was a robber, thankfully he hadn't gone through the trouble of robbing the boy and his old dad, though the boy was sure he could have had he wanted to.

"Aye," he answered. Another minute of silence passed between the two, and Richard began to rethink his decision to take the high-road. Peasants and outriders walked it well into the evening, and though Iselde wasn't small, it certainly wasn't large. The slim chance that someone might see his scar and know his face was too much of a risk for someone wanting to remain unseen, but it was faster this way.

He averted his eyes down and to the left, meeting the child's skeptical gaze. 'Let him think me a liar,' Richard thought. It would be good to have him gone, but when does a child's curiosity ever just leave? In many respects there wasn't much of a difference between this boy and the old hound he used to shack up in his family's kennel; neither would leave without something, and both would come back for more. So, against his better judgment, Richard wrapped the horse's reigns around one arm and withdrew the other into his cloack. Pushing it back out, the man opened his palm to reveal a half-dozen-or-so coppers. "Here." He flipped one coin out for the boy to catch, which the child did while looking up at Richard with a smile that spoke of pure adoration. "Now get on," he said gruffly. The farmer's son shot north while Richard kept south.

The sun dropped down another inch and cast a glare across the sea of yellow grass. He had fought in a battle here, once. It was a useless slab of land off to the side of the map, but two men had wanted it, so more than two men had died for it. Just thinking that made the boiled leather and loose mail he wore under his cloak coil tight around his body. The former knight coughed and shook his head.

The sack of money resting on his lap jingled, and the girl it was paying for was once again at the forefront of his thoughts. How the crown had found him, he didn't know, but there was niggling in the back of his head that told him the king didn't know about it, and with Cedany now leagues behind him, it was too late to go back. If Richard had any sense, he might have exchanged a few coins for passage on a barge and made his way down river to a port town, leave the country, and learn to live a life of afluence. But any sort of life without swinging his blade would be a static one. He'd grow restless, get drunk in a tavern on a bad night, and kill the poor fool who'd thought to pick a fight. No, he'd find the girl. Not that he had much of an idea on how, but he'd find her.

His one and only lead had sprung up in a tavern two days ago. It wasn't something he'd take to a trial, but is was something to go off. So far as Richard could tell, a tavern was as good a source as any, and it had ale. "Yeah, I'd seen her," the drunk slurred. "Beautiful lass she is. Looks a bit like my own daughter, I'd say," he said, but no one really listened. The barkeep had a bit more to say but not much. "Sure, Lom. You've been staring at the bottom of that cup long enough, I thought for sure that it might look like your daughter too. We don't pay him much mind, big lad, but we do pay him a little. He hasn't been down to the docks in years--used to be an oarsman--but a merchant who stayed for a night mentioned something similar. Just a rumor that's been floating around, but they've been sayin' she's disappeared for a few weeks now." The next morning, Richard paid for the ale and left. Had he known, then he might've gone ahead and paid for that barge, but now it was too little too late, and the coast was only a day off.

That still left him blank though. What was he to do? Ask around taverns until she miraculously showed herself? Didn't seem likely. But hey, he was a reasonably wealthy man now, so it's not like he can't affored to spread a bit of that money around, right?

With that thought in mind, the knight glanced over his shoulder and spotted a rough-shod wagon rattling a few yards behind him. The farmer seemed to be telling his boy something, and the boy was intent on listening. His eyes were wide and his mouth was surprisingly clenched shut. Probably being scolded about taking money. A proud bunch of fools, farmer's were. Too noble to take charity, but one bad harvest and they won't hesitate to take their tireless bitching straight to the crown. If the boy had been smart, then he would have hid it until some festival came around where he could spend the damn thing.

Richard sighed. He fished out another copper.

The boy would skate around him once again, as children tend to do, and just like that old mutt he had kept as a lad, this boy would want more. Hopefully, this time he would have enough sense to not to tell his father about it.

The knight flipped his coin across the bridge of his knuckles and kept riding south.

((Is it just me, or does text really seem to blend together on this board?))

Enya stared through the window of her bedchamber out across the courtyard of the castle. Her amber eyes were open but saw nothing, her thoughts twisted within her mind into ever-flowing flashes of her plans to rescue her friend and to punish those who had stolen the princess away.

The smell of smoldering furniture had all but dissipated, and the damaged pieces of furniture had been removed, though the walls still bore the telling scorch marks of the Fire mage’s fury. Enya and her chambers had been given wide birth since her explosive display of ire, and Enya had been forced to leave her chamber before the maids would come in to repair the damage her wrath had wrought. It had worked out nicely, however, as Enya had spent the time away from her chambers to organize a rescue mission for her beloved princess.

It had taken some serious arguing, bargaining and persuasion but she had wrested the permission from the king to go on the mission personally, her only compromise being agreeing to not go alone. The king’s advisors divided between those who thought it a poor decision to send the mage on the rescue mission at all and those who believed that no other was as well-equipped for the task.

The throne room had been in a dull roar as the members of the council debated the finer points of Enya’s involvement with the mission; those opposed referencing her poor temper and lack of knowledge or experience when it came to tracking prey. Those for her involvement included her dear friend Shivara, a Water sorceress and one of the youngest members of the council. Shivara, and a few others, had argued that the royal mage would be least likely to be distracted from the goal and her power could be a great asset to any group chosen to complete this crucial task. She was someone who loved the princess and had absolutely nothing to gain from the princess coming to harm.

The council had finally acquiesced when reminded that every second wasted trying to keep Enya within the castle was another second the princess was being drawn further away from home. Arrangements were made to gather a few trusted individuals to join the mage and Enya had rushed to her chambers to pack and prepare for her journey.

Her single bag and a satchel of necessary mage equipment now rested beside the door and Enya waited by her window for the word that her unknown companions had arrived. She did not stir as Shivara entered her chambers, followed by Arik, a fifth order Air Mage. Despite the fact that both were good friends, Enya did not desire companionship at the moment and did not register their presence as they stood several paces behind her.

“You have to speak to us eventually,” Arik broke the silence, a half smile forming on his lips. “Who knows how long you will decide to stay away?”

“I will return once my hands have bathed in the blood of mine enemies, Arik,” Enya spoke without emotion, her body stiff and as unyielding as a Earth mage. “I made that very clear at the meeting earlier.”

Arik’s smile faded with uncertainty but Shivara frowned, her fists resting on her slender hips. “Stealing the life of another is not the path to anticipate, but a road best avoided until there are no other options,” Shivara reminded the Fire mage. “Do not lose yourself to the seductive call of your rage.”

At this, Enya turned and took in her closest friends in the world, barring, of course, the princess. Shivara was in a simple dress of flowing violet silk, a sapphire locket glinting upon her bosom. Her ebony hair was twisted into a complex knot upon the back of her head and held there with a bone pick topped with a shard of amethyst. Her blue-green eyes held concern and compassion in everlasting amounts. Arik wore the standard wardrobe of any Air mage; loose breeches and a sleeveless tunic the color of butter cream. His coffee brown hair was peppered with vibrant silver despite his relative youth and his eyes were as calm as a summer breeze, the silver blue seeming to radiate tranquility and calm.

Elements of change, Enya thought with a bitter smile. Water constantly adapting to its environment and Air able to slip over, around and through obstacles with ease. Even the influence of her own Air magic did nothing but fan the flames of anger that burned within her, and she knew her eyes reflected the rage she felt as if they were polished silver. “You cannot know the fury I feel, fueled by hatred of those who would enter our home uninvited, the loathing I feel for anyone who would steal a young woman from her bed and the shame I feel that it was done under my nose.”

Enya turned back to the window as a tear slid down her cheek, hissing into steam as Enya burned away the sign of weakness. “I have been grievously wronged and I shall not rest until these criminals are punished for every one I have endured, every one the princess has endured and for every one the king has endured…if any still live.”

Arik and Shivara traded a concerned glance but remained silent, taking seated positions of quiet and unobtrusive moral support upon Enya’s bed. Enya did not turn, but she took strength from their presence, letting her thoughts wander once again to the plans and punishments that now seemed to dominate her waking mind.

“You boys look thirsty,” one of the taverns many servant girls said batting her eyes and offering a tray with two mugs brimmed with foaming mead. The two bodyguards standing at either side of a room’s door glanced at one another.

“One drink couldn’t hurt, ey?” One said to the other with a shrug.

“It’s on the house,” she reassured them.

The two mercenaries gave in with a hardy smile before relieving the tray of its mugs.

“Enjoy, boys,” the servant girl said through an innocent smile, as she made her way toward the stairs that led back down to the bar.


“It’s done,” the girl said to a bard leaning against the railing at the base of the stairs.

“You’re heaven sent,” Alec said smoothly as he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips to place a kiss atop it. She blushed and slowly pulled her hand away to glance down at it, noticing a silver piece tucked into her palm. She looked back up at the bard with a thanking smile, but he was already ascending the stairs.


The two guards were now unconscious on the floor. The remainder of their mugs spilt out on the ground beside them. Alec casually stepped over one’s body on his way for the door they had been guarding.


“Well, this is awkward. Bad timing?” the bard asked with a smirk, upon entering the room.


“What is this? Who are you! I demand you to leave at once!” the Baron yelled embarrassed from where he was tied to the bed—nothing but a sheet covering his lower half. The tavern girl standing beside the bed—a whip in one hand and barely clothed—froze in mid swing.

Alec bent down to pick up the girls dress from where it lay near the bed. “Your clothes, madam,” he dangled the dress out at her. She dropped the whip and hurried out of the room, snatching the dress as she passed by Alec for the door.

“Now that we’re alone, to business,” the spy mentioned very casually, approaching the bed.

“Guards!”

“I’m afraid they won’t be of any help to you at the moment.” Alec said grinning, as he took a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Do you know who I am? I’ll have you hung for—”

“Save it,” he silenced him, slipping of the bed and rounding it. “I know exactly who you are. You’re a fat, two-bit, sleaze, who’s betrayed his kingdom by selling intelligence to it's enemies.” Alec stopped just beside the bed.


“Who are you?” the Baron muttered scared.


“I’m disgusted,” the bard stated, pulling a dagger from his tunic.


“Wait! Wait! You’ll never get away with this! This whole tavern has seen your face!”


“Have they?” Alec asked before using his free hand to peel off a prosthetic nose, cheek, and mustache piece.

“What… the…”

His words were cut short with a quick slice of Alec’s dagger.

A job well done on your last mission. I’m sure you have heard of the recent disappearance of the princess. The King expects foul play. We need you on this, Underwood. You’re one of the best we have. Report back to the palace as soon as possible. Further details will await for you there.

Alec laid the pen down once he had decoded the letter.

Time to return home, he thought before blowing out the flame of the candle illuminating his small bedside desk.

Little stirred atop the hill but for swaying blades of grass, and only the mellow tune of a flageolet broke the silence as the sun shot its last hours' fiery rays onto the sky and land.

A man in rough clothing and a leather jerkin leaned back against the cairn on the hilltop. He breathed his song through his simple instrument with myriad, flowing emotions, giving voice to such thoughts as he had never given voice to.

Many of his notes spelled a sadness: the stones he rested against marked the death of his own mother. There was no inscription, no name engraved to speak to the passer-by of who lay beneath, for there was but one to mourn her, and he would never forget the place.

Hearing small wings, he paused as a jay landed nearby. It cocked its head in his direction and twittered happily. He piped back - the joy of life was not to be overlooked even in a time of mourning. For the better part of a minute he wove his song into the bird's.

Eventually the bird left. He slowed his tune to one of longing. Remembering his mother, yes, but even more so the places she had whispered of. By her side, he had traveled the whole of Iselde twice over, but he dreamed of lands so far beyond. She had spoken of them rarely, but he held those moments like precious jewels. She spoke little of her homeland, cautioned that he would never be welcome there... but there was a drive in him to go out. To explore. To let his feet carry him where they would. Amid the yearning melody were the refrains of grandeur, of adventure.

So long he carried on his song, his voice wearied, and the stars appeared faintly in the sky. He lowered his instrument suddenly, gazing up at the tiny, red dot that was the morning star.

Mother used to read the stars. She spoke little of their enigmatic meaning, saying even in the best of times they were but guides, and the mists of the future were never absolute. But she taught a little of all her skills.

"A time of change?" Seto said, half to himself, half to the spirit he knew never truly resided beneath the stones. He nodded absently at the firmament. "Forgive me, I wish too much to see the lands of your ancestors... and mine... I care not whether they accept me. The land always will."

His gaze shifted to the gray strip of road winding between the hills, down toward the glistening lights of the city to the south-east. He would have to find a ship, if he wished to leave the island.

Like his mother's own stinging voice, he heard in his mind, you have none of their coin, no standing with their kind, no place among them.

"Was it not you who taught me the land and sea have ever belonged to whoever may tame them?" Seto groped in the shadows for a furry package, and dragged it toward him. He unwound his brown fur cloak from about his other possessions, throwing it over his shoulders as he stood. He lifted his belt to his waist, bearing the weight of his quiver and knife. He thrust his flageolet into his pack and cast it over his shoulder, and finally took up his unstrung bow, slinging it across his back, held fast between his pack straps.

He glanced one last time at the silhouette of his mother's cairn, a black shape against the horizon's layered gold and red. Then he took to the road, toward the city.

There would be a way, and he would find it.

Arik had been the first to leave, muttering words of encouragement to Enya and nodding to Shivara as he left the room to perform his duties. Shivara had remained so still and silent that Enya had almost believed that the other woman had left as well. However, when the Fire Mage turned from her position at the window, she saw that her friend was still on the bed, staring intently into the glowing sapphire around her neck.

Enya’s movement drew Shivara’s attention away from the stone, and it dimmed. “I have been speaking with the members of the council who are in charge of this expedition. They say they have recruited several quality companions for you.”

“So no one from the court, then.” Enya stated, moving to her desk and absently tidying the obsessively organized documents. “The princess is not worthy of a royal contingent?”

“Watch your tone,” Shivara spoke with brittle frost in her voice, releasing the pendent to hang from its chain. She stood with the grace that seemed almost required for those of the Water discipline. “You are my dearest friend, and I love you, but I am of the council. We are doing what we think is best to ensure the best chances of success in retrieving the princess. It was decided that a small army of warriors and mages would lack the necessary elements to track the abductors and retrieve Olwyn safely. We all love her, but the kingdom needs her. I will do nothing to jeopardize the future of our home.”

Enya closed her eyes and winced against the sting of her friend’s rebuke, but she knew Shivara spoke the truth. She stepped forward to take Shivara’s hands, bowing her head in shame. “I know. Above all others on the council, I trust you to do what is right. Please forgive my thoughtlessness.”

“My Flame,” Shivara’s voice had once again become fluid and gentle. Her arms wrapped around Enya. “You take so much blame upon yourself, when there is an entire castle of those who did not prevent this atrocity. But you shall correct this negligence for us, and before long, we will all be together again; you and me and Olwyn…you must have faith in your self.”

Within the Water mage’s embrace, the Fire mage allowed herself the luxury of despair and sorrow. Her sobs were dry, but painful, and she forced the emotion to expel itself, taking only a minute or two before she once again felt her control slide into place. After a tight squeeze, Enya disengaged from the contact, and Shivara let her go.

“My friend…my sister…your words have given me strength. I shall return victorious, and the three of us shall spend many more nights discussing the failings of the men of the castle.” Enya managed a smile, though slight, and Shivara responded in kind, a flash of perfect teeth glinting as she grinned.

“Do not let Arik hear you say this, or he shall be an intolerable pout during your absence…” Shivara reached down and took hold of her pendent as it began to glow, indicating another Water mage attempting to make contact. She gazed into its luminescent depths, her face losing expression as her consciousness slipped through the focus. The stone dimmed and Shivara looked up at her friend. “The time has come, Enya. They will be transporting you immediately to meet with one of the companions who will be joining you on your journey. A female by the name of Catrin. It seems that you will travel with her until your other companions can join you.”

Luggage in hand, the mages left the room and walked to the Council Chambers; the only room in the castle with the proper harmonics and wards to send and receive transported persons. Within this room, seven Air mages sat in a circle carved into the floor, Arik supervising proceedings with a professional demeanor he reserved for work. The seven mages were humming in unison, each at the exact same pitch. Before them, the air within the carved ring shimmered under the influence of the mages and their magic.

Arik’s authority was slightly undermined when the women entered and he gave them a quick grin and a wink, but the expression quickly vanished as he continued to circle the sitting mages, ensuring that the magic was steady and even.

Enya did not pause but walked straight into the shimmering space, feeling the magic vibrate against her skin and her core, her own Air magic thrumming in response. Most mages had a level or two of Air, as it made the transporting process that much easier on them. Earth mages had the hardest time transporting, as they were opposed to the idea of dissolving and materializing elsewhere, but Fire was a nomadic element, and They traveled almost as well as Air itself.

“Due to the nature of your quest,” one of the councelors spoke to Enya in a hushed voice, trying his best to not disturb the harmonics of the magic in progress, “we will be sending you to a ship. Normally we would prefer to deposit you on solid ground, but we feel it best if no one sees you arrive.”

Enya nodded, worry seeping into her mind for the first time. It was well known in the magic community that Fire mages tended to conjure their element in transit, making it rather dangerous for anyone on the other side of the journey. To place her on a ship meant that she would have to keep a tight rein on her power through the disorienting nausea that came with the transporting process if she wanted to keep from incinerating her destination point.

“I will be careful,” she promised. After a deep breath, Enya sought out Arik’s eyes and gave him a sharp nod. Without preamble or ceremony, Arik began to sing, weaving his voice into the thrumming pulses of power from the other mages. Enya immediately felt the strange but familiar sensation of dead calm but also hurricane winds as the magic woven around her took effect, reducing her form to an unknown substance and firing her like a sneeze through the opened ceiling of the council chamber.

From her experience watching other mages, she would appear to burst into millions of particles, becoming invisible in an instant. Those with the ability to see magic would see a faint glow of power flash through the sky, but as it was daytime, the chances of this were slim. Transporting was not instantaneous, as the common people might assume or imagine. There was travel involved, but the transported moved so quickly, it was close enough to instantaneous that it was not worth the trouble to correct them.

For those transported, there was nothing. One moment you were one place, the next moment you were somewhere else, either on the floor in a ball or staggering like a drunk, desperately trying to not vomit up everything you ate for the last month.

Enya felt no time pass, but was suddenly aware that she was no longer in the council chambers, and that fire was arcing around her like a birdcage. Her luggage dropped to the wooden floor as she slammed her palms together, extinguishing all flame within twenty yards. The strain of the magic and her transport collided to make her more than a little dizzy, and Enya sank to the floor, resting her back against a wooden barrel. She would wait for a few minutes until her mind and stomach were settled, and then seek out this Catrin with whom she was to travel.