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four
Ambassador of Peace
"In the name of Peace, shall your enemy enter, and death shall he bring. But, in the name of Death shall I come, and peace shall be my reward."
- The Codex Plenethoria
Everyone knew that Saiwala could easily reach a height of seven feet before it comes of age. Yet, in the same sense, they are so lanky that one could also hide themselves completely behind the trunk of a pine tree as well. No, this creature was way too broad to be partially Saiwala.
If it were a Wiaralde, then the original must exist somewhere in the world. It has been a known fact for centuries that the Wiaralde can only transform into shapes of creatures that they have physically come into contact with. Thus, such a creature would truly have to exist somewhere in the world.
Whatever the creature's true identity, it truly was a terrifying sight to behold. As it let out a lengthy yawn, rows of jagged, razor sharp teeth seemed to sparkle in the soft light given off by the torch down the hall. The creature lifted a broad hand in a failed attempt to stifle the yawn. Easily four times larger than any human hand, the fingers seemed to bulge with enough muscle to crush pure rocks with the greatest of ease.
The eyes underneath the cloak's hood suddenly jumped to life as the door behind the creature creaked open. The creature stood full straight revealing yet another foot in height. As the creature turned to see who had dared to disturb its attempt at rest, it found itself looking straight at the hilt of a rather ordinary looking sword.
"Take Satrial and clean her up," came the man's voice from inside the room. "Set her upon the rack in the western foyer, then attend to the other woman."
The creature let out a short grunt, took the sword into his herculean grasp and turned to walk away. The creature completely ignored the blood that was still dripping from the blade, leaving a trail of crimson behind.
"Oh, and Aldrier," the man's voice added as an afterthought, "make sure to come back later and clean this room up. It seems I've made a bit of a mess here."
Aldrier nodded and turned once again to fulfill the newest mission assigned to him. Aldrier enjoyed serving this master. Out of all of the masters he had served over the centuries, this was probably his favorite. This master was kind hearted, gentle, understanding, and always seemed to smile at him.
He liked that the most. Aldrier had not had many people ever smile at him. In fact, only one other of his masters had ever smiled at him. Aldrier let his thoughts turn toward that master of long ago as he made his way through the humble abode. As he thought about his first master, a tear started to roll down Aldrier's cheek as he realized, as all his masters before him, this current master will one day die also.
The man that now had the task of caring for Aldrier did not know what was going through the creature's mind. In fact, Aldrier very rarely spoke, so the man could really never understand what the creature was ever thinking at any given time. The man waited a few more moments as Aldrier's heavy footsteps continued to get further away before he finally closed the door behind him again.
He let out a rather exaggerated sigh as he took in the damage to the room. The window that had previously been next to the bed had been blown to shatters and now lay in the garden below. The bird, most likely still in shock over what had happened, was simply sitting there, motionless except for the heaving of its chest as it took in at least a hundred breaths per minute.
The bird's cage was most definitely ruined. There was not one side to the cage that had not received damage. Bird seed was strewn across the floor, along with the contents of the drop trap and water dish.
On the other side of the room, the vanity mirror had cracked in a dozen different places. The once beautifully finished wooden dresser was partially scorched. The burn marks seemed to have created a rather obscure pattern in the wood.
Bed sheets were strewn across the floor, as were the feathers of three different chair pillows. The chair to the farthest corner from the bed was now simply a pile of ash. The chair the man had been sitting in was in little better condition. Looking toward the ceiling, the man noticed a rather unusual intricate pattern that had burned into the paint. Curiously, the pattern was rather familiar, but the man did not take the time to consider the matter any further.
The little bit of blood that did happen to make its way across the room was sprayed across the far corner above the bedpost on toward the window. The man was more ashamed of himself for letting this all happen to begin with. He was actually rather fond of this particular room.
"Idiot!" The voice itself was enough right now to set him on edge. "You are a stupid, old man! A mere child has more self control than you do! Throwing a damned tantrum like that just because I tried to melt that cursed sword! Serves you right almost cutting your fingers off, Ashteron. You're no swordsman, and you can barely even handle being a priest!"
"Shut up, Arianna!" The High Priest of the Crean Lewth was not used to being lectured, much less bantered at by some child. He had raised Arianna since that fateful day when her family had been murdered in the Temple of the Crean Lewth. And over the hundreds of years he had taken care of her, Ashteron had found himself more and more taking on the role of a master tracker than a High Priest.
This last escapade of Arianna's had lasted years. He had finally heard news of her in Asheloth to the east. It seems that she had found favor with one of the Protectorates in that state, and he had adopted her.
On one hand, Ashteron had been happy that she had found a place to fit in and be loved. But, on the other hand, he had found himself constantly worrying about her well-being. The Hand of Din had known for a few centuries now that an heir of Haldir Gryves may still be alive. And Ashteron did not know if they knew exactly who this heir really was, or where to find her.
He had sent messengers to the Prince of Asheloth, Ashton Skrype, to inquire regarding Arianna who had been adopted into the Nacin family. Ashton had always taken a liking to and had been a close friend to the young heir of the Chancellorship of Asheloth, Andelroth Kracon. Ashteron was surprised to hear that Ashton had frequented the Nacin residence along with Andelroth for the plain purpose of visiting with the two daughters of the Protectorate, Elloise and Arianna.
Ashteron knew that Arianna was being well watched over. And, seeing as Andelroth was quite the swordsman and military strategist, at the early age of only fifteen, Ashteron knew that she had the best protection Havellon had to offer. Yet, Ashteron still worried about Arianna constantly.
And, it was during one of these fits of anxiety, that Ashteron had sent his servant, Aldrier, to check up on her. Aldrier was less than a few miles out from the city walls when chance had it that he had come across Arianna and Elloise fleeing for their lives from the city.
Aldrier had watched as Arianna had tried to fend off the attacker. But, the full moon that night had a dampening effect on her powers. It had appeared that Arianna and Elloise were about to be defeated when Aldrier decided to help them.
Not even Aldrier spoke to Ashteron about what he had done, but it had only taken a mere moment, and the enemy had been defeated. To Ashteron's knowledge, nobody had ever seen Aldrier in battle, but one thing was for certain - Aldrier had never lost in a fight.
It was two days later that Aldrier had finally made it all the way back to Brenin Lagu with the two women, one under each arm. Aldrier had run as fast as he could, day and night, without resting. Had he been any later, Arianna may not have survived.
Pondering these thoughts, Ashteron could no longer hold back, "You are still nothing but a spoiled brat, Arianna! Try growing up for a change, and maybe you'll see all that there is for you in this life!" A single tear began to wind its way around the wrinkles on his left cheek.
As though to explain the tear away, Ashteron added, "That damned sword! Nasty sharpness to that blade. I hadn't had a cut like this since the last time I cooked."
Arianna did not laugh. She did not know that Aldrier had saved her and Elloise from death. She did not know how much Ashteron had cared for her all these years. How he had watched over her, protected her, and tried to guide her in this life she hated so much, yet clung so tightly to. She did not understand what this life had to offer to her, an outcast, imprisoned inside a body that was not her own.
Then she thought of Elloise. Ellosie was all that she had now. She was the only one she cared for. And Elloise was the only one who cared for her. She loved Elloise as she would a real blood sister. There was no one else in the whole world who cared for her. Her daydreaming came to a sudden halt by Ashteron's next statement.
"Therin Nacin," the old man seemed to choke on the name. Arianna looked at him for a moment to try to read his emotions. There was a look of deep desire, yet sadness in those ancient eyes. Tears were beginning to well up in the bags under those emerald orbs. Arianna had never seen Ashteron look so miserable before. "I'm sorry, Arianna."
The aged man walked over to the bed where she still lounged. Arianna did not yet know how to respond to his words. Sorry? Sorry for what? Tears began to trickle down her face as the reality of the situation began to dawn upon her.
"Therin Nacin is dead."
Gultra Genthru was not one who was familiar with being ignored. In fact, he was quite used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and exactly the way he wanted it. It was a rare occasion when he would have need of repeating himself. And, this afternoon was simply one of those days that he really did not care for repeating himself.
Gultra raised his hand to the air, and in one swift, curt move, signaled his archers to release a volley of arrows down upon the commander of this rather large unit of soldiers. The twang of a number of arrows could be heard from overhead, but the regiment leader took no heed.
To make things worse, the man's steed seemed to have the same attitude as its rider. This just made Gultra even more angry. As the volley of arrows crashed against the cobblestones near the feet of the company leaders' steed, neither horse nor human seemed to take notice.
Gultra turned toward his second in command with a glance of annoyance that spoke volumes. Immediately, his companion raced to the alarm tower shouting an incomprehensible order to the two Nanus that had been posted there. Resigned to finally repeating himself to this wayward troop of idiots, Gultra descended from the place he had been hovering.
The Desmodontidae landed no more than two feet from the troops' commander and graciously repeated himself, "HALT!" Gultra then removed his sword from its scabbard, with an intentional over acted flair, and pointed it straight at the intruder's face. "Unless, of course, you and your men wish to die right here and now."
The man did indeed stop this time. Yet, instead of the look of fear and surprise that Gultra expected to see in this man's face, there was annoyance and disgust written across it. The hustle and bustle of townsfolk that had been there just moments before were now completely gone. The Third Infantry Nanus Reserve Guard stood in its place.
The Third Infantry unit was comprised of fifty of the strongest Nanus fighters to be found in all of the Emirates. Even the regiment of armed horsemen that stood before them would have much trouble in trying to deal with this unit alone. The company's commander knew this. A quick glance around also told the horseman that at least two units of Desmodontidae archers were hovering overhead with their bows already strung and drawn. Instinct told him that a number of Hobs were already preventing any kind of retreat for the regiment by setting up any number of traps and trip wires to immobilize the horses.
Gultra knew that any sane man would be groveling before him at this moment, seeking mercy for his life. Gultra could not help but to start to smile at this arrogant fool's demise. The man seemed to resign himself to the situation and lowered his head. Today was most definitely starting to become a bit more brighter. It was a good day for Gultra.
Until the man spoke, "You are in my way, alula," the man then raised his head again with quite the smirk on his face, "MOVE IT!"
Gultra was visibly taken aback by this humans remarks. It was not the fact that this man just told him to move it, but the fact that he referred to him as an alula. For the first time any of his troops could remember, Gultra stuttered, "A-a-a-a-lu-l-l-lu..."
Everybody knows that alulae are those that have entered into a binding pact with a Desmodontidae. The Desmodontidae refer to them as "false wings", and thus the name "alula" had become the general term that humans use for such creatures. Unlike the true born Desmodi, alulae do not have the ability to partially transform or even "ascend" to a degree of higher power. In fact, even a human child understands that alulae retain their natural body, with only the difference that they age at a much slower rate after binding with a Desmodi.
It was this fact alone, and maybe the fact that Gultra detested the act of binding, that made him stammer in his speech. There was something extremely distrustful in this man's whole attitude. And Gultra intended to make sure that he find out what it was before allowing him to enter the city.
When the Desmodontidae continued to block his way, the man continued, "I am here on official business for Prince Ashton Skrype of Asheloth. In accordance with the Treaty of Oldeban, I demand you remove yourself from further hindrance!"
Invoking one of the Three Treaties of Havellon almost always insured an immediate escort to any city's rulers. Any person with even the slightest idea of the Treaties and their influence throughout Havellon would immediately throw themselves into the service of anyone who would invoke such power.
Anyone except Gultra Genthru, that is. Of the Three Treaties, the Treaty of Oldeban was signed by every known power on the continent of Havellon for one purpose and one purpose only: the eradication of the Hand of Din from Havellon. Most certainly, more than anything else he had ever hoped to accomplish with his life, Gultra was waiting patiently for that day when the Hand of Din would finally become nothing more than a bad memory in the annals of history for Havellon.
Gultra despised the Hand of Din, and everything remotely associated with that organization. In fact, his hatred for them had blurred his logic regarding humanity. In Gultra's mind, because the Hand of Din was exclusively an organization made up of humans intent on the destruction of everything non-human, then all humans were evil. Thus, Gultra had developed over time a hatred toward all humans. So much so was this hatred, that he refused to ever partake in a binding, nor to even transform into human form even if his life depended upon it.
Something was not right about this human. Gultra could feel it deep down inside himself. Taking another step forward, Gultra placed the tip of his sword against the man's breastplate. This time, Gultra took a much better look at the man.
The man's face was rather plain and normal looking as far as Gultra was able to determine. Most humans looked alike to him anyway. The man's head was crested with what appeared to be an ornamental helm. This piece of armor did not appear to be for the purpose of defense and safety for its bearer. In fact, the Desmodontidae immediately ascertained a number of vulnerabilities in its design. The neck was, by all appearances, fully bare and inviting its opponent's sword to take a deep taste of his flesh. The plumes of feathers that flared in every direction would immediately blind the wearer would he suddenly need to turn his head in either direction.
The breastplate looked to be quite thin. Gultra could notice that the man's movements were not those of one who was under a lot of strain and weight. The bracer, leggings, boots, gauntlet, and breastplate were very much not what they appeared. The designs that were etched into the armor were intricate indeed. In fact, Gultra noticed many times over the Crest of Asheloth throughout the armor. Interlaced in the etching of the Crest of Asheloth were the sigils Arloc and Berh.
As everyone knew, these sigils represented peace and death. Gultra could not help but to sneer at this symbolism. The humans claim that it signified the establishment of peace even unto death. To Gultra, and many other of the Crean Lewth, it represented the fact that more often than not, humans come in the name of peace, yet bring death and destruction with them. Whatever the true meaning of these sigils, Gultra knew this particular suit of armor and recognized it as the armor of the Ambassador of Peace.
The princely-states of central Havellon each had a special messenger that would be sent to neighboring princely-states, and even abroad to far-off Emirates, city-states, and countries. The sovereign Emirate of Alder-lagu, of which Brenin Lagu was the capital, had no such ambassador. In fact, none of the Emirates did. The five Emirates were controlled by the Crean Lewth. One day, Gultra himself would become the Emir of Alder-lagu.
If fate had it, he would someday even become the Emir-elite, the chosen of the five Emirs who would have all authority in foreign matters with the Emirates. It would be the equivalent to what the Princely-states termed as the Knight of Sovereignty, the Chevalier d'Sovrainet. But, there had not been a d'Sovrainet in the Princely-states for over two centuries, just as the Emirates had not had an Emir-elite for almost three centuries now. It just seemed to Gultra that nobody seemed to trust anybody else anymore. And that was just fine with him.
Gultra took another look at the famed armor of Asheloth. This was, in fact, the first time that he had seen this armor up close. If circumstances had been different, Gultra may have been able to appreciate the craftsmanship involved in creating such a work of art. Each piece seemed to fit together masterfully. There was not a blemish to be found in either the polishing of the armor's surface, nor in the tailoring of the straps and shirt.
Until the man moved his arm to shove Gultra's sword aside. In that fleeting moment, Gultra noticed a tear, if not more a cut, in the shirt under the man's armpit. There appeared to be a blackened stain surrounding the outer fringes of the tear in the golden shirt. Immediately, Gultra moved to apprehend the man.
"GULTRA!" The voice resonated throughout the streets near the town gates. "Stand down at once!" The voice gave no room for contradiction nor disobedience. The Desmodontidae who possessed such a voice was even more noteworthy. Standing nearly six and a half feet, this overly muscular Desmodi appeared to be able to lift horse and rider with ease. The Desmodi wore simply an outer white wrap which started somewhere near the waist. It wound its way a few times around the waist to form a kind of skirt around the loins. The wrap was then attached to an overly large belt and continued its way from the back over the left shoulder and buckled once again into the belt.
Normally, the Desmodi would wear a silken shirt with adorning accessories signifying the social and political status of its wearer. But this Desmodi needed no indicator of who he was. He was well known far and wide to trounce around Brenin Lagu half naked wearing only the Desmodontidae's Féileadh Mòr to cover most of his more intimate parts. If it were not for the fact that the material used in the Féileadh Mòr were not so heavy, even that garment would not be much to uphold the public decency with this old politician against the hurling gusts of wind that were common to Brenin Lagu.
The Ambassador of Peace smiled and bowed his head in the direction of this newcomer, "Greetings from the Princely states, Emir Genthru. May Peace adorn your lands and smile blessings for generations to come." A sidelong glance in Gultra's direction spoke volumes of victory. Gultra could only grip his sword tighter and curse to himself.
When the Emir drew up to Gultra, the Desmodi immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head long, "Your Excellency, this regiment refused to answer to the calls of the Southern Watch and continued to enter the capital armed and unchecked. I was interrogating them as to their intentions and business with the capital."
The response was not at all what Gultra had expected, "You fool, boy!" A dagger placed itself deep into Gultra's heart. "Any child in nursery could tell that this was an Ambassador of Peace. The Ambassadors of the Princely-states are always welcome in the Emirates. They are to be unmolested and undisturbed in their business. The clerics of the synagogue in Asheloth had already conveyed the message to our clerics days ago to expect the Ambassador," the Emir was showing absolutely no mercy toward Gultra. "In fact, the message was received and confirmed when the Prince arrived this morning!"
"But, father..." Gultra tried to defend himself.
"Silence! Do not address the Emir unless granted permission to do so!" The Nanus that made the sudden appearance from behind the Emir was familiar to Gultra. He had been the Chief Man-at-Arms of the Gendarmerie for centuries now. Amongst all of the policing forces in any city in Havellon, the Gendarmerie of Brenin-lagu was noted as containing the strongest, but not the brightest, that the continent had to offer. And one could almost be assured beyond the shadow of a doubt that a man-at-arms of the Gendarmerie would be a part of the Emir's retinue when he decided to go out and about.
The old Emir bowed his head to his hand as though he was feeling some discomfort and this act alone would ease the pain. "Gultra," the ruler of Alder-lagu spoke with nonchalance as one would speak to another about the weather, "you are no longer on duty. Do not leave the city, nor interfere with official state business until you have been reinstated to the royal guard, or otherwise convicted. You are hereby released from duty and under investigation for interfering with official foreign policy and violating the Treaty of Oldeban. You are dismissed."
With that the Emir bowed lightly toward the Ambassador of Peace and turned to continue his inspection of the Southern Watch. "Oh," the Emir stopped in mid-stride, "if you are looking for the Prince, you will find him at Ashteron's house. You may make your official appearance to the court later this afternoon. I will be gone to a meeting of the Crean Lewth until a bit before supper. Do feel free to join me."
"It would be our honor, your excellency. We look forward to your company this evening." The Ambassador of Peace smile wide and broad. Victory had been his. "Move aside!" he commanded Gultra.
Gultra did not have time to move himself out of the way. A massive hand grabbed hold of his shoulder and lifted him like a bag of trash and placed him firmly out of harms way. "You heard the man!" The chief of the Gendarmerie gave Gultra a sly wink and touched the side of his nose. "Come with me," he whispered lightly as the clomping of the horsemen's hooves rang out through the city's gates.
Those familiar with the court in Reqouth already began to gather their belongings to vacate the hall immediately. The plaintiff in this particular hearing, however, was none too happy. Yet, there was nothing that he could do.
"A messenger from the East to speak of a matter of urgency with the Prince!" The soldier barely finished his announcement and removed himself from in front of the doorway before a dark cloaked figure hurried its way past and literally ran to the Prince's throne.
The Prince of Reqouth did not take pleasure in his legal proceedings being interrupted. In fact, the last intruder of this sort did not leave his halls under his own strength. But, when the figure kneeled before the Prince and moved away part of the cloak from across his right shoulder, the Prince jumped suddenly to his feet.
"Empty the hall!" he snapped as he gazed at the tatoo of a red hand on the man's shoulder.
The suddenness of their ruler's actions and the vehemence in his voice left no room for argument. Immediately, the occupants of the room stood as one and rushed toward the double door exit to the back. When everyone had exited, the soldier bowed to the Prince and closed the doors behind him, leaving the Prince and the messenger alone.
"So, tell me, good friend," Prince Farin rushed to the man and clasped his hands to his own, "what news from the Hand of Din?"
The cloaked man smiled at the Prince and gave him an embrace, "Much to tell, my lord. Din moves, the Seers are become restless, an army from the East is approaching, and as we speak, the Hand is moving to exterminate the Crean Lewth in Brenin-lagu. Come, my lord, there is much I must tell you."
The two men went to the back of the adorned seat of judgment and walked right through the brick wall behind. The hall filled with silence, and a shadow began to loom over the chambers like a watchman, in defiance of the sun as it climbed its way toward noon and exhausted its efforts on filling the chambers with light through the vaulted glass ceiling above.
Eldreth Kracon watched the activity as one does a colony of ants, with some level of amusement. With the apparent disappearance of Prince Ashton, the High Chancellor was now the ranking official in Asheloth. This made him everyone's target. With an over exaggerated sigh, the old man continued to make his way toward the palace throne room. Perhaps, he thought, if someone of authority was sitting on the lesser throne, things would start to calm down a bit.
"Damned you, Skrype," the Chancellor barely finished cursing his friend and ruler before he was bombarded by a group of barons frightened that some far off field may end up being burned and ransacked along with all of its commodities.
Amidst the cacophony of voices and questions and accusations, the High Chancellor finally had had enough, "SILENCE! You sniveling sad excuses for nobility! Have you no pride!? Or honor!? That you care for some cockamamie field in the middle of nowhere, but could give a rat's ass about the people you are supposed to rule over and protect? Get out of my sight before I have you all thrown down to the dungeons and racked!"
The hallway became suddenly quiet and quite empty. The only person left standing there was Hilda Jimbril, the Baroness of Loth Dalin, a small shire not far to the south of the city of Asheloth. She just stood there wide-eyed, her mouth stammering in shock over what she had just heard.
"Well, I've never..." she began, before she was quite tartly cut off.
"Well, you have now!" The High Chancellor was really in no mood for the nobility at this moment. "If you have something to say, then say it and stop standing there yammerin' like a fool yokel!"
The baroness was not about to be insulted any longer, no matter who it was that was doing the insulting. She turned to walk away in the opposite direction. With her nose straight up in the air and with short fast steps resembling that of the small hairless dog she normally had in her company, she left his presence with the last word.
"I just thought your excellency would like to know that the Ambassador of Peace and his retinue were found dead not far outside Eldar Noreth. Although the Seal of Entry had been recovered, the ambassador's armor and his retinue's vestiges had been stolen. It is believed that they are after the Feather of Frahir."
The baroness said nothing more and eventually disappeared from sight. Eldreth's heart sank as the ramifications of this information began to dawn on him. With all the speed he could muster, the High Chancellor made his way toward the Cathedral of Light. He needed to find the Saiwala clerics and contact Brenin-lagu immediately.
"Andelroth," a tear started to form in the High Chancellor's eye, "please be safe."
"A word with the ambassador," the man literally spit the last word out of his mouth with the venom of a cobra. The man waited until those in the ambassador's personal retinue had fallen back far enough not to hear what he had to say.
"What's eating at you, Garith?" The Ambassador of Peace still had that stupid grin on his face. If the man would have been able to get away with it, he would take his dagger from out of his boot and run the ambassador through on the spot.
"Shut up, and listen to me good, Heldor," the man whispered so as not to be overheard by anybody passing by, "if you pull a stupid stunt like that again, I will personally cut your head off, rip your heart out, and burn both on the stump of your bleeding body as an offering to Din. Then let these dogs of yours consume whatever remains until you're not even a memory anymore. Do I make myself clear?"
The ambassador glared coldly at the man, "You priests are all the same. Give you a little power, and let you call up some demon lover, and you think you're all powerful Allethlorien or something. Let me tell you what real power is Gari..." Heldor stopped mid-sentence and almost lost his balance on his horse.
"We understand each other now, I hope," Garith did not wait for an answer. The small orb he had just touched Heldor with was still dripping of blood as Garith placed it back safely under his cloak near his heart. "Come on," he commanded to nobody in general, and headed down a smaller street in the direction of the Temple of the Crean Lewth.
A number of soldiers from the regiment followed the cloaked man. Nearly a hundred, at least, followed the man toward their destination. As the ambassador's retinue and the remaining soldiers in the regiment joined up with Heldor again, the grin had disappeared from his face. It had been replaced with a look of horror and sadness.
Still clutching at his side where the orb had touched his armor, the Ambassador of Peace began his way through the winding streets of Brenin Lagu towards the abode of the High Preist of the Crean Lewth, Ashteron Crull. Thoughts were beginning to form in his mind that had not been there before.
He saw the punishment for failure in his mission. He knew that death would be a more promising reward for failure than what his superiors would meet out to him. His instructions were clear and, quite frankly, rather easy. There was no moral decision to make. There was no code of ethics that needed to be followed. There was no compromise in the situation. It was clear cut and to the point. He had one thing and one thing only to accomplish in Brenin Lagu. He needed to kill someone. And he fully intended to complete that task, and go home a hero.
