"An Ivory Tale, Chapter Five: The Basics of Flight" by Toni J Kaukinen

"Ow," said Contesq.
        "I recall I warned you of the probability of a hangover."
        She winced and glared at me. With a bitter tone, she said, "Well, you weren't around to stop me, were you?"
        I blinked at her and smirked, then regarded Trill, who was warming up by going through a number of attacks and parries. Dextrous with a lack of technique, as I expected - she was young and would live to be decently old, supposing she could survive the kind of life Fists and beastmen lead. "What happened?" I asked, not taking my eyes off Trill's curious rendition of an old technique.
        "I don't know."
        "But?"
        "I woke up next to some thane whose name I don't remember."
        I turned to watch her. "Contesq."
        She grimaced. "I-know-I-know-I-know-I-know. Bad idea, not good, not at all."
        I snorted amusedly. "You do know they will find that merely amusing, do you not?"
        "Hells' bells, yes they will. It doesn't make it any easier."
        I grunted, unwilling to continue the conversation. After this little peek at Contesq's trouble holding her liquor and her other troubles associated with keeping herself to herself, no matter how much she desired it so, let me tell you where this happened. We sat a few miles away from the encampment, watching, lurking, and warming up. Flasks of clear alcohol were being drunk, mud was being rubbed on faces and bare skin...
        ...and there were about ten of us. The Deerlord stood on a boulder looking very much like his namesake with that particular headgear - and with Fists, it was hardly unsurprising. The primordial bond between the individual warrior and Mother is in their case a rather solid one - the animal is said, believed and known to walk with the Fist. And Aennen? Well. I half expected him to use those horns for something.
        Aside from Aennen and Trill (and Manjarr, who was telling her to "cut down on the flashy-flashy-preen and concentrate on the whack-whack-splat"), the sisters were exchanging quiet remarks about how the brewer had done a good job... and the rest of the thanes, which I did not particularly want to know. Although the third one was passably polite and nice, he was a young thane and all too nervous about the fight. I knew, because he was bragging and looking ready to beat me senseless if I questioned his capabilities. The others were a grizzled pair that offended me wordlessly the moment I greeted them - Aennen did nothing to stop them, naturally.
        We had scouted the camp again, Contesq and I, and had found that there were more guards but nothing else. Whatever they were doing, however, they were in a hurry. While the poor beastwoman I had disposed of was still where we had left her, which was a surprise considering I had been less than optimistic and believed that the others would notice her disappearance. I had suspected that they would not be going anywhere, though, and now they were perhaps a bit more alert than they had been when we had intruded upon them first.
        We had also made contact with the humans' scouts, and sent through them a message to meet the one with the biggest boots and his or her closest-in-command, so to speak. The humans seemed unsurprised to see us there, which was good, and the reason for that was told to me just as soon - there was a good number of us already marching alongside the rest.
        "There they are," said Aennen.
        I sighed, rose to my feet and joined him on the boulder to watch a group of humans and two Caedaren approach. "Perfect timing," I noted and eyed the midnight moon.
        Aennen nodded and turned to head back to play a game of something with the sisters. "You will take care of them."
        "'Twas not a question, I hear."
        He gave me a look I would have associated with a grin and said, "I'm the uncivilized one, Carenda. It's not for me."
        Stifling a chuckle, I nodded and whistled softly at Contesq. With a groan, she stood and fell in.
        "What was that about?" she asked as we made our way toward the newly arrived.
        "Yon Deerlord doubts his abilities."
        "Oh."
        "I could be mistaking," I hummed and gazed at the group. "Maybe 'twas the other way around."
        She chuckled at that, and we fell silent.
        Yet, as we moved closer...
        "Ganawade!" Contesq hissed when we were close enough to see them.
        "Hush." It was, indeed, Ganawade, peering at Contesq in a manner I found eerie. Contesq, needless to say, found it unsettling.
        Truth to be told, I paid less attention to Ganawade and whoever he had with him than to the humans. They were mercenaries. That meant that they were not wearing Teragonian livery or even equipped in a uniform manner. The livery they did wear marked them as a unit I knew, much to my delight.
        "Hallo," I said in Ternian and nodded to the man next to Ganawade. "I was expecting a more formal and uptight bunch." I glanced at Ganawade. "Apart from you, of course."
        While Ganawade rolled his eyes wearily and finally turned to gaze at Contesq, the human, wearing a breastplate and studded leather, returned the nod but took his time deciding how to react to me. In accented Ternian he said, "Sorry to disappoint you then. Sergeant Marek, Mairead's Red Ravens."
        "Varus will suffice, Sergeant. Have they told you," I said, gazing at Visiga and Ganawade, "what you are up against?"
        Marek nodded and retained an expressionless face. "Not exactly what we were paid to do, and I'm still not sure if I am to believe in this."
        "We'll have the evidence ready," said Visiga in an equally, though differently, accented Ternian. "You'll see."
        I nodded and stared at my kin contemplatively for a moment. They would not be here if there was no reason to. I certainly had not ordered Visiga to accompany them, and I had a feeling Visiga was improvising a bit.
        Well, I had not ordered them to do anything, and he was doing what he thought was logical. I looked about and hummed. "Excuse me," I said in Ternian, then switched to our mother tongue in order to speak to the pack of brats. "What is this?"
        Ganawade smirked and looked at Marek, who had turned to order the five accompanying him to check their equipment again. "There are only about twenty of them, and two are magickers. Thinking back on the reports you sent told us you might appreciate more help."
        "We agreed on that, you see," Visiga said with a smirk that was an almost exact copy of Ganawade's.
        After a moment, I glanced slowly at Contesq who was grinning nervously. "Alright," I said, "how many have you brought?"
        "I have five with me, and the Hunter-in-Charge has four of his with him."
        "It was all I could spare," Visiga shrugged. "The Voices have reported something strange happening in the layers, and you know how it is. It could be a teleport, or then it could be a layershake."
        "Strange? Did their Seers say anything?"
        "Seers? Pheh! We had two Spirits show up just before we left, telling us that they couldn't walk the waterpaths and that something was overloading. It didn't make sense, but then they're magickers."
        I blinked. This was thoroughly strange. "Alright. Have the Fingers said anything concerning the waterpaths, then?"
        Ganawade shrugged. "No idea, sorry. Whatever it is, I ordered my gents to run around in circles around the hide, and Visiga's having his patrol as well."
        "Clever," I said. "And I suppose the help is fine and all, but what did the local council have to say about this?"
        "Nothing much, Carenda," grinned Visiga. "It was their idea that we help the poor mercenaries out a bit, especially because the reports you gave made it look as if it was worth overlooking the Common Laws."
        "You forgot something, you know," added Ganawade.
        Still rather dumbstruck and confused, I smiled and awaited for him to continue.
        "Why the hell did you tell us to take a bunch of soldiers to a hide nobody human knew of?"
        He earned a chuckle with that. "I was actually counting on you to invent something."
        With a look of glee and satisfaction, Ganawade said, "Oh, we covered that up, don't worry. We - me and my gents - set up a makeshift camp a few miles north of the hide, and had the Voices do their magick and send Visiga and his men to our camp with word of the council's decision."
        Slowly, I broke into a smile - then a grin. Ganawade was fishing. "Well, I owe you."
        "And don't you forget it," he sniffed and turned to look over his shoulder. "Now, sergeant? Could you send word to your captain to come over and have a word with us? We have... tactics to discuss."
        I gazed at them all. Visiga was outstanding, and Ganawade, of whose brilliance I had little doubts, seemed to genuinely like the young Hunter despite certain facts. Contesq, I think, had noted this as well, and I felt sympathy toward her for that - it was entirely possible that there was a bloody duel coming up after this.
        Sergeant Marek informed us that his captain would be arriving shortly, so I took the chance to run back to Aennen and discuss with him his plans. I had suspected he would not change his plans at all, and I was right. He told me he was simply going to have Manjarr put out the bonfire and then set all their tents into fire, after which they would storm in by force. Aennen was more concerned about the news the Spirits had brought us.
        By the time I returned to the others, I was growling.
        Captain Mairead recognized me, which delighted me even more. It is that certain twitch, that fearful and angry twitch that I seem to instigate in individuals I come to meet for a second or a third time... of course, I must first make life troublesome for them, first. "Varus!"
        "Hallo, Mairead. You seem to have healed well."
        She smiled, coldly. "It took a while."
        Ganawade, Visiga and Contesq (who was trying to blend into the background) immediately looked at me. They were asking me questions with their glances.
        "No doubt. I was surprised to see your lads here, I must admit."
        "We were not told we would have to work with anardes - let alone you Caedaren," she said in a calculated, neutral tone and scratched her chin. "But from the looks of it, I think I'll welcome the help."
        "Sensible as ever," I said.
        "What did the Fists say?" asked Ganawade prudently, interrupting our banter before Mairead could slap me in the face with a flick of the tongue.
        "That they will put out the bonfire, then set their tents on fire and charge. They have a Finger with them, and I suspect he is quite more than is expected of a Finger."
        "A Finger?" Mairead asked and turned her steely eyes toward me.
        "Elemental magicker," I said, not giving a tinker's damn what she did with the information. "What are your plans, all of you?"
        All banter and verbal duelling was tossed aside. We decided to attack while it was still dark, but close enough to dawn for it to be easier to hunt down the ones trying to retreat. Mairead indicated that she had two magickers well-versed in combat with her; she reasoned, that if the Fists were going to be initiating combat, her people would flank the beastmen and the magickers would provide support.
        Visiga and Ganawade contemplated together, as they were fielding troops with similar equipment. Though the Bleeders of the hide were more accustomed to guard duty, Ybarian had made some of them investigate the happenings of the local towns. While they were not exactly Senet - that is, my lot of the Bleeders, and the ones most often seen sneaking around cities and such -, they had often worked with Eyes, which was only logical considering where the hide was situated; thus, though the Eyes were perhaps more skilled at this, they supposed they could pair an Eye with a Bleeder and have them dart out of the shadows to harass the beastmen or hunt down the ones that tried to flee.
        At Ganawade's mention of the possible sorcerer, Mairead sniffed. Her magickers would take care of whoever it was, she indicated. However...
        "I would actually want to take care of whoever 'tis personally," I said. "The sorceror, magicker, whatever he may be, will have a hard time deflecting your magickers' spells directed at the muscle. You have two: have the other guard the other against the enemy's spells and the other..."
        "I see," Mairead said with quirked eyebrows. "And you will do what?"
        "I?" I flashed a toothy, feral grin at her. "I shall scratch his back with a dagger."
        "That's all supposing the magickers are strong enough," Contesq interrupted all of the sudden. She had said naught a word during our planning up until now. "And that they only have one."
        "And what's to say the Deerlord doesn't order one of his to take care of the magicker?" asked Visiga.
        "Nothing," I said and frowned. "We will have to improvise, of course - strange is the battle that will never provide complications."
        "Why is this Deerlord not here?" asked Mairead and took a swig from her hip flask.
        "He thinks he is not civilized enough," said Contesq, causing Ganawade to twitch and Visiga to blink.
        I said, deadpan, "Or rather, he wishes to have nothing to do with us, but will help."
        The mercenary smiled with a certain ferocity for a moment, but let it die. "Alright. I'll have a chat with my magickers."
        "And we'll go assign pairs," said Visiga. Ganawade nodded.
        "Well," said I, "then we shall go to Aennen. I suggest that you keep your ears open - the charge will be a decent signal, considering I am almost anticipating all the squirrels to fall out from their trees as the Fists roar."
        With a deal struck, we headed each to our own.

        Aennen listened to what we had settled, and - surprisingly - was kind enough to go with the plan as it was so very kind of us to let him take the most honour by being the first to taste blood, so to speak. He did not overly much like that way we had decided to employ the magickers, and the Eyes and the Bleeders, but he admitted that it was not his decision.
        Manjarr, the Finger, had climbed into a tree and was waiting for the signal from Aennen, who had ordered his thanes to form an arrow of sorts - he himself being the point. To me he had said that I was to do as I saw best, and so I did: taking Contesq to the sidelines, among the bopping spheres.
        "If you want to stay back and watch, feel free," I told her.
        "I'd rather not. Why did you think I tried to off them the first time I saw them?"
        "Because you thought yourself capable of doing so."
        "Yes."
        "But you did not do it."
        "No. It was smarter not to, and I got frightened, remember?" she replied a bit sharply.
        "True enough," I whispered and checked the location of my daggers. Two at the tops of my boots, one at my waist, another between the shoulder blades, one more at my side... and the heavier, human-made longsword Manjarr had given me. I would need a heavier blade for the beastmen, and I had said this to Contesq, which Manjarr had overheard and... oh, you understand my point.
        "That was downright strange, you know," she said and inspected her short sword. (Our idea of a short sword is one with a very wide blade - call them half-a-hand swords if you wish.) "The bit with Visiga and Ganawade." She stared at her sword with a frown, then looked up at me.
        "'Twas." I did not feel very comfortable getting involved with the troubles of a young lass, but I admit - I needed to know what exactly it was that Ganawade was up to. Or Visiga. One never could tell which one was the serpent and which one was the field mouse around people such as these...
        She chuckled mirthlessly and squinted at a sphere. "Enough's enough. A meal says I get myself a head more than you."
        I stared at the walls for a moment before looking at her in a contemplative manner. "Was that a challenge?"
        "True and sworn."
        I smirked. "Fine, but the sorcerer is worth two heads."
        Now it was Contesq who stared at me with consideration. "Am I allowed to go after him?"
        "I am an old man, Contesq," I sniffed. "Allow me an edge over you."
        She chuckled. "No, seriously. Can I go after the magicker?"
        "No, that one is mine."
        "You think I cannot handle him?"
        I said, "Mayhaps. You would do well to watch and learn this time - 'tis more complicated than a simple backstab."
        Instead of a bout of annoyance and anger, along with associated moping, she smiled at sniffed the air. "Well. I'll be right behind you if you need a hand."
        "Ever so thoughtful."
        We fell silent, but we did not have to wait for long. First, the firelight dimmed and we were left to wait in the darkness. A number of growls and shouts could be heard through the night, these more hostile than the casual ones we had been hearing up until now. Then the fire returned, its appearance marked by the sound of air being sucked into the encampment.
        As the shouts now varied from surprise, panic, utter rage and the few orders, we heard the Fists begin their approach and turned to watch their approach. From steady footsteps to light jogging... and finally a score of warcries with Aennen proclaiming that no mercy or quarter was to be given, full with sounds of charging.
        I winced as the first howls of pain came from over the walls that separated us. Thudding sounds, howls of rage... and associated with a tingling sensation, the telltale thunder of magick hitting the wall, creating fire. White, transparent arrows passed through the wall and passed through a few of the orbs, sending them flying around in a blind panic. Luckily for us, we were nowhere near.
        Contesq looked like she was going to ask a question, but did not have the chance - I moved closer to the wall, sword at the ready and ears open as I waited for the humans.
        It came sooner than I had expected, but this was only good - the faster things happened, the less time they would have to react. I felt a third and a fourth, different tingles enter from stage flank, chorused by more screams, wails, whistles and thunder. Brimstone and hot stones poured straight from behind the beastmen, I suspected.
        Now, the surprise was still fresh, and as such, I tossed my cloak aside and charged into the fray for my first glimpse of the battle - a thane lay rolling on the ground near the walls with a beastman tearing at his throat, and I left that one for Contesq to handle. The tents were ablaze, and near them everyone was fighting. The illusion was gone, and creatures with mixed animalistic features stood trying to hold their ground against ferocious Fists (and one beastwoman, who was performing decently) and humans wielding weapons that ought to have been much larger to be appropriately effective.
        Visiga and Ganawade, I saw, assaulted the enemy as a pair that appeared from behind a burning tent, and the other pairs were slipping into the fight from shadows, behind boulders and walls, delivering cuts and slashes when none were expected.
        My technique was very much the same, despite some difficulties. Slashes, cuts and thrusts as I hurried through the fight, keeping a low profile. Though I was not as small as the rest of my kin here, I was still three heads shorter than the beastmen and several more narrower. I took what opportunity I received, but I kept my attention mostly on the heavily robed sorceror in the middle, where the bonfire had been reduced into dead, cold coals. He was preoccupied with both of Mairead's magickers, who had indeed began to harass him with a wide variety of tricks I hoped were more effective than what they looked like. But he was also keeping an eye out for Manjarr, who I saw hop from one bit of wall to the other with the help of his own tricks - having apparently decided that he could not risk shooting boulders and fire rain into the crowd, he too focused on the one nobody seem to be able to get close to. One of Mairead's mercenaries tried, and was immediately thrown back forcefully by an invisible globe.
        Poor things, they had little idea of how it was done.
        "Oh dear," I had to say, because my way was blocked by a particularly nasty thing with a cat's eyes, the beak of an owl and clawed hands I am not entirely sure belonged to any conventional animal. The height differential was considerable, and I must say I had little love for the big pole-axe it was holding - and swinging.
        But as with everything, there were a few rules to pole-axes. One: once one swings it, changing its course is nigh impossible. Two: it is most useless close by. Unfortunately, one of the umpteen rules I had in mind at that moment was one that gave him an advantage: his (or her) size and the weapon of considerable length favoured him as long as I did not get close.
        The beastman swung it in a wide arc, from high right to low left and hit a mercenary in the back of the head instead of me. I had ducked, and was already stepping a few steps backward - the follow-up to the warrior's blow came as an over-head blow he took his time preparing. I had the time to back up a few steps, certes, but he took long strides and brought the weapon down.
        As I was slightly confused, I had kept backing up, a definite mistake. I had to hop backward and to my left, as my opponent clearly seemed to be making cuts toward my right - and the blade hit the ground, and thus there was only one complete Varus instead of two halves exchanging retorts.
        This time I knew what to do, however, and was moving by the time his muscles untensed and readied themselves to lift the pole-axe. And so, while he lifted his weapon again, I charged past him and aimed a slash at his vulnerable right armpit - there is an artery there, and needless to say, it was not a very enjoyable situation my opponent was in.
        But still he stood, howling with anger and pain. I did not get too close to the sorceror: my opponent swung his weapon blindly and with no aim, managing to hit me in the side, partially with the flat and partially with the smaller spike on the opposite side of the edge.
        As you can imagine, it hurts being tossed six feet to the side and to hug the ground - back of the head first. But of course, it could have been worse, much worse. My opponent toppled, falling long and tall on his face, but that meant nothing.
        Before I could as much as take a breather, I had to roll out of the way of the rush of something horned and striped. It crashed into a few combatants and was instant prey for one of the Eyes or Bleeders - the word 'uniform' meant uniform right now. It was far from easy to discern which they were.
        I had to get to my feet and parry a blow from another beastman, who was properly punched in the cheek by a bloodied Deinell. Once. Twice - and after the beastman toppled, many, many more times. She was still pounding the stunned creature when I assessed the situation quickly, noting that trees had fallen and bursted into flames not far from where the Ravens had flocked from. In the trees a purple and crimson fire raged, and even the ancient sturdy walls had crumbled.
        A glance at the hostile sorceror told me Mairead's magickers had been vanquished, and swiftly so. His clothes were scorched and he had a tear in them on the right thigh, but he remained quite operational. Moreover, he was now surrounded by four beastmen that were keeping everyone a safe distance away with their spears and pole-axes. A fifth, large one, stood closer to the sorcerer, looking ready to place himself between anyone who dared go too close. I saw a Bleeder or Eye try, only to be sent flying straight back into the fray by an angry swipe at their midsections.
        The tingling sensation increased - I saw Manjarr pass by me, hands ablaze and bits of stone floating in circles around his head, but it was not his work. He too had stopped, staring wide-eyedly at the sorceror. The diagrams the sorceror was working into the air or the chants were unfamiliar to me, but the unmistakable feeling of something happening on multiple layers - and on top of that, I realized with a mixture of dread and surprise, the large beastman had magick of his own. The hail of fast-moving stones he sent at Manjarr and me with a few gestures said so.
        Manjarr ducked to the side, which I thought was rather droll in a morbid manner. But the truth is, Fingers are not masters of counter-spells - it takes some time to figure out the best approach to something and more time to actually raise the defense. I saw it better to hug the ground again, lamenting that I had left my cloak behind.
        My midsection sufferred a few stones, but luckily I wore thick, studded leather to shelter my torso. A rock hit my lower back with force that made me wince, and the one that struck my left hand broke a few fingers. Behind me, a few surprised shouts of pain informed me I was the lucky one.
        The ground shook, and I almost fell back to the ground in the middle of my attempt to rise to my feet. Manjarr helped me to stay up, however. "Come on, we have to get out of here."
        "What? Why?"
        "That's a question I'll answer after we get out of here," he growled and whistled over the already dying battle. I turned to watch, and Ganawade was indeed motioning to the rest of our survivors to retreat. There were not that many casualties. The Fists had lost at least one of theirs, but it was neither of the sisters. Aennen seemed to be staring at the sorcerer and their little defensive line with some curiosity, but was forced to break his concentration to maul an opponent with a combination of a punches. He did not like it, I was sure, but he too yelled the order to fall back.
        It was what finally stirred in me the instinct of survival, and, after picking up Manjarr's sword, we ran. The remaining beastmen seemed to give chase for a short distance and then fall back into a protective circle around the sorcerer. Pebbles were being showered at us, as were phantom birds.
        The ground shook again.
        "Doubly damned!" I hissed at Manjarr, who stopped briefly only to design a small schematic of a spell in the air with his fingers. The next moment he was again walking on the air - which was excellent, as I had not stopped to wait for him. While I wondered about the point in this, I ran...
        ...and fell over the edge into sweet oblivion just as I wondered why the treetops seemed to be closer to the ground than earlier.
        Well.
        Suffice to say, hitting the ground after a decently lengthy fall is a painful ordeal, or at least painful and forceful enough to cause a concussion, which makes understanding the present very hard when paired with a few broken bones.
        It would not have happened had I paid attention to what was happening - the fall was not too much to take, but when one does not land one's feet, well, that is a different matter altogether, is it not?
        I have no idea how long it took to regain consciousness, but when I did, all I knew was that somebody had my arm slung over his shoulder and his arm around my waist.
        "Varus?" asked a female voice I now in hindsight believe belonged to Contesq. It came from my left, and I suppose it sounded somewhat disbelieving. "Ouch."
        "Give me a hand, will you?" said a male voice right next to my head. That one I know belonged to Ganawade, because there is just no way that ridiculous holier-than-thou high-falutin accent of his could be copied by someone.
        Besides that, he made it very clear to me later on that he had personally dragged me out of danger.
        "One of these days," he told I had muttered, "you will be appointed as my nanny."
        I am inclined to believe that has become a common, heavily circulated joke among the Eyes. It certainly did among the Bleeders.

        I woke up feeling ill and staring straight into Nyanvara's eyes.
        "Oh no," I groaned, "I have perished and there are demons playing with my soul, torturing it with..."
        "Oh, please... shut it, Varus," she sighed and sat down on a chair, eyes closed. And I shut it.
        Her silence gave me a while to understand that she was there and that I was somewhere elsewhere. Sunlight leaked in from the windows of the large room, and I could see from where I lay that the corridor was straight ahead. Plants grew on the walls - red and yellow flowers, further reinforcing my belief that she had a decent sense of what colours to use.
        Instead of sitting up, I let my head sink back into the pillow. "I suppose you are horribly angry at me," I began and closed my eyes. My back was burning and my left arm was wrapped in bandages - I supposed there was a reason why my left shoulder was wrapped as well. The hand I could understand - I was certainly not going to grip anything with it for a while, even if it seemed as if most of it had been healed. The one thing I applaud the Hands even today - they are still healers unparalleled.
        "Not that much, actually," she said blankly, as if the knowledge confused her somehow. "I'll be honest. What you found there was worth the trouble."
        "And a few wounds?"
        She snorted. "You're expendable to that extent, warhorse." Then she regained the serious bearing she usually bore, taking a pitcher and pouring me some cherry tea. As she handed it to me, she began speaking. "Coerai and the Voices around the Bay hide made contact with the Spirits and travelled together to the big hole left there."
        My stomach lurched, but I kept drinking.
        She poured some for herself. "I won't even bother trying to tell you what else they found - I'm a politician and in charge of logistics." Her mouth twitched. "And the nurse, it would seem."
        I smiled, and truth to be told, it was a shy one. "Thank you. We are in your home, then?"
        "I spoke of the Bay's hide in that manner. You're rhetorical."
        "In a way. How long have I been without sense?"
        She was tempted to say something smart, I could see it, but she instead glanced toward the window, over her right shoulder. "Three days. We have gathered most of what has happened from that bloomer you took with you and a score of others. I'm sure you don't mind that the Voices transported you here in the quickest possible way."
        "How could I? I cannot recall it." Three days. I certainly did not feel that bad. Except for the arm.
        Nyanvara stood up and walked to the window. "Can you stand up?"
        For a moment I considered not even trying, but seeing that Nyanvara was having one of her better days, I made the effort. My back ached as I lay, but its protests were mild when I sat up, so there was no reason to not straighten my feet under me.
        My steps were stiff and still somewhat painful as I walked over to her, to stare at whatever she was staring at. Disappointingly, the view was the same as ever in the hide. It had been my secret wish to see a great force of warriors about to rally and head for battle, or even hail us like they would hail a king and a queen.
        Fanciful thought, is it not? It is my personal dream to be a king when I retire. At the very least, when that day comes, I am allowed to make stingy remarks as much as my heart can stand.
        But at that moment, I was a very tired, wounded old Caedaren, and my nanny was likely preaching at my young nurse. Thus, the older (though none the worse when it came to appearance) nurse stood next to me and kept me company, so I could not even bask in my delusions of grandeur.
        "Do you think your stomach can handle a light breakfast?" Nyanvara asked sweetly, glancing at me amusedly.
        My stomach replied most eloquently, but I saw fit to enforce its answer with a bemused smile and a nod. "'Twould have me in a debt of gratitude." A pause. "In another one."
        "You owe more than gratitude," she said and crossed her hands behind her back, turning and taking slow steps toward the corridor. "But gratitude aside, you're even with us now. Your guesswork and little games over in the Bay almost compromised your own security measures."
        If it was my own, then was it not so that I was allowed to?
        "But," she continued and turned to look at me, looking down at my feet, "as soon as you get some clothes on, come down for and break fast. I will send for Dayamo, as he knows more of the issue... and has something to say," Nyanvara smiled pleasantly.
        Then she turned and left, and I regarded myself.
        "Yes. Clothes. Smashing idea. I wonder why she did not bother to tell me before I got out of bed," I mumbled, turned and slowly and agonizingly, got dressed. My left arm felt partially numb, yet it throbbed like a headache would. I found it hard to grip or manipulate anything small like a button, but unlike Dayamo I favour neither hand, so were I to run into an obstacle, I could still make short work of it. I made a mental note to ask Nyanvara what was wrong with it, and how long I would have to live with one and a half arms.
        My clothes had been washed, which was simply nice. Another reason to thank Nyanvara for later on. Whether or not she was irritating but cordial to me when I was healthy, I do not forget a debt I believe I owe, be it a quip or a smile.
        You see, despite the claims of fools, I do take some things seriously. Such as writing about war.
        
        I loved Nyanvara's house. I never told her that, of course, because she might have taken it in the exactly opposite manner I wanted her to take it. There is a logic hidden in the petite woman's actions, but when you add her logic into the logic of a monolithic man's and scramble them like swallow eggs (adding some salt and parsley in the process makes it taste better), you cannot tell the eggs - logics - apart.
        Her common room, as she liked to call it, was huge, and it extended all the way to the second floor. One could walk to the balcony-corridor on the second floor that also was the only way to get you to Nyanvara's private room and look down at the common room. Paintings, vines and flowers adorned the walls and a place for a fire was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of stone seats. Of course there were some softer seats in the room as well, and in front of them was another place for a fire.
        I descended the stairs slowly, still wrapping my cloak around my left arm as I entered the room. The arm tingled and felt a bit cold, but that was simply my imagination - still, if a simple cloak-wrapping will satisfy my imagination, why not do it?
        Sitting near the smaller fire, Dayamo and Nyanvara were chatting softly and apparently enjoying the conversation, judging by their smiles. Dayamo looked the same as ever, only a bit less tense and worried than normal. More determined, I would say now that I think of it. And like any good hostess, Nyanvara was serving apple and cherry tea with biscuits and rolls, in addition to eggs and sugar.
        Nyanvara graced me with a smile and a stare. "Much better, Varus. Do have a seat."
        "Thank you," I said and pleased her by planting myself firmly on the third seat. I glanced at them both.
        Dayamo drank his tea and flashed his fangs at me in a brief smile before letting his stoic facade return. "You're unbelievable, Varus," he praised mildly.
        "Beg your pardon?" I asked and smiled at Nyanvara as she gave me some cherry tea and a bit of bread. One's stomach is one's treasury, and to pay the taxes, one must gather profit.
        "Young lady La'lyvain. Did the fall beat your memory out your ear?"
        I stared at him. Though he was still serious and quite formal, he spoke with mirth. "Your cheery mood does frighten me, Dayamo. So very much."
        He only smiled lightly. "I can afford to get some sleep now, with somebody like that doing the actual hard work," he explained. Dayamo stared into the fire and mused. "And she's certainly doing a better job at keeping the troops fit," he said, and it was not too hard to detect the very subtle tones of both melancholy and relief.
        "Well," I said, and that was all I said.
        "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly and smiled. "I do think I rambled."
        "Not at all," Nyanvara assured calmly and tilted her head from one side to the other elegantly, hand holding her cup. "She's a charming young woman."
        I kept my face expressionless as I stared at Nyanvara. Dayamo remained nodded casually, yet twitching in a manner ever so slight and hinting.
        "True," I admitted and felt my ears blush. I stared into my tea. As if it was not hard enough to keep my face straight and expressionless as it was!
        "But we had some real things to talk about as well," Dayamo announced, still staring into the fire. "While you were gone, I had Lumbiawe report to me, and... Varus, why are you gloating?"
        "Nothing," I lied. As you may remember, I had almost plotted it so that Contesq would have to do the reporting instead of me, but this was rather nice. I was not about to tell him that.
        He looked at me quizzically for a while. "Well, anyway. Nyanvara?"
        "Yes," she said, and her speech patterns took a turn for the formal again. "Much was decided while you were stone cold out, such as that the situation truly is more severe than we thought."
        "You mean to say that you simply decided to humour a paranoid old man because 'twould..."
        "...keep you busy? Yes. Besides, it seemed to humour the Lady of the Shield," Dayamo added diplomatically and sipped his tea. "Though at first it was merely to please you, and we were curious about the happenings."
        I gawked, goggled and gaped, for I had only been jesting. A look at Nyanvara and her smile told me Dayamo was telling the truth - not that I needed to be assured of his truthfulness.
        Before I could react in any way, Dayamo continued. "First of all, the Voices and Spirits confirmed what we already suspected after hearing the versions of several of the surviving humans, Eyes and Bleeders. The Fists were almost as close-lipped about it as usual, but did support the theory."
        "Please, I am waiting," I said and brandished my cup at Nyanvara. She made good tea.
        "The nature of the magick used by the enemy was extremely... strange, but showed signs of human origins, which would suggest that there is more than King Andre at work here," he said. "Also, they got only some of what they were after, Coerai informs me. The spheres and ghastly scenarios bloomer Lumbiawe spoke much earlier are also gone, but there is something left of the ruins."
        "You're teasing us again," Nyanvara noted.
        "Yes, I am," Dayamo smiled. "Tell me, would you believe that there are old stone houses, filled with ground and debris?"
        "What? 'Twas not a grave site? Then why did everyone tell me 'twas one?"
        "Well," he said and shrugged. "Nobody quite knows. It may just have been assumed, with the ghosts and the ruins."
        It made sense, in a fashion. Some rumours are always believed in, after all. Unfortunately both Nyanvara and I were finding the situation unsatisfactory.
        "So it was something forgotten, and not a graveyard for an elder race - maybe all the way from the Birthing Hour?" asked Nyanvara.
        "I think Coerai might know a bit better," Dayamo smiled. "If she does at all. I think you will have to find someone who knows about these things a little better than we do."
        "Such as?" asked Nyanvara.
        I did not answer, but I knew of one. First I would have to slip away from my nurse. Beautiful as she was.
        "We will look into it later on. But I haven't finished. Give me a while, will you?
        "Another thing that happened was that Master Eye Raeneil sent a hawk to keep an eye on the flying rock in the sky, and several other birds to other directions to warn any hiding dens in its path and to ask them to report back to him.
        "It flew north, and I suppose you all know that King Andre's kingdom is north from here. It might already be there."
        "So we are to assume that King Andre is fiddling with Father's get?" I asked, already considering what I might have to do.
        "Oh yes," said Nyanvara, "but this falls under the juristiction of Clearspring."
        "That it does. At least I will have a chance to talk to Taliat." I rubbed my eyes with my good hand. The situation was horrible. There was still the possibility that either of the countries would declare war, and now that this mess had happened. And if there was a chance of that and the assurance that Father's wilder children were responsible and part of the picture, things suddenly looked frightening.
        The mood was serious thereafter in the room.
        Dayamo spoke, "I will have Lady Clarefaer La'lyvain step things up, and I'm sure the general order to do so will come a bit later."
        "Maybe even to mobilize," I muttered. "I will certainly make sure that the other Carendas understand the severity and maybe even deliver a speech in front of the Grand Council."
        "And if you don't mind," Nyanvara added and glanced at me, "I would like to come with you as a spokesperson from here. I'm allowed, so why not?"
        I smiled. This sort of unity was not unexpected, but at least it was those few things that warmed my 'black heart' - as a certain Caedaren described it. "Why not."
        "But we won't leave until tomorrow - I want to have a word or two with my little cousin, you see," Nyanvara added and glanced at Dayamo.
        That glance, I was and am still quite sure, marked that she was calculating something.
        It was actually quite usual of her, which was nearly off-beat and amusing considering the context.

        Later that night, when Nyanvara had already gone to bed, I sat in her common room smoking my pipe and staring at the fire. I was ready to almost bet this was a mess big enough for a visitor of the peculiar sort to come to speak to me, so I mentally cursed her for keeping me waiting - and waited for her to arrive. As I could no longer run away from my nurse, I had to take my chances where I could still take them.
        I turned the hour glass thrice, and somewhere before the fourth one, I dozed off. The following morning began with Nyanvara chiding me softly, and so I knew she had not come to me, and that was fine. If she had not, she had her reasons.
        I cursed her some more, of course.
        

        "So who was this one person?" Amanda asked me bluntly. "A lover? Ally? Old friend, such as Tikr?"
        "Oh, not as old," I admitted. "'Twas... you shall have to wait for a while. I met her later on."
        She wrinkled her nose at me.
        "I am surprised you have not decided to bother me about the city of the dead yet," I added and received a smile.
        "I'm patient, Varus."
        As if. "More so than Ottaviano?"
        "Surprising, isn't it?"
        "One could say so," I said and flashed my teeth. There was very little I could add, and Ottaviano was due to arrive the following morning. But it was true that Amanda was more patient than her husband - she had not bothered me at all, but had undoubtedly been spoiling for this bit of my spiel.
        She petted a cat and cleared her throat. "Care to tell me what went on with Lord Dayamo and Clarefaer?"
        I did not correct her pronounciation. "If I told you 'twould spoil the suspense..."
        "Say no more," Amanda smiled and lifted her hand.
        It was at this point that I started to wonder what the damn it was that made her so happy. If you have any sense left in you, Ottaviano, if she tells you news, you had best be overjoyed or face a thunderstorm.
        Oh, and tell me what she told you, if you do not mind? I am positively itching to know.