Turaz

“I don't see what my purpose here is.” said the knight.

“All will be revealed.” Sidâl assured him. The two, plus a silent Aharôs, were walking through the Upper District; it was night. Where they were going, Turaz had no idea, but it was somewhere along this tree-lined backstreet. All the houses and shops were dark. Well, almost all, a few candles still burned at this hour. Turaz wondered what was keeping those people up.

“For now,” Aharôs said, “you're to make sure nothing ill becomes of us.” Aharôs had been the one to ask him to come in the first place.

“How can I do that with no weapon?” asked Turaz. They had told him not to go out armed after dark in the Upper District, it only would attract trouble. They didn't elaborate on why.

“Think creatively.” said Sidâl.

“And can't you take care of yourself? You're a sorcerer, after all.”

“I want to avoid making any scenes.” Sidâl shrugged. “Only a fool calls attention to himself in my business. A fool, or a man of destiny.”

“Are you a man of destiny?” Turaz questioned.

“I should hope not!” laughed Sidâl. “But I know of one. Have you heard of Ezarethîz?”

“...Yes, actually.” said Turaz, after some moments of thought. “The name is familiar, at least.”

“He was the greatest sorcerer who ever lived, born over a thousand years ago.” Sidâl spoke, in a reverent tone. “It was said he could play on the wills and desires of others like you or I would play a harp. His skill in our art was on par with his deceit, and his deceit was bested only by his cunning.”

“Hold on.” said the knight, as a memory of his youth returned. “Is this the Lord Ezarethîz from the Song of Sîvôs?”

Sidâl sighed, and frowned. “Yes, they are the same. But the Song of Sîvôs is a highly fictionalized-”

“I knew it! Sîvôs put his horn to his bloodied mouth, and blew with all his might! The earth shook and the mountains resounded, for a day and a night!” sang Turaz, reciting the Song by heart. Sîvôs has been a childhood hero to him, a brave knight who had led the rearguard of the Emperor's forces as they retreated to safer ground. Lord Ezarethîz, an evil sorcerer, was making war on Sarathûl; his wicked servants had attempted to dispatch the rearguard in an ambush so that they might fall upon the main column without warning. Sîvôs had prevented such a disaster, at the cost of his own life.

“We'll never live down that damned Song.” grumbled Sidâl. “And it didn't even happen like that!”

“That's not what we remember.” Turaz told him. “There is no room for facts in history.”

“Hmmph.” snorted the sorcerer. It was a very rare moment where he had the best of Sidâl.

“He's right.” Aharôs said. He had nearly forgotten his King was with them. They continued on, with Turaz whistling the rest of the song to himself.

“As I was saying,” continued Sidâl, “Ezarethîz was very much a man of destiny. Song or not, he did lead an army to conquer Sarathûl, though he did fail. But not before becoming the most powerful of mortals who ever lived.”

“Even more powerful than King Aikâlon?” asked Turaz.

“I'd wager so.” Sidâl agreed. “Had Ezarethîz been around in those dark days, Vahâdrîn would very well have won.” The way in which Sidâl said the Great Enemy's cursed name made Turaz ever so slightly uneasy. It was like he didn't even care if he brought ill fate upon himself by using it. Not that Turaz was exactly a superstitious man... But it never hurt to be careful!

“What if Lord Ezarethîz had fought against the Great Enemy instead?” Turaz wondered. “I mean, the Great Enemy wanted nothing less than the destruction of the human race, and Ezarethîz was still human. Wasn't he?”

“That depends, my good knight, on what one exactly considers to be human.” Sidâl replied. He said nothing more on the matter. Aharôs nodded along, as if to agree.

Turaz and the King were led through more winding, quiet streets, until they came to an unremarkable building with an unremarkable door. “In we go.” said Sidâl, knocking seven times. It opened silently, and on the other side was a woman. She looked like she was from further south; not many people in Razadrî or the Vûrdasha had small noses or tanned skin. Not to mention, her style of clothing was unfamiliar; hanging too lightly and loosely to be from Turaz or Aharôs's part of the world.

“Good evening, Avenîl.” spoke the sorcerer. It seemed they knew each other.

“You must be King Aharôs. But who is he?” she nodded to Turaz.

“Security.” Sidâl said. The woman opened the door wider, and stepped aside.

“Come in, then.” she said. They were in a narrow hall, one with a spiral stair leading up a floor, and down to what could only be a basement. There was another room to his right, but the door was closed. This is an exceedingly cramped home, Turaz thought.

“How was your trip?” asked Sidâl.

“A bit on the cold side, I admit. I much prefer this climate.” Avenîl sighed. She was definitely a southerner then. “But, everything went as planned, at least. Almost no unexpected trouble for once, aside from an incident with Thîran we heard about.”

“I heard about it too. It could have been disaster, Avenîl.” Sidâl scolded.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Turaz interrupted, making his displeasure clear. And what kind of name was Thîran anyway? Who would name someone The Hungerer? Was hungerer even a word?

“Oh, it's of nothing worth you worrying over.” the sorcerer assured him.

“I hope not.” Aharôs said coldly.

“It could have been disaster,” Avenîl agreed, “but it wasn't. That's what matters. And speaking of what matters...”

“Yes, right.” nodded Sidâl. “Bring the box out.” The sorcerer produced a black shard of crystal from his jacket, dangling on a string. I swear there's a little purple light in there, thought Turaz. Maybe it was just a trick on his eyes, though. For some reason, he recalled seeing this black crystal before, but where? He couldn't pin it down. Avenîl vanished down the spiral stair.

“Why do I get the feeling I've seen that before?” asked Aharôs.

“I was wondering the same thing.” muttered the knight.

“I carry many little crystals, though none as special as this. I gave one to Tempest once, to help ward off her nightmares. I fear she lost it in the Far North though...” Sidâl shook his head. “The carelessness of young girls strikes again.”

“Certainly it does...” agreed the King of Athair. Tempest was quite careless at times; Aharôs, and to a lesser degree Turaz, knew it better than anyone else. Except maybe for Lady Snowy… Avenîl returned, bearing the box Sidâl mentioned.

“Here it is!” she said, more eagerly than was proper for a mere box. The box in question was small, only the size of his helmet, if not smaller; made of unadorned but very old and weathered wood. Avenîl opened it, revealing a dark crystal sphere nestled in a cloth padding. Well, it wasn't entirely a sphere; there was a chunk missing, as if someone had cut it into four pieces down the center and put only three back together. Sidâl placed his own crystal near it; the shard warped and bent, before joining seamlessly with the rest. And then what had been three-fourths became seven-eighths, as if it had always been that way.

“That was it?” remarked Sidâl. “I expected a little more...”

“A little more what?” Avenîl prompted.

“I don't know, just something more than that.” He put a hand on his chin, before waving to Aharôs. “No matter, though. Come, sire, your audience is sought after.”

“About time.” said the King under his breath.

“With who?” Turaz asked.

“That does not concern you. Stay out here, if you would.” Sidâl requested, ushering Aharôs up the spiral stairs.

“Of course...” said Turaz quietly. ...not! The three of them retreated up the stairs, leaving Aharôs in the empty hall. The first thing he did once they were out of earshot was check to see if the closed door to his right was unlocked. It wasn't, unfortunately. There goes that idea... But the stairs weren't closed off to him.

Turaz unlaced his boots, and walked in only his socks to the stairs. He was silent, like a stalking cat. None would hear the one-eyed knight's approach. Slowly, he crept up the spiral, using his hands to take some weight off his feet. He could hear muffled voices; and a peek above the landing revealed a well-furnished room. There were chairs, a very long chair they called a sofa, an Ar-Athazîon invention, and many shelves. The shelves mostly bore strange things with he could not describe; little machines and other devices of unknown purpose.

There were skulls, too; of Equestrians, of a threateningly large bird, of a small dragon, of something he couldn't even recognize, and of men. There were many skulls of men, some small, and some very big indeed. Many of them were positively ancient-looking. One skull had an even bigger helmet engulfing it, one with no brim nor plumes of any sorts and rectangular eye-holes. He'd never seen a helmet quite like it before. A sword as tall as Turaz leaned against the wall behind it. Both were forged of a dark, iron-like metal.

But, there was no one to be found, the voices were coming from behind yet another door. He continued his furtive advance, and put his ear against the keyhole.

“...Yes, master, this is the one.” Sidâl was saying.

“Hmm... So you say.” replied a voice, soft and smooth. It was distant, like talking to someone a thousand miles away, and yet, it was still quiet and unstrained. “Step closer, Aharôs Loiar. I have not been able to see in a very long time, and I much desire to know your face.”

“You're the one that's been helping me, through Sidâl.” Aharôs said.

“Ah, how you creatures change with time.” the voice continued, ignoring what Aharôs was saying. “To see the world in color and shape again... Wondrous! It has been an eternity since...”

“My Lord,” Sidâl said, “I do not wish to offend, but the King is a very forthright man...”

“So I have heard.” the voice agreed. “The daughter of an acquaintance of mine implied as much.” Perhaps he meant Avenîl, Turaz guessed. He didn't know who else the voice could be talking about. Tempest was a remote possibility, but there was no way she could have come in contact with this thing before. That would also mean that Maelstrom had been an acquaintance of this voice, which Turaz had no evidence to support whatsoever. “Tell me, Aharôs Loiar, why is it you have sought my aid?”

“I have used your agent as a means to bring criminals to justice and take by force what was mine by right, though denied to me. And I would continue to do so.” Aharôs stated sternly.

“A noble goal.” commented the distant voice. “But all things come with a price...”

“As I expected. I am used to paying for what should already have been in my possession.” sighed the King. “I stand here making deals with phantoms while my half-brother plunges fifteen years of my work into ruin. What manner of thing are you, anyway? Too petty to be a demon, too worldly to be an agent of Heaven. Though in these days, I question if Heaven would even bother to send an agent down to us...”

“I assure you, I am neither.” the voice spoke. “I am a champion of justice, if you must call me anything. I am a soul of principle, I could not yield that principle when it was convenient to, and so I was locked away for who knows how long.”

“Then we are kindred, of a sorts.” Aharôs said. “I could not yield what was right in the face of what was wrong, and now here I am. A king with neither crown nor throne.”

“My sympathies. But, as our principles stand, so do those of transaction and contract.” the voice pressed.

“No demon would follow the standards of the market that devoutly.” said Aharôs again. “Whatever you are, I doubt you are a being of evil. Very well, mysterious benefactor, name your price for your continued aid.” There was silence, then; or words too lightly spoken for Turaz to hear. “I will not have failure as an option, then. I accept your terms.” Aharôs stated.

“I am glad we could come to an arrangement.” the voice replied. “I will be in contact again, soon. There are many affairs I must tend to, many things to catch up on.”

“We will take our leave, master.” Avenîl said. Turaz made a hasty but muted retreat back down the stairs, and into the hall. Without time to lace them up again, he pretended to be emptying his boots of any debris inside.

“What are you up to now?” Sidâl asked, as he descended.

“I swear I got a rock in here. Something was poking my feet.” said Turaz.

“Fooleries.” snorted Aharôs. “My task here is done, let us return to the palace.”

“So soon?” questioned the sorcerer. “You've only just arrived.”

“You have been to Highcrest itself, have you not, Sidâl?” asked Aharôs.

“That is so, but why- Ah, I think I see...”

“I will need to make use of your memories, then. At a later time.” Aharôs got a far-off look about him. “There are plans in motion, sorcerer. We cannot turn back now.”

“What plans?” Avenîl asked.

“1505 is going to be a big year in the history of mankind. As will the years following it as well.” the King told them. He folded his hands behind his back, frowning into the distance. “The last of the old world will soon be swept away. The winds of change howl on the horizon.”

Sidâl smiled slyly. “Oh, they certainly do, sire. They certainly do.”

Which of the two’s manners concerned Turaz more, he could not say.

Author's Note

So, why did they even bring Turaz along? Aharôs had a reason to bring him... I wonder what it was.

I apologize for how short this chapter is, last week was midterms part two and... yeah. Time for writing is in short supply. Guess who's been reading the Song of Roland for history class, though. Tempest chapter next weekend.