Gabe3e

All is again as it should be, though the tale of it is hardly to be believed, so strange and wondrous were the happenings of last night.

Kalcryx was decidedly wrong, and for the first time in my life I was glad to enter Port Kir, for I had hope we would find some manner of aid for him. There was no wizard in Port Kir with the power to restore him, however — or at least I assume so. The more accomplished caster would not deign to speak with us — and so Jaran and I closed our eyes that night with worried minds and uneasy hearts. Not long after I had started dreaming, a banging clamour woke me — G’Kar at the door, himself greatly anxious.

He spoke to us with great fervor. Clangeddin’s word was that Kalcryx had been taken from Helm’s grace, and G’Kar thought if Kalcryx atoned for his sins, his faith and his heart would be restored. The difficulty lay in sincerity, for if Kalcryx did not truly repent, our efforts would be wasted, and we had not seen in him any remorse or regrets or even concerns. And even if we could convince him he was astray, I was not certain he would care…

We gathered up William and James with the Lifebringer, and together went after Kalcryx. He had volunteered for the night watch and could have been anywhere about the city, so we went first to the Protector’s temple, asking after Kalcryx’s route. We followed the path from both ends, Jaran in what we hoped to be the longer leg, and the rest of us the other way. Not long afterward, Jaran and Kalcryx intersected us, carrying with them a wounded man — a thief, we were told, who had sought to relieve Kalcryx of some of his treasures. I could hardly believe such an act of foolishiness; Kalcryx is intimidating enough in his charity.

The man was brought to justice and we then tried to do the same for Kalcryx. He agreed to G’Kar’s spell of repentence, and G’Kar unfurled his scroll and began to read, but he did not complete his incantation. He froze suddenly, and in a strange discontinuity, he had then suddenly two scrolls in his hand. With great urgency, he thrust this new scroll toward Jaran, proclaiming its efficacy was vouched by a high authority — no less an authority than Helm, himself, he later explained.

Jaran seemed no less surprised than I, and even more so when, after she unrolled the scroll and studied it, she proclaimed the spell scribed upon it to be a Wish. There were many confused and contentious words, and Kalcryx nearly fled from us, but in the end Jaran read the scroll, wishing Kalcryx was restored to his self of a few days past.

And so he has been, pure heart and peg leg and all. He has no memories of any events that transpired since Zazesspur, and I am not certain if I am sad for him. To be ripped out of time, become unsynchronized with the world… The very thought is unnerving. And yet, if I suffered so from such ill magic, would I want the memory of that insanity?

We are a day from Zazesspur, now.

We have with us two new travelmates, of sorts. Jaran met us at the gate with a large black cat. Mori she calls it. It is an uncanny creature, and behaves in a manner most unlike any cat I’ve ever seen… It clings to her side, docile and obedient.

And so also I have attracted myself a little pet, a puppy of four or five months, with shaggy golden hair and tongue always lolling. As I waited for the others near the gate, I watched a boy selling four such. His face was stained with dried tears, and he did seem most sad-hearted and desperate. His house is small, he told one man –an elderly devotee of Azuth– and his mother would allow the beasts no longer.

It seems he had been about the city, in the bazaars and at the gates for three days, and this was his last — if he did not sell the puppies by day’s end, he must give up his dog, their mother, as well. And as I watched him and them, the puppies and their elegant mother, I thought how glad I would be to have such a companion, myself. So I bought the last, as we left.

His name is Uri. He sleeps at my side now, on his back, without worries for his exposed belly, with his still too-large paws hanging queerly in the air. I could swear he smiles, such is his contentment. He warms my side, and in my heart there is a warm place too, because of him.

We make our way to Port Kir tomorrow. Kalcryx is clearly no longer himself since he put on that helmet, the one from Lord Ordath, which eludes all diviniation, and we worry for him.

Frustration and insult… that is what I have earned today from Zonas’s promise to me. We went as summoned to the castle. He did not speak with us himself; it was from the Mystran, Sir Justblade, my companions took their orders, and it was the Mystran I called upon to fulfill Zonas’ word to me, in his stead.

“Certainly,” he said. “You seek a husband?” His manner was so sincere, and since he is a paladin, like my Lady Faye, I cannot think he meant offense by it, but still I am offended. He told me no more than I already knew –the greatest mages do not stay in Zazesspur long, but are soon seduced to Calimshan.

Which makes me question again Zonas’ power… Why has he not sought riches in the south? But that is easily answered by his loyalty, I suppose. It is wicked of me to wish him weaker and less noble, merely because I am vexed by him.

My companions have received their orders. Tethyr looks to reclaim Mosstone soon, but first she must isolate the town from the support of Amn. We –they, I should say– are instructed to seek and disrupt the supply lines, with free license to execute extreme prejudice in our task.

The wild half-breeds have secured employment at our sides. They risk their lives for 500 pieces of gold, and I risk my life for… I know not what, but the Crown does not employ me.

And so we all of us leave Zazesspur tomorrow, and I am little the better for it, though I have not lost so much as I feared.

Kalcryx is very strange today… I wonder if the pain of his crimes is too great a strain on him…?

Word has come at last! Tomorrow we are to Castle Zazesspur, where G’Kar and Kalcryx and Jaran receive their orders, and where I hope Zonas will fulfill his word.

We have not been called to Castle Zazesspur, and so I am given one more day for my studies. Loremaster Ynnessa –that is Denier’s librarian– has been most helpful in finding likely scrolls and books for my research. Sadly, the words I read are not so enlightening.

The events of the Year of the Morning Star… I do not know what signifigance they may have to me. The mad Manshoon allies with beholders, the Lady of Mysteries’ chosen, Elminster –a name I know well from my days with Delgonar– makes a new home in Shadowdale, a scandal among the Suldusk magi… I wonder what Lyta knows of that; she is one of their rank, after all.

And still the Ten Black Days march on before me… Three years some nobles held out, beseiged, before abandoning their homes. How sad, how terrified they must have felt, sneaking out under starlight while the armies slept…

And how utterly useless is their history to me.

Well!

I cannot say I know what I should be feeling. I suppose I should be relieved, for my companions, G’Kar and Jaran and Kalcryx, who have become family to me, are safe and free again!

That is to say they are free of prison. They have paid a goodly fine for their trespasses, and they have been branded with the device of the Crown. They are as property –an unnerving thing, for it seems as slavery, and in all of Tethyr I never thought there was any such thing– and will spend their lives in service to Tethyr as penance.

But they shall not spend the next thirty years shaping stones or building castles. They will roam much as they always have, free to defend their nation and collect the spoils. And now I think my destiny is not entwined with theirs, for I must go to Calimport, or Waterdeep, or to Candlekeep –that I would prefer above all others!– to fulfill my obligations.

I very much doubt I will learn much travelling with them, now, but I cannot stay forever in Zazesspur. This library is not so large to keep my interest, and I have not the coin yet to travel very far, sadly.

Soon we will be called upon to return to the castle, to learn what mission is assigned to us. To them, I should say. I hope to speak to Zonas (Lord Athunsun, he is called here), for he has promised to me to help me find a “mentor, father, husband, or whathaveyou”, and I mean to hold him to his word.

He is a very strange man. A part of my companions’ sentence was to issue an apology, and in his acceptance of it, he turned his eyes on me –and with his eyes, came the eyes of all the others assembled there. I wished to crawl beneath my seat– and said again that some things must be let go.

I cannot know what he means by it. In truth, he knows near nothing of me, and in his well-meaning arrogance, he only assumes I’ll find use in his advice.

But it entertains me to imagine he knows something of my parentage, that he is bound to silence by honour, or shame, perhaps. I cast myself as the last scion of a high house, and he as a loyalist who arranged our escape from a rebellious people during the Ten Black days… Or maybe he is better as a rebel, regretful now in his maturity, wounded by his past misdeeds, but still fearful of revealing his secret. He is too young, of course, and Flanna is no name for a Lady, but still, it makes for an amusing bard’s tale, no?

Much more amusing than the Ten Black Days themselves, I fear. I am weary of them, but I have been granted some time here at Denier’s temple and I must not waste it. I will light another candle and apply myself to my studies until it burns low.

I have never before seen a trial, though I am certain what I have witnessed today is not commonplace.

Jaran, G’Kar and Kalcryx were brought, shackled and stripped of their belongings –though Kalcryx wore a suit of plate armour I have never seen before, and the red cloak and holy devices of Helm– before the magistrates. They spoke few words on their crimes, denying not that the treasonous act had been committed, but stating it had been committed in error.

The deliberations were but brief, and the magistrates returned with grim sentences –not death for treason, as I had feared, but twenty-nine years in sum of hard labour, half a year’s imprisonment, a week of humiliation in the city’s square, and fines totally near six thousand gold.

And just as the magistrate began to declare his word as final, the doors to my left were thrown open, and two figures I recognized –from my own memory and from description– stood in the door. The smaller one radiated light, and I knew him as the Oracle. The other seemed to absorb all light around him, like… like nothing I have never seen before, giving off shadows in light’s place. He bore great wings, red armour I knew well, and a sword that slowly dripped blood…

Jarl. Though his form was changed, I knew this… I cannot quite call him a man in good conscience… I knew he could be no other.

The magistrates cried out in alarm, demanding to know what powers had entered their court. Jarl answered –his voice… so terrible, I shudder to remember it now– and demanded my companions be set free.

“You will do as he says!” the Oracle declared, and he approached the dais where the magistrates, where Zonas and his companions, and my roadmates stood. He cast back his cloak as he stormed the long, broad aisle, and where before there was a bright but gentle light, suddenly there was a blinding brilliance. When it faded, the aged person of the Oracle had become a half-elf. He announced he was Kouraf the Diviner, and demanded to speak with the magistrates alone.

We in the audience waited in silence, for though we would normally all of us begin muttering with our neighbors over this irregularity, we were too terrified to speak or even move more than to breathe and blink, for Jarl still stood on the dais, and though he did nothing threatening, he is threat itself.

My companions felt no such petrification, and conversed with Jarl a little, though no words of theirs could span the distance to my ears. They even seemed to smile occasionally, as friends would.

After long moments, the Oracle (or I should say Kouraf the Diviner, perhaps), returned with the magistrates, and the magistrates announced that they must reconsider their sentence.

My companions have unfinished business, it seems… A service to perform and a destiny to fulfill.

I wonder, am I a part of that destiny?

Well, I shall not find out until tomorrow, at least. The trial will be re-convened and a new sentence issued.

I have found a temple library of Deneir. The librarian smiled as she greeted me, saying she knew me as a scribe by the inkstains on my thumb. I did not tell her I have spent more ink on wizardry than scribework of late, nor did I have much chance to. Words flow from her freely, even while she reads, for she mumbles as if in conversation with the author.

I think I shall stay the night here. There is a very plump chair near the tomes of the arcane Art and alchemy , and the library does not seem to close or sleep. Though I have twice dozed off, and the watch has just called out mid-night, the librarian does not seem to wish me to leave.

I think I should have a very pleasant stay here, if it were not for the sadness of my purpose.

There is still no word on the date of the trial.

We have come at last to Zazesspur.

I am very weary, not only from walking, for this city is large, and I have visited many diverse shops and temples, but from the noise and strangeness and sheer… quantity of life here. I cannot imagine there are many larger cities in this world than Zazesspur, nor any so strangely jumbled. Square, stone-hewn buildings stand side-by-side with curving, white plastered spires that should rise out of the sands of Calimshan, not this river valley, and both stand side-by-side with canvas-roofed shanties in open bazaars.

The people, too, are no less jumbled. Never in one day have I seen so many races mingling so thoroughly… men and dwarf-kind and elves and the small folk… Many of the men are quite dark-skinned, too, and not from the sun’s touches alone.

I have never felt more conspicuous and alien to a place than in Zazesspur. I am a turnip in a crystal bowl here, plain and dirty and wholly out of place. I am outfitted for the Wealdath, for cold nights on hard ground, for days of walking on dusty roads. The people here favour bright silks, heavy embroidery in gold and silver thread, and gems. And the women… How shall I say it? The style for women here is… sparing. I have seen countless bare bellies, today, and bare hips. Thighs slip out between high slits in gauzy skirts with each step, and the rolling curves of tawny bosoms rise above jeweled bodices… The public women of Velen have more shame for their nudity!

It is a queer thing, and rather funny. As we entered town and word of Sir Lucas Justblade’s return spread, many young women converged on him, waving and swooning. He is like my Lady Faye, I believe, pious and conducting himself according to stricter morals than most. And, though for all the world it seemed a brothel’s most wanton inmates crowded round Sir Justblade’s steed, he but smiled and clasped their hands! There is little curiosity in bared flesh here, but I am stared at for my modesty! Such is Zazesspur.

But I have found a supplier of fabrics, and I have contracted the aid of a needlewoman to aid me in making myself more suitable garments. I have also purchased a gown for court, for I hope to give testimony. I can only hope it will be fitted in time. There is not yet a date set for the trial.

We are now not long to Zazzespur, I am told. Another day’s ride should bring us within the city walls, and tomorrow night I shall get a proper meal, a proper bath, and a proper bed for the night.

Ach, am I not the most despicable, faithless creature to anticipate it so? I can only hope the Queen’s prison is more comfortable than another night on cold ground under the open sky. But, I think G’Kar said, a comfortable prison is still a prison.

I have hope, though. Kalcryx, and these past few mornings, even G’Kar, have been allowed to pray, have been given greater and greater freedoms. Perhaps I am merely wishful, but I believe that Zonas, before he left us, was convinced of their worth, that he understood my companions were guided to their crimes through deception… If the magistrates have any wisdom, they will see the truth.

But, in truth, the crimes were committed, and cannot be erased… though badly misled, my companions are not blameless… If the magistrates have any wisdom, they will see that truth, also. Justice is not mercy, after all.

But if there is no room for mercy, we would all be hanged by now. The act alone must not decide it… Intention must be considered, if it can be known. In a way, my companions are themselves victims, of their own crimes and of the deceptions perpetrated upon them. The guilt they must feel at harming Tethyr so is in itself a lifelong punishment…

Ach! See how I have argued myself right round again? I shall never be a judge.