A Tale of Fire and Water

Travels, Promotions, and An'alin

Emily had to hand it to Garant, he was making their journey a lot easier. He was playing for their room and board at each inn, and basically gotten them free passage out of Gand. He said they were now in a place called Hote, he said it was an area in which one of Azria's consorts reigned. Some of these consorts were Azria's trusted friends, and some were just there to give government over the area. The local governor didn't seem to care much about Azria, one way or the other, seeing as some men a few tables over were chanting a rather uncensored song about Azria's travels. Garant saw her in the crowd, and nodded. She returned the gesture, before standing up, and heading for the stairs. Suddenly, she was already there, skipping the journey up the stairs and down the hall.
         She had been having an awful lot of strange things happen to her over the past few days. Sometimes she said things without thinking, and people nearby would laugh as though she had told a good joke, or nod gravely as though at some tragic news. She couldn't remember what she said, most of the time, and Garant hadn't been the recipient of one of these moments yet, so she couldn't ask him. She had always been scatterbrained, even in her “old life”, which Garant insisted had resulted from a corruption of her re'alin, her life force. She thought she understood it, though she had yet to be able to manipulate it. Garant always laughed when she asked if he could teach her, saying, “If I wanted to learn to use that witchcraft, I wouldn't have started singing.”
         Emily went over to her bag, which had been thrown against the wall when she arrived, and pulled out Dustin's book. She hoped he was alright... he seemed to be able to handle himself, and somehow, she didn't think she had seen the last of him. There was a character in this story he had given her by the same name, which she found amusing. He must have been named after him. He really was a subtle one. Everyone else in the story was glorified in battle and song and feats of strength, and he hadn't stood out in any way. She flipped back to the section in which he had been introduced, flopping down onto the bed in the process. Garant and she were not sharing a room, she had seen to that, and so, despite the clamor drifting up to the room from the bar, she was able to relax and read.

         Ch. 5: The Final Member

         Dustin settled himself calmly into the stockade, wriggling a bit to make sure he wouldn't get pinched as the guard slammed it shut, with a bang, and locked it. His captor looked down at him, patronizingly. “Son, how do you somehow manage to get thrown in here, week after week, yet never  merit  a higher punishment? More importantly, why do you get thrown in here every week?”
         Dustin looked up at him with his blue eyes, unable to move his neck as the stockade had been locked. He blew his long blond hair out of his face, so the guard could see he was looking at him.“It's simple. I return everything I steal.”
         “But why even steal? Especially from the Colonel! One of these days, they're gonna step up your punishment, and you'll be headed straight for the gallows.”
         Dustin thought it over for a second, before replying. “Then, that'll be a day to remember.”
         The guard was bewildered, but shrugged off Dustin's comment. “Dumb-ass kids...think they're invincible.” he muttered to himself, as he took his place at the corner of the street maybe 20 feet away.
         Dustin twisted his hand, trying to see if he was yet flexible enough to pull it out of it's circular prison. He found himself unable to do so. “Any chance of you letting me off the hook?”
         Dustin could see the guard, in his mind's eye, rolling his eyes. “Dustin, you don't learn anything if you go through the entire day in there, there's no way I'm letting you out before then. The public is going to have it's way with you, now, and I'm not going to lift a finger to stop them. You have to mature someday, and damn quick too, if this doesn't do it, nothing will.”
         Dustin sighed, rolling his eyes in return. “Oh, woe is me. What is a poor, no good thief to do.”
         “One of these days, you gonna piss someone off that isn't as patient as Colonel Ispin, and you'll wish you had listened to me.”
         Dustin, realizing his choice of response was greatly limited by the fact he was on his knees, kept his silence, and waited for the first of the public to leave their house to discover there was someone to peg food at. This was going to be an interesting experience.


         It took more than an hour for Dustin to get a glimpse of anyone other than the self-righteous guard at the corner. He saw her enter the town, quietly, at the dawning hours of the morning, eyes searching. She was ready, placing her feet rather than walking, as she approached the center, when her eyes settled on Dustin. They grew wide, but soon returned to a normal state. She straightened, Dustin had not noticed she had been hunched over, brushed her dark brown hair out of her eyes distractedly, and examined him openly. He cocked an eyebrow, grinned, and waved at her with two fingers from where his hands were trapped in their wooden cage. She grinned sadly, and shook her head. She then turned around, and entered an inn across the street. Dustin's face immediately lost it's cheery demeanor. Really, that was just a habit he had, people called him cocky. He wasn't cocky, he was more self-conscious than most people in Islia. All he did was provoke them, he needed excitement in his life. Sometimes he would go a little over the line, sure. But he was necessary, to keep the town laughing while they fought through this damn war. And if that meant appearing to be a juvenile vagrant, than that was what he would assume as his character. Maybe he was obnoxious, but everyone needs someone to be critical of once in a while, or else they'll criticize good people.

         He'd seen that girl before though. Last week, when he had been put on public trial in the same square to which he was now bound to by wood and metal, he had seen her amongst the crowd, shaking her head, sadly. He had been let off the hook, that time, as he pleaded ignorance of the fact that borrowing indefinitely was, in fact, stealing. Really, he thought the town had just gotten sick of him. What was she doing back? She had obviously left town by then, but she came back, and repeated the same motions to him. He listened to the steady patter of the elegant fountain that the town had mounted in the center square, a testament to Asuara's power. Really, the high pitched splashing of water against water didn't exactly drum up patriotism in Dustin's heart. He thought the entire fucking ego competition was stupid, all it did was interfere with peaceful people's daily lives, and force him to get their mind off of it. He waited a few minutes more, and saw a group of five people start to approach, jibing him, and laughing. He smiled, the day was almost upon him.

         “See, look at you, you're a mess. Stay out of trouble now, okay?” The guard whispered to him as he unlocked the stockade, freeing Dustin's, now red raw, wrists. “I'll keep it in mind.” Dustin croaked. his voice box had been constrained the entire day, and now it was noticeably deeper than usual. “See you next week.”

         The guard shot a glare at him, and began the Changing, with his replacement, an elaborate ceremony that, to Dustin, was an outdated ritual that only made the necessity of trading off duty a long, drawn out, complicated process. Dustin turned away, heading for the inn he saw that girl enter, until he saw her, standing by the fountain, examining him curiously, like a fascinating rock formation or an unusual sight. He walked up to her, noting that her eyes followed his every move, still emitting that curious demeanor. He stood in front of her, but she still remained silent. He noted her apparel, tattered leather rags that clashed drastically with her pale, moonlit face. She then drew back, and-

         Someone knocked on the door, and Emily started. Slamming the book shut, and jumping to her feet, she called out. “Who is it?”
         “It's the town guard, here to arrest you, Emily Davis.” A croaking voice spoke through the door. “You can come easy, or we can kill Garant. His singing sucked anyway, you'll be doing us a favor.”
         Emily rolled her eyes, and opened the door, Garant already halfway through his next bit. “Oh, help me, help- Oh, good, you opened the door. Now I know I can trust you if a situation like that ever-”
         “Garant, shut up and get in.”
         “Yes ma'am.” Garant strode through the doorway, and Emily closed it behind him.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to see that, under pressure, you would opt to save me. Good job, by the way, you passed the test.”
         “Are you ever serious?”
         “Only when it's about a girl, then I'm ferocious.”
         “Spare me, how much did you get?”
         “Why? It's my money, I didn't see you doing anything-”
         “How much?”
         “About 30 silver pieces.”
         Emily's forehead creased. “How much is that?”
         “You are clueless, aren't you?” Garant grinned. “It's enough to buy one meal.”
         “Yeah, right.”
         “Fine, we'll get you a weapon, okay? Just don't kill me with it.”
----------------------------------------------------------------
         Zaria was staring into his new mirror, when Sichar knocked on his doors. The new design was far more intricate, and ornate. His reflection scoffed. He only did so a half second after it, he didn't need these “fancy” things to survive, but he needed them for his reputation. If he became once more their show puppet, the great Ender of the War of the Ancients, he might just-
         A knock on the door drove Zaria out of his inner monologue. Thank God Azria hadn't taken hold yet, at least. “What is it Sichar?”
         Zaria's bumbling manservant entered the room cautiously. “Is it you, my Lord?”
         “No, it's just me, friend.”
         Sichar visibly relaxed, and cleared his throat. “The Elementist Relatives, are here, sir.”
         Zaria felt like cold water had been dropped over his head, and his blood turned to cold mercury, slowly muscling it's way through the delicate veins of his body. It was happening again, the mirror gleamed behind him. His mouth spoke. “Well, that's good news then. Bring them to me.”
         Sichar bowed out of the room, and once the door closed, Zaria felt his body return to normal. He gasped, but was still calm. He turned back to his mirror. “You said you'd never force your way again, Azria...”
         His reflection grinned. “Sorry, thought you might appreciate looking like a leader, in front of your little underlings. My mistake, should I leave you to deal with Ke'ith and Lourne by yourself? I'm sure they'd just love the real you.”
         “Empty threats don't frighten the smallest ant, friend.”
         His reflection sighed. “True, true. I would never let you get us both killed, now would I?” Their eyes made contact. “Now, would you kindly?”
         Zaria sighed. Placing his elbows on either side of the mirror, he pressed his forehead to it, and relaxed his mind, letting his An'alin take hold. He could feel him, his hands sliding their way into his arms, like a child putting on a glove. The mercury sensation filled him, again his veins felt like they might freeze, and he became an observer.
         His vision went down, and he could see that Azria was examining his hands, flexing each of his fingers individually. He did it every time. Once, Zaria had asked him why, and received the response, “A rock might sink to the bottom of the river, in one area. But further down, in the rapids, it will be pushed along with the flow. Never take for granted your safety, Zaria, or your position, no matter which river you may dive into.”
         His ears heard a clatter from the hall, and his vision turned, facing the center doors. Zaria would have taken a deep breath if he could. He hoped to the gods Azria could handle The Bandit of Wind.

         The doors flew open, and a man stepped through, followed closely behind by a hooded woman. She made him think of Dustin, how he had lapped behind his footsteps like a dog for over a hundred years. Azria grinned. How ironic, that they should be the ones to hunt the Traitor down and kill him. Vanguard, the Clan-slayer, shall be slain by a Bandit. “Welcome, to my castle, children.” His face grinned, as he saw the man's face grow deep, watching the pride bellow for vengeance within him. The man lowered his head, and took a knee, making sure to keep his face out of Azria's eyesight. He was certain that the Assassin had a similar expression on her face, though he couldn't see it behind the shadows that obscured her face. She, he noted, did not take a knee.
         “Lord Azria, it is an honer to kill for you.” The man said from the ground. His hair was cut short, not even reaching the nape of his neck, little individual black spikes scattered in a intricate pattern across the crown of his head. He stood up, and Azria could see his hair grow longer in front, until it reached his eyebrows. Interesting hairstyle, if nothing else. “My sister, too, extends her thanks.”
         His companion tilted her head slightly. Her cloak was a light brown, like mud. Fitting.
         “I appreciate your quick response to my summons.” Azria descended the steps from his throne and mirror, slowly, methodically making his way towards them. “You would be surprised how difficult it is to find a suitable Murderer, these days.”
         The man looked up at him, Azria stood at least a head taller than him, but the fire in his eyes was remarkable. Most people could only do their best not to defecate themselves, when Azria spoke of Murder.
         “You'd be surprised how hard it is to find a suitable Contract, sir...” Slightly on the attack, strange, for a Wind. Azria decided to ask him about that.
         “You know, I've never heard of an offensive Wind, before. The many I have encountered in my... extensive... travels have always fled from conflict, yet you drive towards it. Why?”
         The man quickly shot back a response. “Because that's my job, sir.”
         Azria grinned, this Keith was a puppet, one who was going through motions he had practiced before. The Bandit wasn't afraid, he was terrified. His quick response said all-business, he wanted to be in and out. “How would you like a place among our ranks, Keith?” The man stiffened.
“Not as a Condemned, child, but as the new Saber.”
         The man said nothing, though his sister started to edge closer to him. Backing him up. How cute.
         “Both of my previous Swords of the Triumvate have disappeared. Dustin, through betrayal, and Match, through absence. I need a strong elementalist, someone I understand, to fill one of their roles.” Azria turned to the sister, now. Lourne, he thought her name was. “You, you had, in your custody, someone very important to my plans. You lost him, of course, but through no fault of your own. You followed my orders, even though they went against your own Clan's beliefs.” Azria stepped very close to the girl, ignoring Keith, for a moment. He wanted to see her face, as he spoke. He pushed the hood off her face.
         Her eyes were on the ground, she wasn't making face contact. Good, she was following the law too. “You had me worried, child...” Azria traced her face with his hand. “Were you gazing upon my visage, I would have had no choice in the matter.”
         The girl spoke for the first time, taking a deep breath to do so. “I would never disobey the Princeps of Zaria, my Lord. I am a trustful follower.” Recited. If he could do so in a dignified manner, Azria would have spat.
         “Indeed, I see that in your brother.” Azria turned his back on Lourne, looking closer at Keith. He had not moved, his head still in the same position, his feet placed firmly upon the blue and red rug that graced the room. “A trustworthy man, but you, you I'm not so sure of, child.” He saw Keith stiffen, good, they were close. That was perfect. “You, will serve as my Foil, Lourne, alongside your brother at my side. You have served me well the past 20 years, and now, you shall do so again, at my side.”
         “Sir, I humbly accept this offer, sir!” Keith shouted. Still following tradition. He would be a good follower, but nothing more. He couldn't initiate.
         Azria shook his head, disgusted. “Humbly? No, child, not humbly. Would a humble man kill? Would a humble man, fight? As the Saber, you must be beyond humble. You must be strong, display power, inspire strength. A humble man has no place in battle, but in battle you must reign. The Saber is a position of War, responsible for the defeat of Arden and Alesia, a humble man will not do this! A humble man will crumble before the might of the enemy, a humble man will die! You must cleave muscle from bone from flesh, you must become a Saber in and of yourself!” Azria voice grew, until he shouted the last aspects of this edict. Spit flew from his mouth as he bellowed at the motionless, shady man standing in the center of the Room of the Throne, yet he did not flinch.
         “My lord, a man need not be humble to display his gratitude?”
         “No, child. Docility is an insult. A weakness we cannot afford.”
         The man nodded, and was silent. He extended his hand, to take the Saber, but Azria shook his head. His hand fell once more to his side.
         Azria turned to Lourne. “And, upon what flurry of emotion do you take this responsibility to bear? Upon what feeling do you take this oath?”
         Lourne shook her head, brushed her head out of her eyes, and raised her head to look him full in the face. He saw defiance etched deep into the sharp features of the brunette before him. Azria grinned. Yes. “Upon my honor.”
         Azria nodded. “You will serve as a legend, Lourne, I can see it now. I saw it in the mirror, the vision of the future of Anthere, and we, we shall lead it to it's fate.”