The spy's dark gray eyes narrow at the change in itinerary. He shifts uneasily on his feet at the edge of the fighting pit. Always preferring uneven fights, he never likes to be on the shorted side. Facion thinks the brothers can handle it, but he has no desire of facing Thelkonlands ire should the princes fall. Sizing up his impressions concerning the Gorrumite priesthood, the keeper of secrets considers his options.
Ezkal eyes smile as he gets hit. "Finally, BATTLE!" he screams as he hacks away.
When the warbringer fells the giant single-handedly, the wizard stops and watches the match continue. He absently wonders how long this will take, and if they have time to make another pass through the market on the way back to the castle. I could end this fight quickly, he muses, but the consequences...
Not desiring to go into a situation uninformed, Facion continues to mill the crowd. Taking his time he eventually joins the wizard in watching the match progress. Leaning in close he quietly says: "Good fight today. Think the brothers won't have any trouble."
Though his voice is neutral, the manner in which his gaze remains unbroken suggests an unspoken query.
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Tholan turns to looks at one of the small figures that has popped up from the sands. The laughing glint in his eye turns deadly as he steps a little closer, raises the flask up, and punches it into the face of the small creature with a loud cry of "THELKON PUNCH!".
With a grin, he slips his falchion back into both hands, and stands at the ready.
The chief agent of the Rudianos meets the Halfblood’s eyes and shakes his head before answering.
“Then is it a good fight, if it is not a close match?” he turns a ponderous look to the small, primal men in the pit, “Tribesmen from the Alturin Mountains. Generations of stooping in their underground homes made them that way,” he gestures to the comical size difference between the spearmen and Tholan, “but they are aware of this weakness. They usually employ poison, stealth, and overwhelming a foe with numbers.”
The wizard is again quiet a moment, considering. “I am more concerned for the trophy of this fight, than any poison those two must endure. I have words with the Gorumite, if you will excuse me.”
“No. They should be fine.”
Thaegrin slowly makes his way to where the long bearded Gorumite priest conducts the fight.
The court wizard nonchalantly clasps his hands as he steps beside the priest, his eyes watching the victorious brothers before drifting up to the crowd on the other side of the pit.
“The Thelkonlanders seek a scroll that can cure disease, as a prize for their victory. I trust you have such a writing?”
With the posed question he looks at the wild eyes of the holy man of war, to measure the type of negotiator he was dealing with.
I am sure the brothers would love to fight here until the sun drops. But we have little and less time…
“Yes. Our business here is concluded.” The court wizard replies.
Cringing, Thaegrin mutters a one spell over the parchment, then another.
The Feraweni tries to spot the Halfblood in the crowd, but gives up with he is unsuccessful and assumes the spymaster will follow in his own time. He leans forward into the fighting pit.
"Brothers of Thelkon! It is time we made our exit. Să mergem."
"Let's go."
Hearing the wizards call over the din of the crowd, Anga makes his own casual way towards the exits. He is careful to keep his eyes open and hands free.
"You have it? Aye then, let's be off."
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Before the gates of the castle courtyard, a wagon is detained by 3 Rudianos guards. A small head of lavender and purple hair bobs angrily from the driver seat.
Coming nearer, an inventive and wholly unchained string of curses in nearly every known language spews from the driver: she clearly believes she's been invited and demands entrance on the authority of the Master Wizard, Thaegrin Variel.
Nonplussed, the guards deflatedly hold the ground, each looking to the other to make a final decision.
Here already? Splendid.
Taking on an air of supreme importance, the wizard makes his way to the guards and alchemist.
“What is going on here?” he pompously harrumphs.
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The guards snap to attention. "Master Variel, this woman is claiming personal knowledge of Lehrehn and a business relationship with your lordship, but never seen her before, sir. More'n that, she has no papers, see? We thought to question her a bit, but seeing as you're here, could you sort it out? If it please?"
“If. It. Please.” the wizard repeats slowly as he studies the cart. He turns his scrutinous eye to the guards. “Of course she does. She is here on my invitation, though I did not expect her arrival until tomorrow. The reason she has no papers is because she sent them via magical courier ahead of her. They are in my office.”
He turns and extends a hand down to the small woman with an amiable but professional smile. “Welcome to Lehrehn. There are new security precautions at the castle that must be abided, for the safety of all within. A small clipping of your bright hair will satisfy one of these requirements, and a search of your cart, the next. Afterward, the slaves shall convey your possessions to your laboratory and living chamber. Do you find these terms agreeable?”
Without waiting for an answer, Thaegrin begins to extend his magical senses over the buggy loaded with her belongings.
Standing at the edge of the small group now formed around the cart, Anga sniffs with disdain. His blank gray eyes rove over the sight, drinking in details while giving no hint to the thoughts that lay behind their cold facade.
Presently the spy draws forth a paper and writing charcoal. Penning out a quick note, Facion folds the heavy scrap and hands it off to the nearest literate house-slave. Quietly he instructs; "Procure these items and hold them at the villa until I call for them." Pressing a small sum into the slaves hand he dismisses them with a curt wave.
Fine evening attire for a large woman.
Matching corset.
Two new wine-skins. Empty.
Two goose-down pillows.
Keeping half an ear trained on the wizard and his dealings the keeper of secrets let's his mind wander over the recent developments for House Rudianos.
“Sufficient.”
As the slaves hurry the alchemist’s possessions to her new home and laboratory, the wizard turns to the Halfblood and the brothers nearby. “We do not have long until we are expected in court. Let us see if the castle blacksmith has the urn we seek.”
With a quick nod the spy follows at a short distance.
Turning over the dense, heavy urn in his old hands, the Feraweni makes his way to the kitchens. Doing his best to stay out of the way of the busy staff, he leaves the cookery with some oil of the orange. He passes through the corridors to observe the progress of the new alchemist and the moving of her things, unsurprised to find the slaves working quickly and efficiently. He spares the workers curt, approving nods when no one is watching. After court, I must ask the alchemist if she has the rare black powder.
“Carrying this is going to exhaust me,” he mutters, handing the adamantine vessel to one of the Thelkonlanders, “and I fear the inanity of the commoner’s troubles will be a trial in itself. Nevertheless, it is time we returned to court.”
As the chief agent of Rudianos strides to the courtroom, he tidies his appearance with the simplest of incantations. He is satisfied that his visage is one of power and preeminence, with a hint of pomp, he approaches the door and indicates that the guards open it for him.
Bowing to the Lady Sorcha, he takes his place beside her, ready to serve, thinning his mouth and eyes to a look of wisened wizardry, surpassing sorcery, and indomitable information. When the Lady acknowledges that she is ready to begin, Thaegrin steeples his narrow fingertips and listens carefully.
Thaegrin leaves the courtroom with his mind buzzing at the mission ahead. He tells the Thelkonlanders and the Halfblood to meet his at his study tomorrow morning to deal with Tholan’s affliction straightaway before departing. In a few minutes, he enters his study and begins to pack, considering the road ahead.
"Druid Wizards that smith? This I have to see! I say we head there first in the morning, after we get rid of this rot." Ezkal said as he walked back to the sleeping quarters with his brother.
Thaegrin rises the next morning, donning the garb of a traveler and draping over his narrow frame the magical grey cloak he made so many years ago. Carrying his worn backpack to his study, the wizard carefully folds the beginnings of his next project. Frumpy, stone-grey cloth he stores along with his astronomical and mathematical notes, near the bottom of his pack. He also makes room for bundles of dry food for the road, and heavy supply of blank parchment and ink. In a particular portion of the backpack, he stores only his spellbook, so that it rests directly on his back and not easily found by pilferers. On his belt, he fits a few potions and scrolls for easy reach, with the rest strapped to the outer loops of his pack. Likewise, he buckles down a musty bedroll onto the traveling gear. Testing the weight on his back and shoulders, the aging Feraweni grumbles as he adjusts the weight distribution.
Satisfied, he reopens the pack and reverently sets his great spellbook on his reading desk, lighting a candle and dragging his highbacked wooden chair closer. He leans over his encrypted arcane handwriting, and begins to study.
An hour passes, and the wizard scarcely moves save for turning a page, and the study is quiet, save for the occasional mutter or clearing of the throat. Finally finished with the incantations refreshed in his mind, he leans away from the pages as a hand closes the heavy tome with a dusty thump. He replaces the spellbook into his bag and sets the pack beside the door. The wizard rolls up his sleeves to strap the spring-trigger wrist sheaths onto his thin forearms, loading one with the Rudianos dagger and the other with a tightly wound scroll. Focusing on the tasks ahead, the chief Rudianos agent ignores the nostalgia as he produces the silver ornamental dagger, and sets it on the desk, along with the oil of orange and sacred incense acquired the day before. Pulling the book he opened yesterday from the shelf, he reopens it to the entry describing the treatment to Red Rot, and likewise sets it on his desk.
His eyes catch on new additions to his library, on the unfamiliar subject of Transmutation. The books remind him of yesterday’s morning, and he notices the expensive silver mirrors he smuggled away in the chaos of the nobilicide. He decisively sets one of the mirrors, fearing to damage all of them on the road, onto his workbench. On its shining surface he lays his recent literary acquisitions, hoping for time on the road or at camp for light reading on the exceptions to the laws of degeneration. He looks to his pack, frustrated to again see it full to bursting. Very well. The saddlebags will have to hold these.
When he is certain he is ready to depart, he instructs a slave to summon the Thelkonlanders and the Halfblood Facion to his office. He instructs another slave to go to the stables to ready his saddlebags for storing a fragile mirror and a number of books that cannot get wet, and to wait by the office door when finished.
The seeker of mysteries stands beside his desk, waiting for the other three to arrive. He passes the time by practicing his mental exercise Spreading Root, dividing his mind to concentrate on several subjects simultaneously.
Having retired early last evening Anga is up and active hours before dawn. Everything needed for the coming expedition already resting in the magical bag taken from the drug lord with the exception of his horse stabled at the palace.
Walking the still-dark streets Facion is reminded of his childhood. The city is different, but then all cities are the same. The spy breathes in the muck and filth mixed with the too-sweet scent of strange spices and stranger foods. Like any big city, it's never truly asleep, one just has to know where to look to find those more comfortable dealing in the night.
"Tholan, wake up, we need to get that curse off of you!" Ezkal kicked at his brother's bed as he got dressed. Ezkal dismisses the slave that delivered news that they were to meet at the wizards office. "Let's not have that on you any longer than we need to."