Ivaia nods, pulls the door closed and latches it. We’re committed to something now. We just have to wait to find out what it is.
But what happened to our driver? Was he bribed? Unlikely. Threatened? …Replaced?
They’re not following me… Of course they’re not… I didn’t explain what I saw, and so I’ve left them in that carriage, with… whatever that thing holding the reins was…
The carriage is moving quickly. Too fast to be safe on this cobblestoned street with busy footpaths, and just a bit too fast for Farenthar to catch up, unless he can somehow increase his own pace.
Last night, when I was pursuing that singer… I found some sort of mental trick to focus on running. Can that work again?
He stops, breathes in and tries to concentrate. He realises that his hands are shaking, and glances down at them - the trembling is visible. There’s nothing to be frightened of, not here, not right at this moment.
But there are things to feel guilty about. The shame, for a moment, seems like a crushing black weight in his mind.
Someone behind him grabs hold of his sleeve.
The man behind Farenthar is broad-shouldered and dressed in the simple, durable style of clothing that a carter or shopkeeper might wear. “Do you need help, sir?” he asks. “I don’t think you should go chasing after a carriage you’ve just fallen out of, sir.” His tone is concerned, but there is also a hint of suspicion. “Did you hit your head?”
“I’m not hurt, but thank you.” Farenthar shrugs and steps away to pull his sleeve free from the man’s grasp. He turns his head, but of course the carriage has travelled out of sight around a corner. “Sorry, have to go. Need to speak to someone.”
How long has it been since I was arguing against seeking the Duke’s aid? An hour? Less?
Farenthar doesn’t recognise the street, but he thinks he’s familiar enough with this area of the city to know the fastest way back to the Palace. He starts running again, but in a different direction.
The carriage takes Karalisel and Ivaia across one of the old stone bridges over the river and then along a road that gradually ascends a hillside. This route quickly reaches the city’s outskirts, and instead of closely spaced townhouses, there are cottages amid terraced vegetable gardens. Eventually the carriage turns off the road onto a narrower paved way bordered on either side by a row of thin conifers.
The path ends by looping around in front of a large, two-storey house with white stone walls and a roof made of red tiles - it’s in a similar style to the manor house belonging to Ivaia’s family, but less than half the size and without the formal flower gardens and open grounds. On the left and right side of the building, there’s a footpath and a strip of lawn barely as wide again, and then a tangle of hedges beneath evergreen trees.
From beyond those trees, the house would be almost invisible, even in winter.
It looks as though some noble has sold all the family land and planted trees to hide the view of what’s been lost. But… I’ve never heard of any noble family living in this region. I thought it was all just rugged, difficult farmland.
Trees so close to the house feel oppressive…
…but perhaps that’s just because of what I’m used to.
She’s about to ask Karalisel if she’s heard any rumours concerning this house or the wider area, but then the carriage draws up next to the front doors of the house and stops.
Through the window of the carriage, Karalisel and Ivaia can see the doors of the house opening inwards. Several people walk out of the building and down the steps. They’re all dressed in plain, durable clothes of various shades of brown. They split into two groups - one group walks towards the front of the carriage and one towards the back.
I would have expected servants in livery. These people look like gardeners… but there’s hardly any garden here for them to tend.
The people dressed like gardeners stand in two parallel lines, flanking the path from the carriage to the house. If they were in uniform, they’d look like an honour guard.
Karalisel unlatches the carriage door that faces the house, and she steps down quickly - she wants a chance to look properly at whoever was driving.
As she turns to face the driver, Karalisel has that same sense of nearly reaching an insight, but being blocked by something. Just like that singer last night. This man isn’t what he seems to be…
But then he looks directly at her. She flinches back from the sight of his large, opal-like eyes. Perhaps he’s not hiding quite so much as the singer was. No wonder Farenthar panicked.
Ivaia follows Karalisel out of the carriage. Her attention is drawn to two more people who are dressed like gardeners - this pair have not joined the others standing in parallel rows. Instead, they are still in the doorway, and both of them seem to be watching Karalisel in particular.
Ivaia notes the expressions of the people in the doorway - both of them are watching Karalisel, and both seem pleased by something.
Ivaia looks around and sees Karalisel flinching back from the driver. Not our driver. Those eyes…
Guessing that the two people in the doorway probably have the most authority here, Ivaia strides towards them as quickly as her long skirt will allow. She stops halfway up the steps, almost within arm’s reach of them.
“You,” she says. “Tell me. What have you done to our driver?”
Although the sight of his inhuman eyes shocked her at first, Karalisel starts to wonder how the replacement driver would react to some friendly questions. Maybe she would be able to learn something, maybe even build a rapport…
But Ivaia’s voice carries. She’s right to be concerned, and right to demand an explanation. And I should back her up. Karalisel turns away from the carriage and hurries towards the entrance of the house.
Karalisel stops at the base of the steps and looks up at the two people in the doorway. One of them is a middle-aged woman, with braided dark hair and tanned skin. The other is younger - a tall and graceful man with unusually light-coloured hair for a local. In their practical clothing, they both look relatively ordinary.
“Good afternoon.” Karalisel keeps her tone calm and level. “Before anything else is said, I think it’s important that my friend receives an answer to her question. All this,” she adds, gesturing towards the house, the two lines of people and the carriage, “is an extraordinary situation for us, and we naturally have many questions. But this is the vital one. Is he unharmed? Safe?”
Just before she started speaking, Karalisel noticed a twitch in the tanned woman’s eyebrows, and the beginnings of a smile from the blond man. They were looking at Ivaia, and they were both hiding - but not completely - their reaction, which was perhaps the amused superiority of people who think they know more than someone else.
But these hints are gone from their faces almost as soon as Karalisel starts speaking. They seem to be realising that their answer will affect the impression they make, and that it will be possible for them to get this badly wrong.
There’s something more, a subtle shift in their stance as they turn their attention to Karalisel. It’s as if they think that Karalisel is more important than Ivaia.
“Please be assured,” the blond man replies hastily. “Your driver is entirely safe and well. He’s just being entertained and distracted. Lost his sense of time. Please come inside, both of you. And make yourself at home here. And accept our apologies for the manner of your arrival - we’ll explain everything as soon as we can.”
Ivaia’s attempt to be commanding sounded weak to her own ears, and she’s not surprised if these people weren’t impressed. Something changes when Karalisel speaks, perhaps because the baker is simply more confident and persuasive. But is that all that’s going on?
The blond man’s statement leaves a lot unanswered…
Ivaia looks back. She and Karalisel are in plain sight and have been boxed in by the two lines of people and the carriage. “Very well,” she says to the blond man, hoping to make her voice sound cold this time.
It will probably be more effective to let these people have their say first, and then ask more questions. But she finds herself worrying about what exactly the man meant by ‘distracted’.
The blond man leads Karalisal and Ivaia into the house. There’s a large, light-filled entrance hall with a broad staircase up to the next storey, and doors to the left and right. The blond man turns right, and opens the door to what would probably once have been a reception room for noble guests. It’s nearly as big as the banquet hall in the Duke’s Palace, though somewhat narrower.
But there are no portraits, displays of weapons or hunting trophies on the walls. The only furnishings are about two dozen plain wooden chairs placed near the edges of the room, and a single bookcase with glass doors.
In the air, there’s a faint smell of wood polish and herbs. The gauzy white curtains are spotless, and there’s no trace of dust anywhere.
“Please sit down,” says the blond man, gesturing towards two of the chairs. “They’re not very comfortable, I’m afraid. Not comfortable at all, actually, sorry. Purchased as a bulk order. But we shouldn’t need to stay here for long, I hope.” He picks up a third chair and puts it down facing the two he indicated. After a few moments, he moves a fourth chair close to the third. “Past time for introductions. I’m known here as Avrios. And unless something’s become very mixed up along the way, I believe you are Karalisel Vrae and Ivaia Haldizi.” He raises an eyebrow.
Avrios is such a common name - without a surname attached, it’s almost comical in its lack of uniqueness.
She nods, and tries to match his friendly tone. “I’m Karalisel. Some people just call me Lisel.”
Ivaia feels off-balance and bewildered, with no idea at all in her mind for a response. This man’s words are simply baffling, as if he’s from a utterly foreign culture.
Or… as if he thinks she’s an ordinary person.
Ivaia sits down in one of the chairs that the man offered, and she stares at the floor. How many times have I wished I’d been born to a different family? Dreamt of the freedom that could be given by a new identity? But my upbringing has trained me so thoroughly. I don’t even notice the deference until it’s missing. Hypocrite. She clasps her hands tightly and does not look up when the man calling himself Avrios continues talking.
“And we seem to have misplaced someone along the way.” Avrios still has his friendly smile. “An actor named Farenthar Sammed?”
Karalisel prefers not to confirm anything about anyone else. “Misplaced?”
Avrios shrugs. “Some of us are out looking for him - I just hope he didn’t injure himself. We weren’t expecting quite that reaction.” He sits down on one of the chairs he moved. “Time for an explanation. I won’t use fancy or dramatic language. The two of you have unusual mental abilities, and you’re just at the beginning of being able to use them. Perhaps you’ve already guessed some of this - if we’re interpreting the traces correctly, you may have encountered someone or something rather strange last night. Somewhere near the centre of the city?”
“Possibly? That depends on what you mean by ‘strange’…” But being evasive is starting to seem pointless, given how much this man seems to know.
Avrios hooks one arm over the back of his chair and then twists sideways to place both feet on the seat of the chair next to him - the posture looks casual and at the same time quite uncomfortable. “We’ve brought you here so we can tell you about your abilities, and also about the nature of certain other entities, such as the being who drove you here. And we’ll provide training, until you have complete command of your minds’ potential. There’s just one condition - we’ll ask you to swear an oath. I know, I know, that immediately starts to worry some people. But you have my word for it - the letter and the spirit of the oath are only about protecting those who will otherwise be defenceless against you. Speak the oath, and we’ll show you the entrance to the labyrinth. Walk its path, and you’ll be fully conscious of your power, and you’ll glimpse another world. All in perfect safety. Are you ready?”
The second guard returns to the small, plainly furnished room where Farenthar has been asked to wait. The first guard, who has been looking bored, straightens and glances at his colleague.
“His Grace has agreed to see you, sir,” says the second guard. “Please remove your jacket and boots.”
Farenthar takes off his jacket and his boots, hands them to the first guard and does his best to appear as meek and obedient as possible while the second guard pats him down.
The scrutiny makes him feel irrationally guilty, on top of his entirely rational guilt from abandoning Ivaia and Karalisel.
The guards seem satisfied that Farenthar isn’t carrying any concealed blades, and after he's put his jacket and boots back on, the two guards escort him to the Duke’s study.
The Duke is there, sitting behind a large desk. He raises his head as the guards announce Farenthar. He puts aside a letter he was reading and nods to the guards. “Wait outside.” Then he looks at Farenthar. “Good afternoon. Please sit down.” After a few moments, he adds, “You may speak freely.”
The Duke has guards, and the authority to ask questions. I have no idea how I’ll search for that carriage if I can’t persuade him to help me. He’s promised me a favour, but I doubt he’ll agree if he suspects this is foolishness or trickery. I just need to convince him to trust me.
“Thank you, your Grace.” Farenthar sits down, and lets his hands rest lightly on his knees, palms upward. Good, he tells himself, now meet his gaze directly, no flinching. Expression: sincere, concerned, hopeful. My character is of course completely honest, dependable and open-hearted, and I simply let every word and gesture flow from that. Surely my acting experience can’t fail me now…
The Duke flinches, pushes back his chair and stands up. “Stay seated. Put your hands on the desk. Close your eyes.” He raises his voice. “Guards!”
Instinctively, Farenthar follows the Duke’s orders, leaning forward to place the palms of his hands on the polished wood of the desk. As he closes his eyes, he asks himself, What’s happening? What’s caused this change in the Duke? And should I be obeying him?
Maybe I should just run?
To his left, there’s the bang of the door being thrown open and bouncing off whatever stopper keeps it from hitting the wall.
Guards that way, Farenthar reminds himself. And the only other direction to go is out the window. And we’re upstairs. He sits still.
Without warning, someone pushes Farenthar back, with a thumb beneath Farenthar’s chin and fingertips on his neck just below his ear. A cold, sharpened point presses against Farenthar’s throat, not quite forcefully enough to pierce the skin.
From a few paces away comes the metallic ringing sound of a sword being drawn.
Farenthar opens his eyes reflexively. It’s the Duke who’s leaning over him and holding him. The nobleman’s expression is still hard to read.
“I said, close your eyes,” the Duke whispers. “And keep them closed, or I’ll kill you.” He then speaks in an almost matter-of-fact tone. “Guards, one of you will stay with me. The other will need to get help, quickly, once I’ve finished giving orders. This man is extremely dangerous. I want you to tie up him, blindfold him and take him to the fortress. If he resists, kill him. If he says anything, kill him. Once he’s locked up in a cell on his own, no one is to talk to him or even look at him until you receive further orders from me. I'll be delivering those orders in person. Is that clear? Also, fetch my secretary.”
“I’m-” Karalisel says, and her tone probably makes it obvious how she was about to continue. Of course she’s ready to find out whether Avrios can possibly deliver any of what he seems to be promising. But her eagerness may not be shared. She looks towards Ivaia.
Ivaia meets Karalisel’s gaze. “If you want to take the oath and go with him, please do. I won’t mind, truly. But…” She turns her head and looks at Avrios. “But I can’t. Not yet. Not until you prove to me that our driver is safe and unharmed. And then I’ll need some way of knowing that this oath isn’t a trap. You’ve just abducted us - don’t expect me to believe any of your assurances, no matter how much you smile at us.”
Avrios puts his feet back on the floor and stares downwards for a few moments. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me for a few minutes.” He stands up, walks to the doorway and leans against the frame, talking quietly to someone who must be just outside.
His conversation does indeed last for a few minutes.
When he walks back towards Ivaia and Karalisel, he’s no longer smiling. “Please accept my deepest apologies. Normally we would never consider treating a guest in such a way, but we simply don’t have enough people here at the house now. We haven't been able to trace your companion yet, and making sure he’s safe is more important than hospitality, I’m afraid. Ivaia, I’ll talk to you later, I promise, and I’ll explain as much as I can. But now I must show Karalisel to the labyrinth.”
He looks towards the doorway and nods. Two more people, both dressed like gardeners, walk into the room. “Please take Ivaia to one of the upstairs bedrooms.” He glances at Ivaia. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “There’ll be a bell you can ring if you need anything.”
Karalisel looks at Ivaia, hoping to convey understanding, an apology and an assurance that they’re still on the same side, all without a word. That of course seems unlikely, and she wonders if Ivaia will think of her as some sort of traitor.
The two newcomers are both tall, broad-shouldered men. “This way, please,” says one of them to Ivaia. His tone is somewhere between polite and insistent.
“We’re not usually this bad at being welcoming,” Avrios murmurs to Karalisel. “Honestly.”