August 12, 2007

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) There was a knock at the front door to Bourlinch’s place of business. Everyone stayed still for a moment, then another knock came and Darl got up and opened the door a hair. The conversation that started was loud enough for everyone to hear. James knew immediately that the person at the door was a soldier. He could hear the gentle rustle of chain mail and the light tapping of the wooden end of a spear on solid ground. “What?” Darl said. Great, James thought, just start off with rudeness. “Sorry to bother you sir,” the soldier said with a voice that gave away his youth, “but old Early from two doors down reported some unusual activity here.” “What kind of unusual activity?” Darl’s grumpiness increased. “Magic being used. Old Early is sort of a sensitive man. Knows a lot of things most people don’t that are Blood-less.” “I see. Well, this is a healer’s shop.” The soldier was silent for a moment. “So it is.” “So, magic would not be all that uncommon in a place like this now would it?” “No sir, I suppose not. Mind if I come in?” “I do. This is a rather private affair and I prefer not to share it with someone who hasn’t aged enough to grow a beard.” “I see, sir. I do have the authority.” “I realize this, but I think it rather rude to impose upon someone who has no desire to share personal information outside of these walls. Would you think it fair and wise for me to show up at your home and start gallivanting into your little private world? Perhaps you’d see it fit to allow me to watch you sleep at night?” “Forgive me sir. I meant no offense. Just doing my job.” “None taken, but do work on your manners. Good day.” “Good day.” Then Darl closed the door and latched it. The old man turned and headed back into the room, a slight grin underneath his beard. “You learned that bit about manners from me,” Pea said. “No doubt.” “I hope you know that plagiarism is the third cousin of Evil.” James gave Pea a confused look. “Then who is the second cousin?” “Grumpiness.” They all had a laugh at that, even Darl. Triska made effort to suppress her laughter, but couldn’t. When the laughter subsided James became serious; his smile faded away and he waited for everyone to calm down or take a seat in the few chairs around the long wood table before speaking. “Iliad,” he said, “are you sure she is in one of the towers?” Iliad nodded. “How can you be sure?” “Of all the places that Luthien would or could keep her, the towers are the safest.” “They’re well guarded,” Darl said. “More so than in Arlin City, and for good reason. The Adul’pur in Arlin City was powerful, but not nearly as powerful as the enchanted gems that protect Teirlin’pur. The Adul’pur could protect little more than the keep and the highest most regions of Arlin City, but with the number of gems that Luthien has fixed in place on each of the towers, it would be impossible to use magic of any sort against the inner city. The walls would be undamaged. Not even a scratch” “It only makes sense he would put her in the most fortified and hardest to get into place in the entire country.” “The question is how do we get in.” James let his gaze fall to the rusty wood table, eyeing the scratches and cracks. “We have a few days at the most before someone really begins to suspect things are out of place. Healers don’t just shut up shop unless it’s a serious emergency.” Darl glanced over to where Bourlinch fidgeted with his binds, tears still streaming from his face. A gag had been put in his mouth so he couldn’t do much more than mumble and sob. “We close up the shop for now.” “Put up a sign,” Triska said. “James looked bad enough when we came in to require deep healing. Such processes can take a few days, sometimes.” James looked at his arms. Most of the wounds had healed, some were scabbed. He ached but didn’t feel the horrid pain he had been living with for what felt like ages now. “I look like I could still use some healing,” he said. “It might work for a little while.” “Okay,” Pea said, “now that that is solved, how are we going to figure out which tower this girl is held in? We can’t just waltz up and say, ‘gee officer, I’d sure love a tour’.” “Surveillance. If the girl is in one of the towers, they’ll be bringing food no doubt, or attending to her somehow.” “Unless she’s already dead,” Darl said. “No! She’s not dead!” James screamed at Darl. “It’s possible James, and you damn well know it.” “She’s not! She can’t be dead. Don’t say that!” He glared at Darl; Darl glared back. But James refused to lose this match. He fixated his eyes on Darl’s and never faltered, until ultimately Darl looked away. “So, how do you propose we do this?” Pea said. “It’ll look suspicious if we just all sit around watching.” “Oh, yes I know this. There are five of us. James, you have to stay behind. It’s too much of a risk to have you walking around.” Iliad took a moment to clear his throat. “Pea should probably stay behind as well. Unfortunately it looks like Littlekind are not all that common here. It may mean nothing, seeing how few Littlekind are found out this far east anyway,

(Note:  This is not official version and may be removed in the near future.  This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter.  I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that.  This novel has since been rewritten.) It was day, the sun gleaming above, casting brilliant yellow rays over Teirlin’pur. The rays struck crystal, cascaded down in all directions like leaves in the wind. The city could have been called City of Amber as far as James was concerned. It glowed like an enormous gold nugget. Tall snow covered mountains, clear blue lakes and rivers, and verdant, moss green fields, where thick groves of equally green trees made their home, paled in comparison to the impending beauty of Teirlin’pur. They rode, James now turned away from the city as Mirdur’eth pulled him along, and before long they were at the mouth of a wide thoroughfare. They took it west, avoiding the minor roads nearby. Men lumbered along the sides of the road, pulling along barrels or other heavy objects; women laid out clotheslines, attended to children, or simply hustled through side alleys to business unknown. There were all manner of strange creatures that James had never seen before, even in fairytales. Serpents, birds, bovine, and things unrecognizable comprised these creatures, yet each bore a similarity to Humankind, walking upright, talking, and otherwise acting as though they weren’t strange at all. James saw few Littlekind—no Elves, Brownies, or Moss People—and of the dozen gryphons perched on either side of the thoroughfare he gave the utmost attention to neither. He had experience enough with Tagron to know better than to address these gryphons. Thoughts of Tagron floated through his mind. He thought of the last words the gryphon had spoken to him. Beware the eye. Look to the western sunrise. Instinctually he did, peering delicately westward as if those words held more meaning. He wondered how Tagron had known what would happen, but then he had already learned that gryphons seemed to just know things. How am I supposed to beware the eye? He can see my future whether I want him to or not. They stopped short of a tall set of buildings covered in what could have been strange engravings or intentional bird feet-like grooves. They were similar to both and James made no assumption as to which was the truth. The windows were worn and cracked at the seams, but otherwise the buildings were holding together. Triska appeared at his side, kneeling to speak softly to him. Her face was warm with a faint smile, but James could see the worry in her eyes. “There is a healer’s shop here,” she said, gently touching his arm. He winced. “They may be able to help you, or direct us in the right direction. Stay here for a moment.” Then she was gone. James felt utterly helpless being unable to move without the help of the others. He couldn’t see where Triska had gone, or what lay in front of Mirdur’eth. People walked by, some noticing him and others either ignoring him intentionally or unaware that he was there or not caring whatsoever. A sense of bewilderment came over him. He had expected too much of the people of Teirlin’pur. He expected savages as evil and maniacal as Luthien, yet here he could clearly see that the people of Teirlin’pur were actually not unlike the people of Arlin City, despite the difference in races. People here seemed so alike to the people of Arlin City in how they moved and acted. They walked and talked amongst themselves as if no war had ever been started, as if they were oblivious to the reality of it all. Someone rustled around behind him. He turned to look back but couldn’t see anything. When he faced forward a twisted face sat inches from his nose. He stifled a yelp and tried to move away, only pushing himself deeper into the gurney, and into pain. The face was human and yet not. It bore a long nose, wrinkled and broken in a number of places as if the man that owned it had been in far too many fights and lost, and two gleaming eyes that seemed to glisten and change color randomly. The skin looked sandpapery, bumped and covered in all manner of ugly imperfections. And when the mouth of yellowed, broken teeth opened, a foul odor slipped into James’ nose and he had to fight just to keep from cringing. “Burns. Cuts. Wounds. Ever magic. Ever magic,” the non-human said in a slightly masculine voice. “Danger. Pain. Oh, such pain. Yes.” “This is Bourlinch,” Triska said. “He’s a Spellweaver healer.” “I am Daemonkind. Oh yes, so wounded. So wounded.” Bourlinch took hold of one of James’ arms, examining it at an unnaturally close angle. James flinched and yelped in pain at the touch. “Like Nub,” he said behind clenched teeth. Triska nodded. Bourlinch leaned forward and sniffed James’ arm. He tried to get his arm away but couldn’t. The man gave him the chills. “Farthland stench and…other. Not Angtholand.” “I-I…” “I told you Bourlinch, we’re from the north.” Bourlinch sniffed the air. Mucus vibrated in the back of his nostrils. “Farthland stench. I smell it. And other. I smell other. No matter. Inside. Come.” Then Bourlinch hopped away and hobbled out of view. Darl and Iliad helped James stand and guided him around Mirdur’eth and into one of the tall buildings. Pea scuttled to the side while Triska tied the horses and Blaersteeds up and closed the door. Once inside Bourlinch forced James onto a long wooden table. He took in his surroundings. Rugs and all manner of woven materials hung from every wall, every support post on the ceiling, and on just about every surface in the place, none of which bore any designs that looked remotely interesting. There were small tables and broken chairs in one