Eragos Feareborne (proscribed) wrote in caeleste, @ 2010-03-25 13:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | a ruined way, eithne savastian, eragos feareborne, nieve beit sad'r, npc |
by the hands of a greater god (eithne, nieve, elden)
Morning's yellow light was slipping through silver clouds in slivers. Patches of light created shapes, oddities and curiosities of light on the cobbled streets they walked. And they did walk. For all that horses might have been faster, he did not want to lend any sense of urgency to what they were doing. Between the incident at the waterside cells, the ruin and magic that had befallen the Caserton stables, that wagon of Illos that had flown through the streets in pursuit of White Riders, and the fall of the Lower Courts, Agethlea had turned into something of an outlaw's city. Soldiers were still working with White Riders to restore order - but panic was the order of the day. Theft was on the rise. Violence was as well, and not nearly so polite as the theft. Bathia had tried to describe what had happened. Eragos had lost interest after only a moment of the fellow's mad gibbering about thousands of fates living inside his mind.
Elden had scribbled furiously.
As large a problem as the wagons and the chaos they'd caused would have been in ordinary times it was a candle beside the bonfire of Gola. Eragos did not think he would work to pursue such criminals even in ordinary times - but if there was a White Rider being spared for the pursuit he hadn't heard of it. That was part of the reason the streets were so quiet now. They'd nothing but orders to pursue criminals, make the people safe and restore some kind of order to this city. Such a thing was possible. He'd seen such tricks worked before. But always in smaller cities, frontier towns for the most part, and vicious was part of the game. The White Riders were not any more equipped to deal with this sort of panic than the soldiers, who were used to brutal tactics on enemies instead of on their fellow citizens. That, and no one knew precisely how far the soldiers could be trusted.
There was nothing for it.
"Looks like a war," Grees said quietly, his eyes searching the street at every moment. "This is what we did to the hill forts of Astora, a long time ago. None of those cities were safe to live in for years."
Instead of saying something, Eragos only nodded. They were all in their uniforms, with brown cloaks - the color of dark clay - draped over their shoulders. In Eragos' case it concealed that white armor he'd fashioned in the pattern of a dragon's scales. Dwarves did good work. Ever since Lyacris had requested the meeting take place in the city, instead of the hedge, he'd been worried - not just for Lyacris' safety, but also for the safety of those around him. Assassins were hardly more likely in one place than the other. But the latest figures he'd seen suggested that at least twenty members of the Hands of Prahbat had been killed in the street. Most of them doing nothing more than assisting in the removal of debris or trying to keep people warm. There were murders, of course, but when an organization had as many dead as the White Riders Eragos thought it presented a unique problem. Lyacris was probably just being careful.
Probably.
"What are you going to ask him?" Hasna finally spoke into the silence.
"Oh, if I know Lyacris," Elden's quiet voice reached them - the fellow was still scribbling in his journal, with Grees walking behind him. "He'll have ... twenty-odd theories to present. He's truly quite an administrator."
"Does he know his magic well enough?" Hasna retorted.
"Hmm," was Elden's only comment.
Elden's addition was rather last minute - they'd been preparing to depart when the mage had suddenly appeared among them, his clothing in near-disarray, his hair disheveled, with a broad sort of smile on his face. Eragos did not know what he'd been planning until the man had presented himself with an awkward nod. In the receiving chamber of Arand's expansive mansion the White Riders had been securing boots and equipment, girding themselves for a journey into the city. The mage's eyes found that white sheath of scaled armor and for a moment, Eragos thought he was going to comment on the make of it. The Dwarves had fashioned it to hug his skin, once it was completely in place. In truth he barely noticed it once he'd finished strapping it to his arm. Why the mage would care, he could not have said, but the fellow finally spoke up. And after a round of annoyance they'd all managed to come to an agreement. He could accompany them if he did not do very much talking. No one wanted to do very much talking. Probably because no one wanted to be seen as a potential target.
Eragos was glad for the mask to hide his face. More than one hard-eyed fellow seemed to be looking in their direction before he could clearly see the mask, and once he did, he turned the other way. Eragos didn't think it was so simple as the mask itself, but the mask was not a grievance as much as it was a talisman of protection. They were all going to be grateful for whatever talismans they could find before the end. Casting your eyes skyward would reveal the remnants of the tower, in the form of stone that rested atop stone. You could see the ruins of the place in the alleys that ran between mostly wooden buildings. It had landed on other structures nearby, and amazingly some of them had not completely crumbled beneath the weight. A fine coating of dust rested on everything here - it had not rained again, yet - white and pure, but still somehow malevolent in a way that he could not explain. Another shadow vanished behind a building. Perhaps afraid that they were raiders in disguise. Yet another trouble for them.
There was one building, immaculate, and that more than anything else told him it was the place these mages had chosen for the visit. Where everything else was covered in that finer-than-sand remnant, caked with it in some places, this particular structure had been completely renewed. If every other building in the vicinity had been this well-cared-for Eragos might not have suspected a thing. Grees' neck could be heard popping and cracking. Hasna looked ready before the first crack reached Eragos' ears. Instead of immediately assaulting those fine wooden doors, secured by iron latches and hinges, he instead turned to address the party that had accompanied him. Nieve, who kept her own counsel in the main. Eithne, who could be depended on to be complete disrespectful. Grees, who never said much. Hasna, who was reliable for whatever role was required. And Elden, who was something more than unknown. A total mystery. He'd saved Eragos' life in Hatharida, but he still seemed burdened with a certain level of disgust.
And the only place Eragos wanted to be was with Vera. Killing Gola.
"Lyacris is a well-respected mage," Eragos ignored Elden's snort. "He puts a great deal of stock in formalities. Therefore use the title that you are presented when he is introduced, no matter how ridiculous it might seem, whenever you address him. Ask questions politely. Do not let pride suffer if he insults you."
"Are we asking questions, or are we groveling?" Hasna asked irritably.
"We're asking. If that doesn't work, then follow my lead."
He was waiting for their agreement before he presented them - and he was looking at each of them in turn, waiting.