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ot long afterward, Maqis reappears and says, "Commandant Esse will see you now. You can leave the cups." He gestures for the three to follow him to meet the commandant. The commandant's office is spare of luxury, with one exception: graceful tapestries of landscapes, of misty mountains and icy mornings, decorate the walls. The commandant herself is a spare, hazel-eyed woman with tousled hair and callused hands. A spellsworn's cross is pinned to her collar; it glints in the room's subdued magelights, which are the mixed colors of copper and pine. With a smile and a nod, the commandant invites them to sit. There are exactly enough chairs for them, once Maqis salutes and leaves the office. "Greetings, Shakra," Irezan Esse says with a nod to the ranger. "I hope these times find you and your family in good health." Shakra smiles, and returns the nod. She then studies So Fooyan, and her eyes widen slightly. Perhaps there is some resonance between the arts of his order and the arts of the mage, after all...or is it something else? To Lirixa, though, she shows no puzzlement, only a calm interest. "My lady," she says--and the word is strangely archaic to Shakra's ears as well as So Fooyan's--"I would ask you first of all to state your business here." Lirixa rises from her chair and makes an astonishingly elaborate salaam. Her words, though, bring the most surprise: her puzzling, exotic accent falls away into a version of Chedraqis more familiar to the others in the room...a version of Chedraqis that might be spoken in Avrezin, or further west, in Sorevv. "I hight Lirixa, and I have come from Sorevv with a warning, Commandant"--she stumbles slightly on the word; perhaps she is used to a different rank system--"of dire urgency." Then she lifts her hand and a magelight spins into existence, casting light the color of lilacs. Shakra's attention is a bit sharper, her stillness a bit stiffer, as the phrase "dire urgency" confirms her feelings of coming trouble. The commandant's eyes narrow. She gestures around her at the magelights: a greeting between two mages. "I see," she says guardedly. "Why would Sorevv *warn* Qenar? An ultimatum?" Lirixa shakes her head. "Those on high in my country have fallen to the influences of one who calls himself the Red Hawk. Even now the army has reached Avrezin and prepares to continue into your land. Those whom I serve, on the other hand, fear for the pact between man and wraith; fear the breaking of the Concordat. We would rather see peace between Qenar and the western lands." [The Ghostwolf's bargain ensured that some wraiths would guard Qenar's law; in exchange, Qenar became a home to those wraiths who agreed. Those who did not accede went to the Ashen Lands, where they remain--one hopes--today. The Concordat is a long-standing agreement between the nations of the West that Qenar shall be immune to invasion, in light of her duty guarding the Black Wall from the terrors in the Ashen Lands.] Lirixa turns then to Shakra and says, "Forgive me, O my host, for the deception. But I have heard that my countrymen have reached even as far as Qenar, and I had to guard my words, and my speech. People will sometimes assume that a lesser grasp of their tongue implies stupidity." Irezan nods, and says, "I'll speak with you later, my lady--?" The foreign mage shakes her head. "I am but an envoy. Lirixa will do." "Lirixa." Irezan looks then at So Fooyan, and makes the two-handed gesture of yin and yang, in respect. "I am sure you have come here for a reason, monk. Might I hear the reason?" "One hears, before the bedtime gong sounds, of history. Among the tales told was the story of the Jade Fox, a man who, when his home was destroyed, took to wandering the world and learning from the most demanding teacher of all: experience. "Since the place I once called home has been destroyed, I have been following his example. My home is now where I lie my head; my teacher is what exists from one horizon to the other." Irezan looks disturbed. "Destroyed? By whom? I've heard no reports of a destroyed temple in this canton...were you the only survivor?" At her desk, she picks up a brush, dips it in the stone inkwell, and makes a note to herself. And to Shakra, after So Fooyan is done: "It seems the world is more crowded than we wished." She looks at Lirixa and says, "With your consent, I'd like to keep the following from your ears until I have time to verify your identity." Lirixa nods, though she bites her lip. So Fooyan feels a blurring of the world around him, and as Irezan continues to speak, he hears the faintest trace of birdsong, of summer typhoons, of autumn's rustling leaves underlying her words. "It was because of the recent alliance between the Western nations that I asked you to come here, Shakra. We have a team in Avrezin trying to negotiate a peace in the treacherous currents of Avrezin's politics. Normally this would call for an undercover team...and it did. But they managed to set up a meeting between some of Avrezin's leaders and Commandant Miris." [Vanen Miris is the one-eyed Commandant-errant/Regent of Moruhan, originally an Ezinen province and now a protectorate of Qenar.] Irezan massages her temples, though as yet she shows little sign that she cares for Miris as more than a fellow officer; the gossip has always asserted a warmer relationship between the two. "The meeting happened; the world went dark; and when anyone could figure out what was going on, Miris was gone. We need to track him down before his absence inspires war fever in Qenar...and if war occurs, we'd be deprived of one of our better strategists. It's a harder mission than usual I'm asking, Shakra, and I wouldn't blame you for refusing. But reports indicate that Miris might have been taken to some obscure woodlands stronghold, and you're one of the best people I can think of for that sort of thing." Shakra glances down at her hands momentarily. Dreams. War. Smoke. Family. She looks back to Irezan. "I'm willing, Commandant." "Thank you," the commandant says quietly. "It's not a risk I ask lightly." A corner of her mouth lifts. "As you no doubt know." Irezan looks at So Fooyan, then adds, "You wouldn't be unwelcome either--I've heard tales of your order, and your abilities could come in right handy." "The wraiths...those who inhabit the world between the sleeping and the wakened one...yes, I believe I will go with you." Her eyebrows raise. "Have you received guidance from them? It's more than most of us ever get." She sighs, then says, "I'd like you to set out tomorrow, if that's no inconvenience. You deserve a day's rest at least for agreeing to undertake this!" After the meeting they are shown to comfortable guest quarters. So Fooyan's is an austere room with calligraphy scrolls hung on the walls. One of them, he notices, is a missquote--or at least, variant--of a saying he heard often in his training. Sleep that night is mostly restful: among other things, his dreams take him to a path balanced on the thin edge between light and shadow, yin and yang, and he thinks he sees the ghostwolf's silver eyes watching--even smiling?--at him. But there are other walkers in these dreams, and an odd rippling, as if someone has cast a pebble into the sea of sleep where no such pebble should be. Shakra's room is one she has used before on the few occasions that she needed to overnight at the fort. Her sleep is uneasy, but it isn't for the first time, and besides--where would she be safer? Lirixa is given a room away from theirs, and after Irezan removes her spell, accepts a spellsworn guard with good humor.
Back: So Fooyan & Shakra's Prologue 9 Yin-yang image courtesy of Magickal Moon Graphics.
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