Chapter 1: Ducal Juhasz

“Oh fu-fuck…fuck!” I spat amidst a tired wavering, realising in the nick of time that I was about to slide right off my horse! Shaking my head, I pulled at the reins, tightening my grip around their leathery surface, to try and instil myself with some energy. It was a good thing too, that I caught myself, lest I’d have fallen into a black, muddy pool of water.

The roads into Great Kaerda were a slow slog through a heterogeneity of dirt, sand, gravel, and grasses that had turned to muck after an hours-long rainfall. Grace to the crops, distant fields of gold over and along the horizon, past lone, crippled trees reaching like dancers this way and that.

I tipped my hat to a passerby, only the second Human I had passed since crossing the border. He ignored me, as did the last, or perhaps didn’t notice me. His chin tilted low and to the road, following it carefully to avoid the deep spots and trippy traps.

Although the second, I couldn’t help but tighten my grip on the leather that guided my horse. The flex in my wrists was uncomfortable but fleeting. “I don’t get why you’re all so grim.” I said, aloud, and turned back quickly to see whether it drew his attention to me. It didn’t.

But it did draw the attention of a trio of armoured men. They wore leathers and gambeson, carrying pikes and shortswords, respectively, with grisled, tired, hairy faces shielded in half by silly little helmets shaped like crumpled cones.

“Um… vaski… samr…” I tried and trailed off, laughing at myself. My hands relaxed. Uhraan is such an antiquated language. One would think by this day and age they would resign it to scholars and adopt its child, Uhra, so as to, say, communicate reliably with the outside world.

Thankfully, the guardsmen seemed to have a sense of humour, and laughed at me as I hopped off of my horse. Just behind them, a half mile in the distance, stood, now visible at the top of the hill, the gates of Veha, capital of the Duchy of Juhasz. The middle one took a step forward and greeted me with a singular nod, speaking,

“Welcome to Juhasz, Sir." He gestured lazily to my horse, "Is that a Greysteed?” I nodded, smiling. Too often does such craftsmanship as husbandry go underappreciated. He went on, asking, "What brings you to our solemn home?" As he inquired of my business, his compatriots walked around us in an arc and approached my horse, now behind me, to inspect it. I could sense their ease.

“I received a letter from Veha’s Brick-Layer’s guild. A summons.” I twisted and, with my left arm, extended it and pointed at the right saddle bag. The nearest pikeman opened it, and retrieved from within, sitting atop some supplies, a rolled scroll. “If you open that, you’ll see, Santiago summons me.”

“And your name, Sir?” He asked. I replied, “Jack. Jacobi, properly, from Yhortor. But, please call me Jack.” His brows lofted, disappearing above the trim of his helmet, prompting me to elaborate, “It’s on the western seaboard, a few months from here by cart.”

“You travelled so far just to see our Brick-Layer?” Immediately I sensed his growing suspicion. Too difficult to hide it behind his tone. At the same time I sensed his friends, their hands, readied themselves in their grips on those pikes. So ready to assume ill will and bad intentions. Disappointing.

“I travelled so far to see someone who I think of as family, Sir.” I tried to sound reassuring, continuing, “Santiago and I have known each other for a long time. This is not my first foray into Great Kaerda, or Juhasz.”

“When was the last time you entered our borders?”

“Six years ago.”

“And what prompted you to leave six years ago?”

“Oaths back home. Now, free from those obligations, and with reason to journey so far and at such expense, I stand before you, friend, at these gates.”

That seemed to please him. He gestured for his men to return to his sides, and as they did so he hid a smile beneath the flustered hairs of his scruffy beard.

“Welcome back to Juhasz, Jack. Travel safely, and never at night.”

I took my horse by its lead and started walking. As I passed by the guards who stepped back and to the side to allow me to pass, my letter was returned to me. I took my steed to the stables by the gate, leaving it with the stablemaster there, entrusted with a pouch of bronze pieces and his word.

Kept or broken, really, it didn’t matter. The horse was just a formality. Another check at the gates led to my getting searched. The men there exchanged no words with me, but rather only gestured, did their duty, and dismissed me.

Through the portcullis it was as if passing through a portal to a new kind of world. The dreary, desolate, disparate countryside of Great Kaerda became a lively, colourful, band of shouting heads, sparkling goods, and businesses, stalls, and carpets occupied by folk from all walks of life. The Bazaar of Veha.

My sober eyes gave way to such a cheery grin that my cheeks started to strain. You couldn’t stand here nor there, let alone walk through, and not suffer a transference of the excitement that grew out of the crowd, drunk, high, happy, and eager to spend some money on baubles, foods, and trinkets.

Families with their children, bachelors, guardsmen, adventurers, artists, and so on and so forth. Little leather caps decorated with multicoloured feathers, draping, layered robes with fantastic textures and designs, and capes that draped and fell upon the sandy streets, dragging, creating an image of unimaginable, unfollowable complexity.

Unfortunately, this was not the time to take part in such a festival as this daily affair. Santiago awaited me. So, I weaved my way through the thickets, allowing the push and pull of passing bodies to guide me in a line most bent and shaky. The collective spat me out on the other side after a few sweaty minutes of wandering.

As I brushed the dust and gathered soot from my suit and pants, I permitted myself a moment to look back upon the great sequoia that buttressed the back end of the Bazaar, opposite the gates. Its cragly, burled, boogying trunk and limbs created a picture of fantastic intermingling. A stone circle of stairs elevating one, two feet, to a platform of tall grasses created a place for gifts. Little pieces of this and that, and bits of food, in themselves and in dishes, alongside cakings of dried blood from rotting animals with slit throats formed an assemblage of offerings.

“Are you going to give it something, mister?” An old man spoke to me from my periphery. He leaned with all his might forward onto a cane, and smiled through shattered, scattered teeth. I reckon, if not for the walking stick he'd have to crawl to get around. His body was bumpy, bulbous, and all twisted up, wrapped in layers of black cloth that looked, collectively, like a big pile of rags and, certainly, weighed him down.

“I, um…” Did I even have something to offer? I patted my pockets and searched through my coat. The old man stood quietly and watched me. Did I even have to? Of course I did. It would've been so awkward to say no.

“I think I could give it this, yes?” I held up a silver coin, and much to my satisfaction the old man nodded at me. So, I approached the tree, ascended its stairs, and set the coin gently against its stained bole.

I felt… good. Yes, good. Fulfilled is perhaps clearer. I pondered it as I spied the tree, now so close to me, and followed the interlacings of its bark with my eyes to no fruition. Like a fractal it seemed never to end, one corridor leading to six, which, in turn, led to six and six for each of the six. So on, so forth, in a complete circle looking ever so a-circular.

By the time I turned back around to descend and rejoin the strange man, he had departed. Letting go, I continued on the way I had intended to walk. Pulling deep and distant from my memory, I began to reconstruct a mental map of the streets of Veha. It couldn’t have changed that much since I was last here.

Pleasantly, after a few bumps and bruises, finding what were once streets, now alleys, barricaded and blocked by walls and new buildings, I stood before a tall, four-storied brick structure. The front doors were a double set of dark wood, bolstered by black steel, and decorated with the words ‘Brick-Layer’s Guild’ in yellow calligraphy.

I rapped the door twice and, before I could strike it a third time, it opened and I nearly collided my fist with a lumbering man whose head just brushed up against the frame. He seemed unamused.

“Oy, are you Jack?” He asked me, I smiled, and replied,

“Indeed! Jack, for Santiago.”

He lingered to the left and to the right, using his height and elevation to spy my uniform, looking down both ways of the road, and across, behind me to the alley, he finally stepped back. I stepped up and in and entered, slipping carefully past him into a mudroom where I kicked off my boots.

Beyond that I entered a waiting space that seemed to have been transformed into such a space from a workshop. At least, if memory serves, it definitely once was a workshop, but now possessed a couch, tables, cabinets, and little potted plants.

“Seat.” He muttered, commandingly, but not rudely nor forwardly. I don’t think he possesses the most… diverse… vocabulary. I complied and sat myself down on a cushion of leather against the front windows.

“Is Santiago not around?”

“Busy. He will come soon.” And the brute departed further into the building through the only door off of the room. Chuckling, he barely fit, which prompted him to shoot me a glare before closing the way.

I sat there in growing anticipation and anxiety as what had to be an hour ticked by. The sun, high on my arrival, started to set and cast long shadows over parts of the room previously illuminated.

My feet tapped the carpet, fingers drummed my knees, and my humming and clicking turned into a soft song. To pass the time, I tripped over lyrics to old ballads and bard’s musings I hadn’t heard in months. Sick of my stumbling, I started to invent my own words to the songs, funny nonsense, and before I could complete one, the door opened.

In trapised the blond haired beauty, Santiago himself. As tall and picturesque as I remembered him, the gentle giant was a majestic and imposing silhouette. I stood to intercept him, my knees weak, if not for the immediacy of his hug I might’ve tumbled back down onto the couch by the sheer force of the wind making way for him.

He laughed aloud, an expression of his joy, “Jack!”

“Santiago!” I hailed in reply, wrapping my arms around him tightly, “God I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been too long–it’s been so long, Jack. Dammit man, I should’ve called for you so much earlier.” His pitch took a downturn at the start of the latter sentence, much to my surprise. I thought I’d left him on good footing.

“What do you mean?” Curiosity peaked, and Santiago, prepared, brushed it aside with a quick gesture, moving his head as a sign for me to follow him. We passed by the doorman and entered the building proper.

“We’ll talk in my flat, it’s on the fourth floor.” The inner walkways and rooms of the guild were decorated sparingly with items reminiscent of their craft and its history. Portraits of previous guild masters and members of prominence, depictions of projects of prestige and pride, and with furnishings that emulate the coarseness and geometrical stylizations of brick.

It would’ve been overwhelming, I think, if not for the occasional break in theme: bearskin rugs, torches for light, and ceramics. Santiago led me to an ajar gate that barricaded a stairwell separate from the grand staircase I had earlier passed upon entry.

“This will take us straight to the top.” He explained as we walked up the spiral stairwell.

“Are you not concerned with this being a…” I paused just long enough for him to interject without interrupting.

“Security risk? No. My men are reliable and loyal, they are security enough. Not to mention the lock on that gate is subpar. I may as well leave it open.”

“As you do.” I replied, chuckling a bit, “Perhaps I’ll have to find you a locksmith to install something you can sleep soundly with.”

“Perhaps.” He said, shooting a smile in my direction.

When we reached the top I was again graced by partial sunlight. We stepped into an atrium, an octagonal room with an all-glass roof. The middle of the space housed an octagonal garden home to purple and yellow flowers, and grassy flora, resting upon a bed of ivy.

“This is beautiful, San. When did you take up gardening?”

“The Pora–” He said, right hand brushing against the purple flowers. Native to Great Kaerda, they were pretty little things reminiscent of buttons in lily pads, “–reminded me of you. So, I started with them, and this came out of my work.”

I admired it as he unlocked a set of double doors beyond it. He pushed both doors open and revealed to me a most overwhelming, voluminous fright. Following in his path, I stepped into Santiago’s flat and was taken aback at the amount of decor he kept therein.

No surface was without something. While none of it was garbage, per say, I couldn’t help but feel that, by virtue of sheer number, each item lost its individual meaning and gave birth to a unity of meaning that was not greater, but lesser, than the sum of its parts.

Picking his brain as to the ridiculousness of this display would have to wait. I joined him in a stuffy armchair across from his own, a glass table in between us. It had a box upon it, which he opened, collecting a little pot and two cups. He filled each and passed me one. Cold tea. I took a sip, it was delicious, a mildly bitter green.

“So, Santiago…” He took over quite quickly.

“If I may begin, Jack. You recall that order that we established last you were here, right before you left again for home?”

I nodded.

“Our great restoration, the pride, Jack, oh the pride, it’s gone now. Not all, as you can obviously discern from my life and this fortress, but in no small part is it gone.”

I frowned at him, and set the cup down on the glass, folding my arms.

“I can’t help but feel terrible having to ask you again for your help, Jack. I lost it all, and it has upset the balance.”

“Naturally.” I replied, quickly elaborating so as to avoid misunderstanding, “Naturally it would upset the balance.” Nonetheless he seemed hurt, “I apologise, Santiago. This is surprising. Please, don’t misunderstand, I am not going to turn you down.”

His pain and fluster receded some, and he responded, “Thank you, Jack. I cannot express how grateful I am for you, my friend. This means a great deal to me.”

“I will always be there for you, Santiago. Always. First, I need to ask you a few things to get an idea for what’s going on. Tomorrow, we can begin figuring out how to fix this mess.”

He nodded, finishing his cup and he too set it beside my own.

“What started the downfall and collapse?”

“Without you I failed to find a replacement I trusted to oversee our claims. So, with split responsibilities each cracked and crumbled. Rodrigo, one of my earliest lieutenants, left me to work for a local slum-lord who convinced him to betray me. They revolted, slaughtered a few of my men, and wrestled control over the city’s smuggling trade.”

“Is the slum-lord still in command of your lost assets?”

“No.” He said, “Rodrigo killed him and assumed command. I doubt an Ascended would ever live comfortably in the shadows beneath a Human.”

“Naturally.” I said again. He went on,

“ With the lost capital I had to let some of my men go. The loss in muscle led to more of my subjects floating further away from me, defecting, in small ways at first, skimming off the top, and eventually they just stopped recognising my authority.”

“So, has the city become a shattered mess of factions?”

“No. Rodrigo scooped them up.”

“So, you’re surrounded?”

“Essentially.”

“So, we are sitting in your final spot, your own bastion of control and safety. Right.” I sighed, “What of the thugs I saw? Those sitting around and that one big fellow at the door?”

“The few who remain. Most of them are new, only two have any experience. You didn’t see them all, though, some patrol the streets and rooftops.”

“Alright.” I took a moment to contemplate Santiago’s abysmal situation. This was a terrible, horrific shitstorm. I honestly could hardly believe he managed to fuck up this badly. How? How?! I left him like a king managing the balance of Veha. I can’t, I know I can’t linger on that. It’s unhealthy. One step at time, I will figure out exactly what happened, and we will fix this mess.

“Are any of the other Ascended left?”

“No. They were either killed or defected to Rodrigo.”

Great. “Who are your best candidates for the ritual?”

“Vidal and Edgar, in that order. Vidal has two years of experience with me, and Edgar is new, but loyal and good at thumping heads.”

I rolled my eyes, he cackled at the obvious jest of the combat comment. “Let’s focus on Vidal. Summon him in the morning and we will vet him together. Given our… situation… why don’t you take some time to prepare a ritual space too. Taking your word, given you named his name, if I like him and you’re alright with the proposition, we can put him through the trials.”

Santiago nodded in agreement.

“Great. What about leads? As to where we can begin looking to reassert your control over the city?”

“The Silver Fawn. Do you remember it?”

“The tavern in the bazaar, well, one of the taverns in the bazaar. Correct?”

Santiago nodded, going on, “It’s under new management and I know the morning manager. He is close with the owner who is able to be bought.”

“Good. How’d you meet the morning manager?”

He smirked, and glanced off to the side, looking out the window, as he replied, “Well, we’ve spent some time together.”

I rolled my eyes, “Save it.” I really didn’t want to hear about his trysts. “Come tomorrow, we shall draft a plan.”