31

The Owl and the Serpent

The streets of Asterport grew calm at night. A bustling town square eventually peters out into a tiny handful of drunks, stragglers, and sometimes buskers hoping to get a final few coins before the evening’s end. It’s a strange thing, the way people disperse when the sun goes down; how the darkness makes all the difference.

A white serpent sat at the rim of the central fountain, flicking a few marks into the water and enjoying the sounds of a busking violin player.

Maybe it wasn’t such a strange thing after all.

Lord Isanthol sat next to him. Together, they watched the empty streets, heard the trickle of the fountain, and listened to the sombre sounds of the violin’s call into the night.

After enough time had passed, Lord Isanthol spoke.

‘It isn’t a good idea for you to be here.’ He stared ahead, taking a subtle glance into a side alley, making sure his guards were still on hand.

‘I am here alone, there’s no cause for concern. Send your guards away.’

Isanthol glanced back to the alley with concern.

‘Don’t be surprised,’ the cobra said, ‘I have eyes everywhere, you know.’

‘I do know, no matter how many times I have to pluck them out.’

A sly smile slid across the serpent’s face as he fished within his coat for a pipe. That was a smile of appreciation for a good counter to his statement.

‘And what brings you back to my city this time?’ Isanthol also took a pipe from within his pocket, added the sweetroot, and lit it with a match. The cobra held out the end of his, which Isanthol lit, and they let the smoke disappear into the night sky.

‘Just the usual business. You know, it would be so much easier if you legalized huska.’

‘I would, but Lord Trister won’t allow it. He vetoes the option whenever it comes up.’

‘Trister? Really? He’s one of my biggest clients. Why the hell would he want it criminalized?’

‘So he can feel naughty when he uses it. Besides, it’s very hard to tax. Do you know how much passes through here, right under my nose and right into your pocket?’

‘Your talk of taxation is very uninteresting.’

‘Well, I find it interesting; it’s my money I’m losing, after all. And you’re the one causing it!’

They took another moment of silence. Now that the last of the townsfolk had filtered out, it left only the two, and the avian violin player, whose soothing notes swam through the calm night air.

‘You know, Isanthol, I’ve always appreciated the buskers of Asterport. Second only to Savanti, from what I’ve heard. Although there seem to be less and less of them there. The streets are getting dangerous.’

‘Everywhere’s getting dangerous, but why Savanti in particular?’

‘There’s talk of “revolution.” Excuse me. You there! Busker!’ He beckoned her with his fingers. When she approached, she bowed to Lord Isanthol. A delicate thing; grey feathers veering into white. The white cobra took out a handful of coins. ‘There’s fifty marks for you if you provide a private session.’

With understandable concern, even in the presence of one of the Lords, she hesitated.

‘Don’t be concerned. If I wanted you for other activities, I would just find someone at one of the Houses of Pleasure for a much cheaper price.’

There was more cause for concern than just that, but fifty marks was fifty marks, and buskers need what they could get.

He whispered a location in her ear. She gave a final bow to her lord, and hurried off.

‘This isn’t going to end like the last one, is it?’ Lord Isanthol said.

‘That one botched the Luminous Concerto Fourth Movement. I couldn’t let that go unpunished. One mistake, I can forgive, but it was constant, so she had to go. I did you a service. I saved everyone from that amateur performance.’

‘Then you could have smashed her violin and told her not to do it again. Shackling and throwing her into the sea was a bit too far.’

‘You didn’t hear her play.’

A silence befell them. The uncomfortable one once the small talk has been exhausted, and the real purpose lingers overhead.

‘So, what is the real reason you’re here? There are few reasons you ever set foot outside Mismiyer.’

‘It’s not just cargo I’m transporting. I have heard talk of recent mercs in your employment.’

‘Ah. Those. I don’t consider it employment. It’s more like community service.’

‘An important client of mine may be in need of their services in the near future.’

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t expect much.’

‘I did wish they retrieved that starkvol root. It seems their only skill is in destruction.’

‘Unless you specifically ask it of them. I asked them to kill a sect of Phaos zealots, and they returned with a live paragon!’ They both chuckled at that. ‘I’ll send them your way when I can. Then they can be your problem.’

They hit another stall in the conversation. Another cloud of tension hanging overhead.

‘I will stop you. I can’t let this crime run through my city.’

‘You can try,’ the Cobra responded with another sly smile. ‘I’ve lost count of the guards I have bribed. And I pay them far better than you do.’

They may be amicable, yet there are some boundaries one should never overstep. Overstepping the requirement for law and order, for example.

‘I have eyes too, just so you know. And they have seen more than you would be comfortable with.‘ He pulled a small, white flower from the earth at the base of the fountain. ‘Believe me, serpent.’ He brushed the petals with his finger, their soft edges bending under the lightest touch, then plucked each out, one by one. ‘You’re not nearly as untouchable as you think.’

Carrying a stack of books in hand, Sethel made his way towards the lounge room of the tavern. This was one of the most comfortable rooms he had been in for quite some time, and he refused to let it go to waste. Kathiya went to collect their bounty, taking Ves’sa along with her, and Caspar is usually asleep till noon. This provided him with ample alone time by the fire.

He looked over each book: cheap second hand things. They didn’t have that much money, after all.

What should he read first? Meloric’s Insights into the Sanrid Horde seemed an interesting read; one scholar living with the stone manipulating tribe of ravenous bandits (till they eventually grew bored and killed him, naturally). Then there was Tales of the Last Dragons: an entertaining piece of mythology if not wholly accurate or believable. He also already read it five times, but that wouldn’t stop him. Finally, there was Selvadori’s Notes on Lythian Civilization. This one seemed much more pertinent to their current situation. Selvadori was a famous scholar at Starhaven, before the surrounding land fell to ruin and the city disappeared.

That settles it! Tales of the Last Dragons it is!

He wanted to read it anyway, till he entered and found Caspar sat with legs crossed in the middle of the floor, holding his hands over various small floating objects and focusing intensely enough that it looked like he was about to hurt himself.

‘What in the world are you doing?’ Sethel asked, dropping his books on a nearby table.

Caspar jolted out of his focus, causing a mug to fall on his head.

‘Hey Sethel,’ he said, rubbing the bump made by the mug. ‘I was just practicing some magic. That Sister made me think about my talent. I wanted to see if I could find it. It hasn’t really worked so far.’

‘It’s of no wonder. Talents are as mysterious as the arcane itself.’ Sethel sat himself down on a footstool next to where Caspar was sitting. ‘Each is unique to the individual using it. For some, they manifest in times of great strife when they are needed most. Even then, they require years of practice to be effective. Besides all that, all you’re doing is looking at a handful of objects and furrowing your brow.’

‘Can you teach me?’

‘Unfortunately, I cannot teach that.’

‘Figures.’ The despondent Caspar rested his head in his hand and idly rolled a mark along the floor.

‘But, in the meantime, how would you like to learn some spells?’

Caspar’s ears perked up at that.

‘Really?’

‘Most certainly so. This is my favourite; it’s called Fireball.’

‘Is it safe to use in here?’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am one hundred percent sure it is mostly perfectly safe to use.’

‘How’re you feeling?’

‘FIne. Still a little stiff. I’ll walk it off.’ That wasn’t the full truth. That’s the good thing about the word fine: it’s quite vague. It can range anywhere between okay and perfect. Maybe even bad if you don’t give much of a shit.

The truth was, he had never felt better. He couldn’t remember the last time he had such a long and deep sleep.

‘How much do we owe the Church?’

‘Honestly, we already paid it.’

‘What? How?’

‘It really wasn’t much. They couldn’t really do anything other than observe you. They actually said you helped them learn some things, so it only ended up costing a few marks.’

‘Well, finally,’ he said, in surprise, ‘some actual good news!’

In a moment of divine irony, Caspar and Sethel ran up, out of breath, covered in soot, and clothes smoking, for some reason.

‘It would be imperative for us to make our departure.’

‘What did you do?’ Kathiya asked the two, as a pillar of smoke rose from behind them further into the city.

‘We’ll explain once we’re far enough away that we aren’t suspected.’

Far from the city limits, they convened on the brow of a hill, watching the rising smoke far into the heart of Asterport.

‘Where to next, boss?’ Caspar asked, eager and ready.

Where to indeed. With their debt paid, the land of Versia was open to them. They could travel south and see what the Republic has on offer. They could head north to see what the rest of the League had in store for them. There was the thrilling danger of Phaos, or maybe he could garner a favour from the Principality.

‘Giltani has the tournament!’ Caspar yelled out, breaking his concentration. ‘One hundred crowns for the winner!’

A tournament would be an excellent idea. One hundred crowns would set them up for quite a while, and fighting Giltani’s pompous bankers and gamblers? It was a sure-fire win.

‘A nice idea. When does it begin?’

‘A few months, apparently.’

‘Guess we’ve got a while. I think a detour’s in order.’

‘Where to then?’ Kathiya asked.

‘Let’s leave it up to fate.

A wagon sat waiting by a farmhouse.

‘Hello, wagon master,’ Ludgar shouted up to the man with the reins. ‘Would you offer a ride to wherever you’re heading next?’

‘If you got the coin.’

They certainly did now, and they climbed aboard.

‘Where’re you heading to anyway?’ Ludgar asked.

‘Got a spice shipment heading all the way to Savanti.’

And that settles it. Their next destination: Savanti.’