A Leisurely Day in a Foreign City

Polished — 41m01s — 2023/11/26

Of course, all of this is relevant only if the reader is familiar with the Tallian legend concerning the arrival of Oblarra, the Red Moon. Since this book must inevitably fall into the hands of those that know nothing of this ancient story (or any of its many variants), let me give a quick accounting, as I understand it. For those that know the legend—some in most exhaustive detail—I beg your pardon for the repetition, and also for any minor inaccuracies. For those that know it, please feel free to skip this simplified summary; and for the rest, this is how I know the tale:

There was a time when Luna was whole and the night light was a reflective white. In the sky, Luna stood second only to the Sun, and their dance was peaceful. Then, from the dark recesses of space, something approached: a speck, the briefest dot.

Most people didn’t notice this Interloper until it attempted to pass Tunsar the Time Keeper. As Oblarra approached Tunsar, the two sparked and dazzled the locals with their distant lightning, which made the interloper glow a menacing red. Then, the dark intruder drifted away from Tunsar and continued on her course. She dimmed and disappeared back into the murk of night.

Over the next few years, Oblarra emerged again and again as she slowly circled inward among the infinities. The other infinities were not pleased with her presence, though none of them showed it more than Sram. As Oblarra approached the Chief God of War, great arches of energy swirled, rippled, and spun between the two. These tumultuous bolts lit the sky for days at a time and shook the very earth with cataclysmic booms. After weeks of fiery display, Oblarra was beyond Sram—and although she faded to a dim red, she remained visible.

Despite Tunsar, despite Sram, Oblarra continued inward among the infinities. To the consternation of the world’s peoples, she continued to grow. Eventually, Luna proved to be Oblarra’s final target.

Luna struggled with the angry Interloper above the very heads of our ancestors, and the thunder of it caused no end of difficulties for the world’s many inhabitants. Energies rippled and surged between the two moons as their violent dance shook and deafened the natives. Sparks shot between them and often struck the Earth.

Volcanoes erupted. Storms surged. The very earth heaved.

These disruptions lasted for weeks. In Odim’s histories, it is said this cataclysm “birthed mountains from flat land” and “sunk the hills with sea”. The great civilizations of the day were all but destroyed.

As the war of the infinities continued above them, the battered peoples of the planet cowered and mourned their mounting losses. There was much fear that the gods had judged them and found the world wanting—but the destruction eventually subsided.

Oblarra settled into her current orbit around the Earth, still at cross angles with the other infinities—only now she swam in a sky full of Luna’s remains. Indeed, where the moon once stood, a million billion pieces of shiny white rock spun about the night sky and formed a thin ring of debris. Survivors emerged from the destruction and began the slow process of rebuilding. They need only look up to remember what happened—and if they didn’t want to remember, the occasional stones fell and reminded them anyway.

Two other items of celestial import are said to have taken place as Oblarra tracked across the heavens and settled around the Earth. Nevus, that most lovely nymph and Keeper of the Heart, took her current position around Jupi, the Benevolent Mother. Also, Trismegist, the Mercurial Rake, abandoned the Sun and took up course around the Earth itself—though a good distance beyond Oblarra’s near orbit. It is said that before Oblarra, Nevus used to circle the Sun, closer than the Earth, and Trismegist circled the Sun inferior even to that—if such impossible things might be believed! Of course, all of this is said to have happened a thousand generations ago, so who can pretend to know the truth of it? We have only the books.

So that is the history as it is commonly told. And now that one knows the Legend of the Interloper, let us consider the elder races that are said to have appeared upon the earth, as the Red Moon appeared above it.

- The Elder Races of the World: Considerations, Arguments, and Refutations, by Aogostua Veribos, page 3

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Despite the loss of his men, Creigal still wanted to find Humbert. “We came all the way out here. If he’s in town, I’d like to know it.”

“I’ll go,” Baet agreed. “I’m the only one to do it. If we were in the south where Borz are plentiful...” he looked at Carringten with his dark skin and shrugged.

Both guards knew the duke couldn’t go. He was a brazen man at times, but every watchman in Wibbeley was likely to be looking for him, and far too many of them might even know what he looked like.

On the other hand, Baet had a common countenance, especially with a few days’ dirt behind his ears. He was perfect for this mission. Indeed, he was a trained spy, sneak, and opportunist.

After several glances between his two remaining guards, Creigal agreed. He gave a nod to Baet.

“When I find the weasel, what do you want me to do with him?” Baet asked. “I’d offer to bring him out, but...” he let the sentence hang, as he felt such a thing was impossible.

Creigal leaned in close. “If this man has my treasure, then he is guilty. If this man is guilty, then I would have blood for our troubles.”

Baet nodded at the roundabout order and thought it’d be his pleasure to bleed Humbert dry.

“He stole a good deal of coin,” Creigal continued. “Gold, silver, copper, and two fanciful weapons; a musket with a pearl handle, and a dagger with a gold filigree hilt. Above all,” Creigal locked eyes with the guard. “Above all I want my daughter’s necklace. It is a silver locket upon a silver chain and bares the likeness of her mother inside. If you bring me nothing else, bring me that necklace.”

“Silver?” Baet asked—though he quickly put the question aside. It wasn’t his place to ask, though he was surprised that the trinket should be of such a common material. To think, they’d charged to the far side of the Saot Kingdom so the duke could risk his life for mere silver!

Carringten escorted Baet to the door of the small barn and gave the junior guard additional orders. “Be back before sunrise tomorrow or make your own way to Gaurring Heart,” he said as he clapped Baet on the shoulder. “Beware: it was Banifourd’s word that brought us to Wibbeley. Humbert might not be here at all. This could be nothing more than a trap,” he concluded.

“Always thinking of the worst,” Baet shook his head. But despite a solemn countenance, he left the barn in high spirits. He thought it was a grand development that he should search for Humbert alone. He didn’t want to admit it—though he suspected it was already known—he was more than a passing acquaintance to the thief. Just a few months prior, Baet thought of Humbert as a gambling buddy—though it was now glaringly apparent that Humbert thought of Baet as a rube, a mark to be used and discarded. Still, they’d gambled, and Baet had incurred a good bit of debt to the minor court clerk.

As they played, Humbert frequently questioned Baet about his work. One night, as Baet’s debt grew a bit wild, and the clerk’s questions became a bit too candid, Baet called the clerk on his bad behavior. In a smooth and pious manner, Humbert apologized and swore that the information would do him a great deal of good while causing no real harm to the duke. “After all, I’m working on a report for the duke’s own judges,” he noted. In a flourish of affected humility, Humbert promised to drop the debt Baet owed him—a gold sovereign—if only this one last question was answered.

For too long, Baet considered the request. After all, it was a debt of a gold sovereign, several month’s wages at a poke’s pay, weighed against a question of minor importance. Indeed, it was just a bit of formality in most ways. Despite his uneasiness, Baet answered the question. He considered it a minor indiscretion—but it was crack in the dam, a place for the waters of his own destruction to gain hold. Two months later, Humbert approached Baet while he was on duty. He pretended that the meeting was chance and claimed to be simply enjoying the duke’s flowers. as a few tall specimens poked their heads over the high wall. For a time, they talked of the garden, then Humbert had the bright idea to offer a gold sovereign to the guard, so he “might have a bit of a stroll about the garden. Just to appreciate the flowers, and maybe collect a few seeds.”

Creigal was away. A skeleton crew kept the house. No important persons were at risk and no one was likely to see the man, so long as he didn’t stay in the garden too long—and so Baet compromised his oath a second time and allowed Humbert onto the manse’s grounds.

Humbert poked about the flowers and trees of the duke’s private garden as Baet leaned against the archway, and watched the clerk from afar. He only turned for a second—to find the clerk had slipped away among the thick foliage. With a frown, Baet marched into the dark mass of vegetation and pushed among the larger plants, where a person might hide. He brushed past massive hedges full of all sorts of flowers and fruits, and no few stickers and thorns.

After a few minutes of not finding Humbert, Baet began to run. Next, he tried backtracking. Several times, Baet held still and listened for his quarry—all as he muttered curses under his breath.

When Baet arrived at the far end of the fields and saw Marik making the rounds, he realized he’d been away from his post for nearly a quarter of an hour! Humbert could be just about anywhere on the grounds! Baet’s chest began to tighten. A panic set in. He didn’t know what else to do, so he returned to his post and prayed nobody noticed he was ever missing. With any luck, one of the other guards would catch Humbert...

…unless Humbert was a squealer. In that case, it was best to hope Humbert chickened out and simply abandoned the grounds altogether.

Baet returned to his post. He leaned against the archway as Marik came around the corner. Marik nodded and seemed to sense nothing amiss as he continued on his rounds.

Initially, Baet wasn’t sure if Creigal figured out how the clerk managed to get onto the property—though the duke certainly managed to figure out who the thief was with uncanny quickness. Indeed, when Carringten first approached and ordered Baet to follow, Baet thought he was caught. He thought he was being led to the dungeons. Instead, Baet found himself part of a select guard escorting the duke on a clandestine mission to retrieve his stolen treasure—which was apparently nothing more than a silver necklace?!

Baet frowned as he thumbed the gold sovereign Humbert gave him. The light gold coin was a good deal closer to a cabin near Haver’s Port (or so goes the lure) but if Humbert and Banifourd were in cahoots, then the sovereign they gave Baet was blood money.

In Baet’s estimation, the duke was a noble and just man. It rankled Baet to think he almost handed Creigal over to his enemies. He was certainly not perfect, indeed Baet no longer wished to serve the man, but the duke was in most ways kind and just.

As he contemplated this morass of mix feelings, Baet trudged along the road in the ill-fitting clothes of his dear friend, Haddelton. The night before, as they made their escape, Creigal mistook Haddelton’s supplies for Baet’s own, and since Baet escaped wearing nothing but his boots and underwear, he was forced to wear the slimmer, longer garments of his lanky best friend. The outfit bit and pinched at his joints, and constantly rolled over his hands and under his feet. Baet thanked the gods he still possessed his own boots. Haddelton’s spare riders were far too thin to even consider. To think of wearing such evil shoes with glass still in his foot made Baet cringe.

By late morning, Baet reached his destination and decided to take the direct approach. With any luck, a surprised Humbert would answer the door. Then—after beating the duke’s treasure out of him—Baet would stick him with Haddelton’s long knife and find himself with another weapon to name. With a grin, Baet decided to call it Haddie’s Revenge.

“Yes, yes...” an unfamiliar voice called through the door. Baet frowned to hear it. The door opened and a man in blue and white glared back at the ill-dressed stranger before him. “What ya want?” the guard snapped.

Baet glanced past the guard. The apartment most immediately went up some stairs on one side and down a long hall to an open sitting area on the other. At the back of this room sat Garf in full view of the door. A flush of anger overcame the traitor’s face as he stared back at Baet.

“Banifourd!” Garf roared. He picked a loaded crossbow off a low table and leveled it at the door.

“Balls,” Baet muttered.

The guard in the doorway grabbed at his sword. Baet didn’t bother to go for a weapon. He hit the guard in the neck and grabbed the door’s handle. The guard reeled back and Baet slammed the door shut. The door trembled as the crossbow bolt struck it with a solid whack. The wood of the door split and the tip of the bolt poked through.

Wide eyed, Baet turned from the wicked edged chevron and ran down the steps. He winced as he favored his right foot and limp-ran into an alley.

The alley forked. Baet stopped and turned. He pulled Thunder Maker from its sheath and leveled the weapon at the entrance. It was bit of a bluff. If Baet fired, guards would come running from any and every direction—but if he could get a clean shot at Garf, or possibly Banifourd...

Several guards in blue and white approached the far end of the alley, saw the musket, and broke for cover. Baet didn’t get a good bead on any of them, and so he didn’t risk a shot. Instead, he holstered the weapon and ran on. He couldn’t allow himself to be flanked. If he was caught, there was nothing but torture and death ahead of him. He hopped a couple fences as he crisscrossed north and west through the neighborhood.

His side ached where Willem’s arrow had grazed him. His foot throbbed as the glass pounded deeper into his sole. He told himself it was his life if he were caught, and ran on with clenched teeth. For a good dozen blocks, Baet ran, jumped, and dodged like the very devil was after him.

Winded, Baet stopped and listened. There was no more sound of pursuit. Ahead of him and to his left, he could hear a crowd on the street. He eased forward and found himself before a long row of shops and booths. With a smile, he peeled off his cloak, pitched it over a fence, and walked into the market, intent to get lost among the vendors. While Baet considered what to do next about Humbert, he figured he could at least find a change of clothes—one that fit.

The market stretched on and on. All the necessities were available as thousands of people moseyed about. Baet bought a comfortable outfit and a warm white hat with fur trim. He also bought a new cloak with fanciful red stitching. The cloak looked good with the new cap. Although it cost him two lunes for the outfit, Baet went from every other man on the street to a man of means. He looked perhaps a bit of a dandy, all sparkly and new, but the cloth was made of a strong and comfortable material. They’d last the length of the journey—if only he managed to keep them. He had to admit, it was certainly nice to wear something that fit, and even nicer that it was clean. Best of all, Baet looked nothing like before in Haddelton’s tight and overly long travel clothes.

Baet paid for the garments and realized the red sigil of Gaurring sat exposed on Haddelton’s undershirt. The undershirt sat on top of the neat pile of Haddelton’s old clothes. Baet’s heart leapt as the clerk looked down at the symbol and put his hand on it. “For two bits I’ll give you a sack for your ol’ stuff,” he offered.

Baet smiled and gave the man a nod. He turned to the door and caught sight of a rack filled with soft-looking socks. “Add a few of these,” he said, as he pulled several pair off the rack and stuffed them in the burlap sack full of Haddelton’s old clothes.

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Carringten sat in the door of the barn and looked out over the countryside. Creigal slept as there was little to do but worry and wait while Baet snuck about Wibbeley. The sun approached its zenith and the duke finally took leave of his blankets. He joined his captain at the abandoned barn’s door as Carringten looked out over the countryside.

“Morning,” Creigal noted.

“Barely,” Carringten looked up at the sun. “And how are you?”

“Better days,” Creigal shrugged. “Feelin’ a bit of a fool.”

“Life is folly,” Carringten noted as he stared out over the fields.

“We could be safe in Gaurring,” Creigal replied. “Vearing, Marik, Haddelton; the lot of ‘em still with us.”

“Including Willem,” Carringten noted. “And we might not be safe at all. I distinctly remember two botched assassinations in the halls of your own manse, and a number of dead guards that attended both,” he shook his head. “Its a sad existence to beg for safety. Now at least we have adventure.”

“Is that what you call this?” Creigal asked. “And yet, you justify my position. We would not be here at all if I did not insist on it.”

“We would not be here if Humbert did not steal from you,” Carringten noted.

“Still, I would not feel so bad if this adventure was not purchased with the death of such good men,” Creigal shrugged. “I wonder if I have spent them foolishly.”

“I am sorry for your men,” Carringten put a hand on the duke’s shoulder. “They would be pleased to know you escaped. They thought it an honor to serve.”

“Did they?” Creigal doubted it.

Carringten continued with a shrug. “Yes, we could be safe in Gaurring. Safeish. And eventually we’d die there, of age, of boredom. And what would we have to show for it? Here and now, we pursue a thief. We right wrongs.”

Creigal shook his head. “We mean to collect a necklace—a base and simple necklace—if I admit the truth of it. I could buy a thousand identical and not blink at the cost.”

“There is none identical,” the dark captain disagreed. “None other was draped around Daphne’s neck, and nothing of Daphne was ever base or simple. She was your one true born child. Your pernicious sons stand for nothing.”

Few people took the liberty to say such things to Creigal. He frowned to hear this, though he broached no argument. He knew it was true. He knew what his sons were worth.

“Daphne’s memory deserves your defense,” Carringten continued. “Plots against you will not stop simply because you stay home.”

Creigal wondered if the other men might agree. For his part, Vearing would not have cared. He lived to fight. But some of the others had considerations: Haddelton, Barkaloe, Launden, and Marik all had children—but it would do Creigal no good to dwell on it. What was done was done. Instead, he turned and looked at his captain. “And what’s on your mind?” he asked.

Carringten stared off in the direction of Wibbeley. “Can’t get it out of my head that Baet saved me.”

“And all but naked in his efforts,” Creigal grinned.

“He had his boots, and a good deal of blood and dirt for camouflage,” Carringten snorted, then shook his head and turned serious again. “No, I thought of Baet too much, and in the end, he proved to be loyal—at least as it mattered to your own personal safety. In the mean time, I did not see Banifourd actively plotting with his men.”

“Baet deserved our suspicion,” Creigal began. “And I trusted Banifourd to see me north. There was no reason to question his loyalty—though now I must wonder how long he’s been with our enemies. How long ago was he bought? By whom? How much has he shared?”

“Then we trust Baet now?” Carringten asked. “He will not take this opportunity to betray you once more?”

“He has allowed me to be robbed—and yet he has saved my life,” Creigal shrugged. “It seems he is willing to cross some lines, but not others.”

“He is no good as a guard,” Carringten frowned. “Not in the long run.”

“No, not in the long run,” Creigal agreed. “But I think he can be trusted, for now, in this situation. I believe he had more love for Haddelton than his gambling.”

“Do you think he was ever in league with Banifourd?”

Creigal shook his head. “If Baet hadn’t fired his pistol, we may not have been alerted to Willem and his men as they snuck up on us.”

“Haddelton was our man. I believe that,” Carringten considered. “Perhaps Haddelton’s death soured the deal?”

Creigal snorted. “There’s too much to know. We take a risk no matter what we do.”

“Then it is truly an adventure,” Carringten smiled. “And if Baet does not return, which way shall we go?”

Creigal shook his head. “Is there no time for uncertainty? Must you ask the next question so quickly?”

“We’re in a heap of a mess,” Carringten nodded. “I’ve spent the better part of the morning uncertain—and I find it very uncomfortable.”

Creigal shrugged. At least planning for the future would keep his mind off the immediate past. “If Baet does not return, our task is impossible,” he began. “It will take weeks to get reinforcements to continue the search. By that time, Humbert could be at the far edge of Minist. He could be aboard a ship to Hof Hebrin for all we know—or even go back around to Balliwex.”

“Balliwex!” Carringten hooted, “Let him return to the south! Better yet, let him return to Gaurring Heart!” he laughed. “No, he will never go home! That is folly!”

“Whatever his course, I hope he did not go west. I loathe the idea of going to Minist,” Creigal said. “And if Baet does not return, perhaps we’ll go east to High Plains and have a candid conversation with Yurand. Maybe even go all the way to Land’s End and drop in on the Dunkels,” Creigal surmised.

“The Dunkels?” Carringten sat up. “With only me to protect you?” He shook his head. “I don’t even like the idea of visiting High Plains with nobody but me for your guard, and I am quite fond of Yurand.”

Creigal considered this and gave a nod. “Still, I have ignored the Noeth for too long. I think I shall at least have to write letters.”

“So we might gauge their ambitions?” Carringten stroked his chin. “Yurand and the Dunkels do not like each other. Yet, they both seem to chafe under the rule of Gred duReb.”

“Or so it seems,” Creigal nodded. “But that, my friend, is an apt description of all politics.”

“One that has kept you alive for quite some time,” Carringten smiled. “Gred duReb is still unsure of where you stand.”

Creigal shook his head. “I cannot believe that. For almost a decade, we kept our secret and pretended that the Breckers bested us with our own weapons. But I think the king is on to us now, if not for the last couple of years. I believe it is not only my sons that plot my demise.”

“This was bound to happen,” Carringten shrugged. “What is our next step? What do you think our illustrious king will do?”

“Likely his plans are already in motion,” Creigal sighed.

“We’re prepared,” Carringten nodded.

“Indeed, we’ve prepared for war of any kind on every front,” Creigal agreed. “And now that war seems inevitable, I think we must come up with some sure-fire strategies to force a peace.”

“Now that’d be a thing,” Carringten nodded. “And now I hope that Baet does return, for the retrieval of your daughter’s necklace seems to be a much easier task then suing the King for peace.”

“Then we hope for the easy road?” Creigal asked his captain.

“We hope for adventure, instead of politics,” Carringten answered.

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