Machine, p.4
Machine, page 4
part #1 of The Peradran Legacy Series
To draw the topic off himself, Morbannon mentioned the first thing he could think of. “Tell me more of the festival, when is it to take place?”
Makad looked away from the sword. “The next full moon, the entire town will be involved. There are contests and dances, a parade will be held at dusk. Everyone is invited, even the Lalgoræ. That is why I was chosen to come, as a representative of the Lalgoræ also.”
Morbannon asked, “Why a warrior? Why not a merchant? Or someone who knows diplomacy?”
Makad answered, keeping his eyes off the sword. “I am only here to arrange the trades, not to do the actual trading. I know what we need and what we have to offer, that is enough for now. In the mean time I intend to see the tanner, to arrange trade for the festival. He is a very skilled leather crafter.” It seemed that Makad was carrying a secret of his own. So far he avoided any detail toward his warrior status, though he chose not to hide it. Makad was not a Wizard either. Of that Morbannon was sure. He was too easily enthralled by the Arcane nature of Spiritmoon. His experience from being a Lalgorè was enough to determine the nature of Spiritmoon, but not to understand its significance. The Lalgoran race had a few warriors who could wield magic. Makad, who must have been at least two hundred years old despite his youthful appearance, had not gained control of the Arcane.
Of the few warriors that could also wield magic, only the most powerful were called Steel Wizards – Morbannon was one of them.
Steel Wizards followed a path from early in life. When carried out, it led to riches and power. When ignored, it led to destruction. Anyone with such a fate would be eliminated, unable to defend oneself or escape from the wrath of another Steel Wizard seeking dominion. There was no such thing as a no-contest fight, a Steel Wizard had no need for mercy. The ascension into immortality was what all Steel Wizards sought. To do so required a soul. Which led back to the Amulet. It could be in anyone’s possession, that was part of the magic. It could be jewelry of any fashion, any value but most likely valuable so that it might be protected and cherished.
Originally its power lay dormant. Since Forazi’s demise, the Amulet held power ready to command. The one who possessed it would find it fascinating, attracted to it like Makad was to Spiritmoon. Its enchantment would be noticeable only to those who were familiar with the Arcane. Keeping its nature a secret to those who were not was also important. Locating the Amulet without magic too would be difficult. It meant waiting until the Amulet showed up on its own. The Festival of Disguise, on the next full moon would be the time to look. The entire town would be on the streets, wearing elaborate costumes. The possessor of the Amulet would keep it near at all times. Possibly incorporating it into their costume. Morbannon has waited ten years, waiting until the next full moon meant nearly a month to search at random, to explore Koroot at random.
* * * *
Cohiri, who hated working for the Tanners guild, did so only for her father, a member of that guild. As skilled as he was, he couldn't stretch all of the skins and keep up with his craftwork. So Cohiri was chosen to do the extra work, the same as last year and the year before that. The Festival of Disguise was only four days away and many costumes required fine leather. The Festival was arranged by the Town Lord’s wife Ciltia. She was beautiful and is said to be a Lalgorè; one hundred and twenty years old and looked barely in her twenties by human standards. As a member of an official House of State, she had a right to a holiday which she chose to be the Festival of Disguise.
Even though Cohiri envied Ciltia and her beauty, she enjoyed this festival over all the rest; the involvment of so many trades and the crowds of holiday pleasure seekers. It had become a fast tradition for men to court their fancy in character of their costume. The courting came to pass with dancing and singing until late in the night. Her mind wandered, imagining a mysterious stranger driven by fate into her arms. Though that dream would never come true with Keldon around. He was the toughest guy around, keeping dibs on Cohiri like some kind of prize. To complete the thought, Keldon walked into the shop carrying a girl's costume and wearing his own; a birdman without wings. The perfect costume for Keldon.
“Keldon, I have my warrior maiden costume, thank you – no.”
Keldon blurted hastily, “You want to win the contest don't you? The prizes this year are fantastic!” For the first time that day Cohiri had already begun to wish Keldon would disappear in a puff of smoke.
When she turned to tell him she was too busy to talk, she found he was gone. Her would-be costume lying in the doorway. “It worked.” She laughed and picked up the costume and held it up. It was the same as her own from last year, a Gorian Gypsy.
She laughed again and tossed the costume onto a chair by the window.
“Ouch!” Cohiri grabbed her wrist, touching her wrist charm with her fingers. The charm felt warm. She never noticed how the jewel caught the light, tossing its reflection across her chest. She sighed, staring at the charm. Turning it in the light, this way and that, captivated in the newfound beauty. Her wrist didn't hurt any longer, she just threw wrong or something. Where did she get this from? She couldn't remember. She walked into the next chamber where her father shaped and cut leather costume pieces.
“Father, where did I get this charm?” She held out her wrist for her father to see.
He glanced at it for a moment then answered into his work. “I don't know Cohiri. Not me or Mother.” He referred to her mother as if she were still alive.
He did that when he was distracted – forgot she was gone. It must be easier for him somehow. Cohiri never forgot. She missed her mother deeply.
Then for a moment the charm seemed to become a tiny red teardrop, suspended on a gossamer thread. Her fascination held fast. 'What is it about this charm?' She thought to herself. It seemed that it belonged to someone and they gave it to her. But when? Why? It was so beautiful. The tiny ruby was flawless, barely a quarter karat in size but so radiant it glowed.
Her work was forgotten, lost in a vision. She saw a marble landing, tiered by two steps on three sides. Large marble pillars stood at each corner. Beautiful draperies hung between the pillars. It all seemed so familiar, like deja’vu. From two tall sconces burned aromatic oil. She could smell the perfume in the air. From behind a pillar Ciltia revealed herself. She began to laugh at Cohiri, then she held out her hand – in it was the ruby charm. She dangled it like bait, giggling whimsically. Cohiri looked at her wrist, the charm was gone. Ciltia's laughter filled the air.
Cohiri snapped out of the vision. Immediately she checked her wrist. The charm was intact. The vision was so real. She expected to find the charm was gone. To part with it would be terrible, unimaginable. Yet she saw it happen. Her envy was steering toward fear as she thought about losing the charm to Ciltia somehow. She would avoid her at all times. Even during the Festival when meeting royalty was part of the celebration. When the Tanners guild would be honored personally by Lord Merdat and Ciltia themselves. Along with other guilds that participated in its making. She wouldn’t be there.
It was time to dye leather. Time to do something other than lose herself in the charm. The dry skins were ready. This batch was to be blue for an elaborate pullover skirt designed to lay in thin layers like feathers – there were many pieces to dye.
Cohiri continued to work, admiring her charm whenever possible. Holding out her arm so the jewel caught the light or holding it close to feel its warmth.
When night fell Cohiri was finished dyeing. Blue pieces leaned everywhere in neat rows, arranged by size. They would be dry by morning and ready to be cut and shaped by her father. She held out her hands, they were stained blue past the wrist. The charm was stuck to her arm with dry dye, the jewel glinted from a clean spot. She turned her arm to catch the light and the charm fell free, dangling loosely. As she turned her arm some more she noticed that her hand was clean on one side. As she turned her arm again she saw it was clean all the way around. She checked her other hand. It was spotless.
Cohiri caught her breath. “Wow!”
She grabbed the jewel in her other hand and looked into it. It was spotless too, it was strange to be clean without smelling the spirits used to solve the dye. Her hands smelled clean, like she washed them with perfumed soap. There was no one here to show this miracle of the charm. Having never experienced the Arcane, She didn't understand how the charm controlled what happened. She only knew that it did.
She talked to it. “Where are you from? Why do I have you?” But there was no answer – nothing to help her understand. It was totally dark outside now. One lantern lit the entire room. The wick sparked within it’s flame. Shadows danced across the floor and walls. The light caught her eye but it was her charm. It was glowing brighter and brighter, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. A strong breeze blew in the window causing the lantern's flame to dance. The glow from the jewel matched its rhythm. Cohiri's vision blurred from staring at the strange light. The glow filled her eyes. Now dreamlike Cohiri began to speak Arcane dialogs. The meaning somehow known to her. Translated it went;
A Curse,
A time for many times.
For a curse,
Full moon
Enchantment and Steel.
All at once Cohiri realized what was happening. The dialog was a story and an explanation. A powerful curse had empowered the jewel on a full moon. She also had the ability to harness the power of the Amulet. She was new at this. Protecting the Amulet from others would surely be dangerous. Magic had ways of corrupting the innocent.
Suddenly Cohiri felt very tired, drained. The Arcane words rang in her mind, ‘Steel’. She was the steel. She did feel different. She felt a link between herself and the Amulet now. Staring into the ruby, she saw faces. Not in the tiny ruby itself but in her mind. She concentrated on the faces, they became opaque. She saw Ciltia, unaware. A black-haired man who seemed to ignore her stare and another man wearing armor of a unique design, also unaware. There were other countenances which she could not discern. They were distant, lost in the Arcane mists. Swirling together then apart again. Cohiri blinked away the vision. She would remember those faces, those who could alter her destiny.
Her destiny lay within the Amulet. Its power was infusing her with knowledge of the Arcane, which flowed through her freely now. She would learn to control the Arcane, to use its power. She clenched her fists, energy sizzled through her body. Hair bristling on her neck and arms, she commanded the Amulet.
“Implement my power, fill my empty hand! Let Steel meet Steel!”
The image of a sword hovered in wisps of smoke before her hand. Alighted noncorporealy the image beckoned her grasp. She reached forward and the image receded. She steadied herself and concentrated.
“Let steel meet Steel!” Her hand held open. The sword seemed to become real. The Amulet grew suddenly cold. The Amulet’s power now distant. She was on her own!
The sword danced before her, slashing through the air, nearly gashing her arm. The sword became aggressive, as if wielded by an invisible foe. It stabbed at her torso, feinted left then went for her neck. She barely dodged in time for both attacks to miss.
Cohiri understood, she had to fight to prove herself, it was a battle for control. If she lost she would die. She kicked at the blade. It became transparent and her foot passed through. The sword remained transparent and slashed, becoming solid at the last moment. Cohiri threw up her arm. The sword struck her wrist and contacted the Amulet chain. A flash of energy was released and the sword recoiled, revealing the handle to Cohiri. Her hand shot out for the grip. As soon as she made contact the sword went heavy in her hand. The Amulet grew warm again. The sword was now attuned to Cohiri. Its powers a reflection of her own unexplored abilities.
Cohiri went to the front of the shop and there she found a studded leather suit and got a scabbard that would fit the sword. She donned the armor and secured the sword. It hung freely at her side. Her family would never understand; she needed the sword now. Her destiny lay in new directions, she knew if she should deny that she would die. The power of the Arcane flowed through her veins. Koroot was not the place for her now. She would leave after the Festival. She would finish her work for her father then she would leave for An’gor, the largest city in Peradra. It lay far to the south, on the edge of a great delta. There the Arcane was accepted, even capitalized on. In An’gor she could augment her command of the arts.
* * * *
The festival had begun, it was ten a.m. The front of the Mossy Rock was decorated, and the street was lined with carts and booths selling food and crafts. The larger booths had tables and chairs with costumed servers. The early crowd consisted of families with children running around playing games. The more serious Festival goers could be found on the side streets where shops presented private parties; sales and trading were common. A large auction would take place later in the main square in front of the fountain, on the same stage that would hold the costume contest in the evening. Morbannon scanned the crowd, looking over all of the bodies for the Amulet. There were several special items to be found.
A Master Thieves dagger, hidden within the folds of his ruffled costume. The Warrior Maiden wore armor that glowed ruby red. A group of five An’gorian slave traders each carried a whip, which they could use to subdue a large portion of the crowd if they chose.
When it was time for the auction, Morbannon was ready to outbid anyone for his prize. The few pieces of jewelry that there were received his closest scrutiny. But there was no Amulet. As the day wore on Morbannon continued his search, covering old ground as the masses were renewed by the hour.
Near dusk Lalgoræ started showing up wearing elaborate costumes depicting a variety of mythical beasts and characters. Many were painted with phosphorescent designs that glowed in the dark, making their entrance more dramatic.
The Warrior Maiden blended with the Lalgoræ in an attempt from making herself the only attraction. Many men were drawn to her functional yet revealing adamantium armor plating. A giant scorpion lumbered through the crowd, its stinger tail was twelve feet high and painted with the phosphorescent paint. Two Lalgoræ carried the costume, hidden within the mock legs.
As the crowd peaked and the streets were jammed tight with costumed partiers the parade began, pressing forward with a giant surge of the crowd. Four horses pulled a float made up of people dressed like a layered cake, standing on each others shoulders; it stood five layers tall and they all held candles over their head. The top of the float was a big Peradran “9” for how many years there has been a Festival of Disguise. When the human float reached the fountain, the entire cake collapsed in a coreographed display; like a volcano melting away and into the crowd. The “9” still on a pole high above. The next attraction was a musical float; atop a platform drawn by three horses sat a costumed band of fifteen players consisting of two harpsichords, a drum section, brass, and vocal. The mob danced and sang to the music. The platform stopped on the other side of the fountain, where the band continued to play until the contests.
Between each float were masses of people pouring in and out of saloons carrying half full mugs. The smell of beer, wine and smoke mixed together filling the air.
The next attraction was the town guard mounted on horseback in full dress. Fifty-four men rode into the town square and surrounded the fountain and stage. Quickly following was four army squads marching double file. They marched up to the closest horse and stopped. A curved row of soldiers led from the street to the fountain. They moved apart, parting the crowd with them. A carriage followed, atop sat Lord Merdat and Ciltia. Their half-Lalgorè twins at their feet. Merdat was costumed as a Lizardman. Ciltia was a multicolored butterfly; her skin painted alluringly with the phosphorescent paint. The twins were dressed alike. Two little dragons sat side by side; one red, one blue.
The carriage rode to the stage, where the Lordship and his wife were escorted off the top of the carriage onto the stage. The crowd cheered them on the whole while. Chairs were placed on the stage for the royalty to sit in front of the band.
Other smaller floats followed, pulled by one or two horses. The guild the float represented was depicted by a giant version of the key tool to the trade. The smallest were pushed by people, each finding a place in the square. The Tanners guild was drawn by two horses. Members of the guild sat around the guild emblem – they were in their shop clothes.
Other guilds were more flamboyant, like the blacksmith guild. They had a giant anvil and the members all carried oversized hammers and dressed in brightly colored stereotypical blacksmith overalls. Non-guilded businesses were also involved. Riding on decorated floats were Riva Tailors, Koroot First Bank, Sotare Tailors, Mossy Rock Inn and Wolves Ear Pub; which depicted a giant grinning wolves head with an enlarged ear, pierced with a gold loop. The overall favorite was the last float, the brewers guild. They carted barrels of beer, tapped and serving the crowds earnest desire for alcohol.
The party continued for a while. Occasionally a fight would break out and the mob would part for the event, cheering on the bout until it was broken up by the mounted guard who returned immediately to their place around the fountain. The band continued to play and the stage was surrounded by a throng of dancing and singing costumed drunk people. The sight was a spectacle to behold; the way the crowd reacted to each song. The band risked a formal dance melody. The assemblage reacted eagerly forming long lines that stretched into the masses. They danced to the synchronized music laughing and stumbling their best efforts away. Merdat and Ciltia joined in; the two of them danced on the stage alone, still surrounded by soldiers.
The music stopped and a chorus of trumpets blared. Merdat approached the front of the stage. He addressed the crowd:
“People of Koroot and the surrounding villages.” His voice carried about twenty feet but everyone knew what was next and a line began to form. “It is now time for our annual costume contest. First prize is The Royal Treatment; where the winner gets to live in the palace for two weeks or one hundred Gold Pieces! Second prize; Dinner For Two at The Royal Arms or fifty Gold Pieces! And third prize is twenty-five Gold Pieces! There are consolation prizes for everyone who enters!”
