A Scattering of Seeds

A Scattering of Seeds

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James B. Lynch

Published by Terravox Publishing at Smashwords

Discover other titles by James B. Lynch at Smashwords.com

A Scattering of Seeds is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialogue, and characters are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by James B. Lynch

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First Edition

This book is available in print at most online retailers

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

ISBN 978-0-9818707-0-0

www.dragontayl.com

For my beloved wife, Rebecca

who makes it all possible

Lightning

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Tieron faltered and crashed to his knees on the muddy street. Outstretched hands and splayed fingers shattered the elbow-deep puddle, splattering his heaving chest and gasping face with thick, summer-warm water. The wild flickering of lightning and instantaneous shuddering thunder illuminated the whites of his wide eyes and drowned his coughing cry.

He struggled to his feet, dragging his boots through the puddle while he searched wildly over his shoulder. Sinking to one knee, left hand clutched to a pouch tied to his left shoulder, he saw them shift and bob in the archway of the alley from which he’d emerged. They oriented on him a moment later and darted forward.

With a frustrated growl that did more to clear his throat than make noise, Tieron lurched forward. A sprinter’s physique and trained balance allowed him to keep his distance, but the constant flight and wounds from his pursuers’ occasional success were taking their toll. His two-toned wheeze often caught into a rattling cough, raw pain pulled at abrasions on the side of his head, and his vision blurred constantly.

He turned another corner, pulling frantically at the catches of the pouch. He could feel the thick pulsing within, the slickness as the lining of the pouch seemed unable to touch the object within.

Another flash of purple lightning connected sky and earth, tearing away a chunk of tree not ten feet away. The sudden blast and fury blew Tieron off his feet. He rolled over mid-flight, thick rain soaking his body, the pounding of the thunder reverberating painfully through his chest. He slammed back to ground and tried to roll further to spread out the impact, but came up short against the stone of a wall.

Desperately pushing himself to hands and knees, leaning against the impeding wall, Tieron squinted back towards the tree. The cry of pain in his left arm echoed loudly from his mouth, but after a moment of eyes squeezed tight shut and shifting his weight to his right arm, he was able to focus. Thick strands of wet, black hair spread across his face, draped across his nose, getting in his mouth, drawing tight across his cheek.

There, struggling under the recently carved branch, the two pursuers writhed.

Tieron took the chance to catch two deep breaths, staring at the ground, before shoving himself up and cradling his broken arm. Swaying unsteadily, he wove his way down the muddy track and onto a wider street. Hot irons of pain stabbed through his left shoulder. He stood blinking dully through the thick rain, mouth open and drawing breath as fast and deep as the pain in his arm would let him. A sudden light across the way drew his attention, and he leaned towards the jovial and raucous voices that burst from the doorway.

Drifting across the street, pummeled by the rain, Tieron reached out with his good hand to the figure framed by the light.

A haggard, bedraggled man appeared suddenly before DragonTayl, then crumpled under the weight of a creature that threw itself atop him. Tayl leapt forward, sword already free of its scabbard. By the time the unfortunate victim touched the ground, Tayl had run the point of his sword through his assailant’s supine neck. With a swift and smooth sweep-sawing motion he severed the creature’s head and extracted his blade.

Two quick, low-crouched steps and Tayl closed on the second creature, now upon them. It reared back, reptilian maw agape. Tayl followed its motion, matching speed for speed, and gave it no time to strike forward, leaping instead as if to pass it. While the vile attacker swiveled to follow his progress, Tayl swung his sword through its body, cutting it in half.

Tayl turned immediately and knelt next to the fallen man. Sword in his left hand, Tayl rested his right palm against the man’s chest. Tayl’s long fingers, obviously pale even in the dim light of the storm, appeared bony, but touched with a tender motion as he rolled the man on his side. The head of the supine attacker moved with him, fangs still embedded in the back of the man’s neck.

A slow, labored breath marked Tieron’s only reaction. Unable to control his eyes any more, Tieron appeared to gaze upon the road. His right hand fell away from his left shoulder. A circular object dropped to the ground, falling over on the sodden street. Tayl frowned at it and leaned closer.

Can’t... help... the wounded man managed weakly, water pouring down his face, eyes still unfocused. His eyebrows quivered in an attempted frown. ...You...

Tayl closed his eyes and rested his hand against the man’s cheek. It is I who can not help you, he said quietly, his voice bearing the touch of an exotic accent.

Take it... quickly... the man whispered, unmoving. You... will...

Tayl felt the shift as the man released his final burden. He crouched low over the gently expiring body and chanted quietly, privately, as the rain beat down upon them.

After a moment, Tayl looked at the ground where an ivory-white oval was already spattered in mud kicked up by the rain. It was of low profile, but one of the ends carried a short crest. He could see jewels embedded there, and the way the milky surface appeared to absorb the gloomy sky in an almost purplish hue.

He reached down, talon-tipped fingers of his right hand closing around what he was sure was a crown of some sort. His left arm came up reflexively, his attention immediately focused on the cracking power that sizzled down the street towards him.

As though a bolt of lightning had rebounded off a building and came at him sideways, blue-purple electricity coursed down the street to flood the air about him. Tayl flinched, crouching lower.

Even before it occurred to him that the energy had redirected around him, or that the crown in his hand sparkled in defiance, Tayl registered a howl of frustrated rage. It echoed down the street, forcing its way through the rain, plaintive as a wolf’s cry by the time the energy stopped.

Tayl narrowed his eyes, eyes that almost looked as though they had reflected the light like mirrors or the cut facets of crystal. Calmly he scanned the buildings, focusing on a balcony three quarters of a block down the lane on the left.

Ignoring the street for several precious seconds, Tayl filtered through the man’s clothing, removing an amulet, ring, pouch, and a patch sewn into the collar of his cloak. I will take it, he murmured into the dead man’s ears.

Tayl rose from the body and slipped away to his right, away from the supine beasts, away from the mysterious balcony, and disappeared behind the rain.

Chapter One

Crown of Pain

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DragonTayl sat in the stink of Tariini’s Tavern, a nasty mix of sauna and steam bath once the heat of the day began, chewing on a Halori leg. His eyes watched the listless crowd with about as much enthusiasm as they showed in their slouches, murmured conversations, and half-hearted attempts to drink. The slower pace suited him just fine, for through the masking lenses he’d fashioned, he needed to peer at features longer if he wanted to see their details. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring through the hot dimness, but it would do even less to let his natural eyes be seen.

Dorok pushed his way slowly through the doorway, the heat and light of the outside exchanged for the heat and dark of the odorous tavern. His small, round face wore a masterful, bland expression of humid lethargy. Unable to summon the energy for a frown at some particularly despised rivals, he shuffled further into the room. They’d be just as un-inclined to pick a fight with him on a day like today.

With a nod and half-smile to Tayl he passed, searching for the illusion of a cooler booth towards the back of the building. Dorok, Tayl mumbled in greeting, though he barely knew the little man. He took another bite and chewed slowly, eyes following Dorok only long enough to ascertain from his gait and twitching what weapons he was likely to be toting and how lethargic he really was.

For several minutes Tayl sat eating, sipping occasionally from the tankard at his left hand, feeling the weight of the newly acquired trinkets in his belt pouch. He’d been unable to ascertain anything from the crown while studying it in his room. The obvious urge to set it on his head had not yet won over his skepticism that some occult power would affect him in a strange way should he do so.

Instead, he thought long and hard about the artifacts he’d picked up with it. The crown was obviously of some importance, enough that he had been attacked and the man in the street had been killed. Tayl also suspected it was the crown that protected him from the unusual lightning, though he knew too little about magic to be sure. The other things were of more use to him now.

The patch bore a stylized symbol. It showed an oval with a long, thin rectangle protruding from one of the shorter ends. To Tayl it looked like a musical instrument, however the neck turned into a sword. He reasoned it should lead him in the right direction – to a group or organization. The pouch contained a few foreign coins that might help him find the right region. The amulet had a charm fashioned like a feather and with the ring, which had the initials R.A.L.F. engraved into the inside, Tayl felt it should lead him to the specific man.

The problem was, Tayl sighed after a bite and before washing it down, he was new to Tanjee and needed help knowing where to start. He shook his head and took a drink. The under-baked scent of old wood steeping in the afternoon air thickened, flavoring the food and water.

Tayl pushed back from the table, leaning back in his chair and watching the doorway dubiously. He made no move to stand, rather stretched his legs out and slouched. Thus he was in an excellent position to show the right amount of disinterest when Loriben shouldered his way through the door.

Hunched as usual, with hands shoved in pockets and face down as much as possible, Loriben was still a large man. Not particularly heavy, but not wiry either, Loriben pulled off a clumsy sort of fumbling that his small chin and stubbly face helped promote. He had an oversized, dirty-blue bandana tied around his ragged hair, both of which flopped around his head. He mumbled something to the first table, the patrons around which laughed as loudly as the heat and stink would allow, then shuffled passed them towards the back of the room.

Tayl deliberately caught his eye and nodded. Loriben’s return nod was almost imperceptible, and he continued on his track towards the bar unabated. On his way Loriben kneed a chair and rubbed his elbow into the back of another guy’s head, eliciting more chuckles. He and the fellow exchanged good-will winks, then Loriben stopped at the counter for a tankard that was being topped off for him.

After a few moments to exchange muttered pleasantries with Tariini, Loriben pulled his big hands out of his pockets, giving Tariini a grimy coin and taking the tankard away.

Hot, stinking, miserable, rotten sod of a day, Loriben greeted in his mumbling rumble, sitting down at Tayl’s table.

It is the season, Tayl grinned with half of his mouth, slouching a little less in his chair.

If I left some of Aunt Mabella’s bread out here it would go limp, soggy, and finally dissolve into this kind of air, Loriben shook his head.

In all of twenty minutes, Tayl agreed.

Your note said you need to identify something, Loriben prompted, then sucked a large gulp of ale out of his mug.

Tayl sat up and leaned his elbows on the table, subtly looking around them as he murmured. I ran across something in the street last night, and I don’t know what to make of it. He cast a glance around to determine nobody was close enough to hear what they were saying, and nobody could see if he placed something on the table between them. Loriben’s foul breath was little price to pay for the precious cover of darkness. Nonetheless, Tayl took another swallow of his water before continuing.

He carefully slipped the crown from the inside of his shirt, into which he’d sewn a lining that could hold it away from his skin. He set it down on the table between them without a sound. I have reason to believe it’s more than just a pretty thing. I was under attack the moment I found it – some kind of magical attack that didn’t work. Lightning or something.

Taking the crown in his long fingers, Loriben traced along its lines and gems with dirt-blackened fingernails, his breath thick and heavy, but not hurried. He glanced up at Tayl. You steal this?

No, Tayl shook his head slowly, still paying attention to whomever was around them. Some poor player out on the street last night. I happened to be walking out of Omar’s and this guy fell in the rain. I killed two of something that were attacking him, but he only lasted a few more seconds. He asked me to take it. Sounded like something important, but he died before he could help me.

Loriben listened to all this while testing the gems, the shape, the edges. He bit at his bottom lip with yellowy teeth. Isn’t from around here, he declared carefully. This is a serious piece. Ivory or bone, real gemstones, which look to be flawless and large. Smallest one is at least ten carats.

Though his eyes danced, he also fidgeted as though fighting the urge to thrust it back into Tayl’s hands. I know everything worth stealing around here. This hasn’t been in town long. I’m afraid it’s probably worth enough that the owners are going to come looking for it in force.

Tayl snorted softly. I did say I was attacked.

Loriben set the crown on the surface of the table, carefully ran his finger around the inside edge, then wiped away a drop of sweat clinging to the bottom of his chin. That Tayl didn’t sweat was neatly masked by the fact that water condensed on everything here, beading on his skin and providing him the requisite sheen for a normal person in Tanjee.

The fence’s fingers stopped between two of the three gems, felt and rubbed as delicate and sensitive as an artisan. ’Ello, he grinned. These are made to come out.

Curiously, Tayl frowned and watched. With another gentle flick, using the dirt-encrusted fingernail of his index finger, Loriben triggered a release and the red gem, furthest to the right, fell out of the crown.

Immediately drawing his hands away and shaking his fingers, Loriben cried out softly, drawing the attention of several other patrons, though they could not make out what the fence was doing in the gloom. Damned thing bit me, Loriben gritted, sucking on his fingertips. Like a shock. He shuddered.

Tayl smirked ruefully and gathered the crown and ruby, tucking the crown back into his shirt and pressing the ruby into the opening of his pouch. Loriben watched the artifact disappear, frowning all the while. I don’t know if there’s much more I can tell you.

A beam near their table cracked under the pressure of the constant heat and humidity, causing a few timbers to groan. The beam held neatly, the split running lengthwise, but everyone in Tariini’s chuckled nervously, except Tariini who cussed behind the bar.

Loriben looked up at the support doubtfully, still sucking on his tingling fingers. Bastardly, suffocating heat, he mumbled past his dirty digits. He sniffed.

Places are always doing that, Tayl observed, though he pushed his chair away from the table again, distancing himself further from the recent crack.

Humph, Loriben pushed away as well, a subtle jerk of his head indicating Tayl should follow him. "But just last week I was in Ingel’s when it collapsed. Same sounds happened then. This damnable air rots buildings out in a hurry.

C’mon, he muttered under his breath, distaste in his tone as he stole a glance at Tayl’s shirt where the crown lay hidden. I know someone better versed in magical toys.

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Shrieking rent the room, set the thin drapes in motion, rattled the shutters. Like a coalescing whirlwind, five Shirgar Wraiths blew about, crashed into columns, ricocheted off walls. Their passage drew the already shaking tapestries into trailing streamers, sucked vials and vases off shelves, and fluttered tomes into bat-like parodies. The howling of wind stirred up by the display provided a feverish, discordant overtone to augment the frenzy.

Their chaotic anxiety swirled about a large marble slab set just off center in the middle of the room. There, on its cream-colored, smooth surface, interrupting the marble’s glittering tiger-stripe veins, the indistinct form of a man lay sprawled haphazardly on its stomach. His right arm hung limp over the side of the slab, the sleeve of his deep purple robes tugging and swaying in the gathering gale.

What are we to do? one shrill voice screamed as it circled.

What went wrong? cried another, silver-gray face contorted in terror.

A sharp metallic scent spiced the air, almost luminous in its ghostly swirl, disturbed by the passing flight of the agitated beasts. One orbit circled closer than the others, the wraith it belonged to alternately reached out as if to touch the fallen man or looked about wildly at its brethren.

How did this happen? an outer wraith demanded, launching its words about hysterically.

What happened? echoed shrilly from across the room.

Aren’t you the watcher? one swooped in, plowing through the innermost wraith in a vaporous collision. White trailers scattered about them, but neither form appeared disrupted by the violent exchange.

I don’t know! the watcher protested, every bit as chaotic. Nothing happened! He was in here just fine! I was watching! it reached out as if to paw at the man’s side. I was watching! Nothing happened! He just fell over!

Wailing intensified as the wraiths whipped themselves into a worse frenzy. Frost spread across the window panes. More books, odd components, and knick-knacks were sucked off shelves and into the maelstrom even as the first batch skidded to restless, shuddering stations across the floor.

What happened? two new streaks thundered into the room, pulling at their wild, ethereal hair, spinning into the general mayhem. What’s going on? Why did we suddenly feel weak?

Weak! the Watcher screamed. Weak! I felt suddenly weak and he fell over! It spun directly over the man’s body now, as if trying to see the six other wraiths at once.

What can be done? an outer wraith wove under a chair, intentionally bumping the legs, clawing at the air.

What happened to him? the second newcomer screeched.

Why can’t I feel him? another orbiting wraith wailed.

We can’t feel him! The chorus of confusion reached a new pinnacle as each wraith reinforced the revelation three or four times.

Was there nothing here? another demanded, keeping its distance from the man and the Watcher despite its imperious, hysterical tone.

We can’t feel him! another repeated mournfully. What shall we do?

No, there was nothing! The Watcher’s ghostly eyes were wide, its hair waving about in time with its agitated movements. Nothing here! Nothing but him!

What did he do? a wraith darted diagonally across the room, then continued in the whirlwind.

I can’t feel him!

He did nothing! The Watcher studied the man as it flew about him frantically. He just fell over! Grabbed his chest! Grabbed his head! Fell over!

What can we do?

What happened? the pleas and demands grew incredulous.

In a renewed fervor the wraiths grew incoherent, crashing about, ricocheting off the ceiling, floor, walls, toppling chairs and stands, shifting tables with their passage. Glass shattered, multi-colored liquids splattering every available surface, gasses infusing the cold air with cacophonous odors.

Two wraiths intertwined in a screaming maelstrom of clawing limbs and gnashing teeth. About them the static discharge clapped and snapped like miniature thunder. Rent and torn, vapor issued forth from their pale, translucent flesh. They disengaged to the howls and screams of their fellows.

Stop! Stop! Stop! The Watcher wraith screeched.

How do we wake him up? a swirling observer dove close and flew away, shuddering.

What happened to him? another demanded again, dementia evident in its chaotic call.

We must have him back! another declared.

We must! We must! the call echoed around the rapidly cooling room.

We must have the power back!

The power is gone! We are weakened! howled over the whipping wind of their passage, a ghostly moan from the dead of winter as though shred across jagged glass.

How do we help him?

How do we get it back?

What happened to him? the exclamations piled atop each other in a rush to be heard.

He just fell over! The Watcher repeated. He clutched at his heart and his head!

His heart and his head! His heart and his head! was taken up all around him, repeated until each had said it more than twice.

What can we do? overrode the declaration. What does it mean?

What does it mean? repeated less hysterically. The initial whirlpool of activity drained, incapable of maintaining its overpowering inertia. The wraiths visibly slowed, though their circling still tugged at spilled pages, spun beakers, rocked glass shards.

His head, his head! one of the two wounded wraiths exclaimed, pointing.

His head, the crown! the other wounded wraith agreed, darting in and away.

The crown! Something happened to the crown! the first wounded wraith demonstrated an intellectual leap. Something happened to the crown!

The crown! The crown he lost! popped around the room.

We must find it! The pace picked up again, yet without the utter abandon.

We must find the crown!

We must give it back to him! only the Watcher stayed near, looking out in a mixture of horror and hope. Find the crown!

The crown! The crown! they called, rallying each other.

Find it and bring it back!

Something happened to the crown!

We can find it!

I can feel it!

I feel it! I feel it! the wraiths agreed eagerly, swirling outward, nearing the walls and windows.

We must get the crown!

We must give it back to him!

Then the power will return!

Even the Watcher, torn in duties, gave one last, lingering look at the man spread on the work table, then scattered with the other wraiths, their voices fading like frost on a warming window.

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Smoke barged out the doorway, slamming against Tayl and Loriben. It swirled about them as though maddened by their impertinent obstruction, then roiled down the narrow, tunnel-like alley. Sunlight cut sharp, geometric shapes through the blue-black river as it cascaded along, consuming barrels and crates, garbage and refuse, doorway and window frame in its eye-watering wake. Tayl watched as the smoke leapt over a cellar access just as a wave of water might when hitting a rock, then splashed out of sight between the crowd of close buildings.

The ethereal flash-flood ebbed about them, sinking rapidly. Loriben coughed once, then again, and entered a blackness so pitch that it managed to make the alleyway seem glaringly bright. Tayl followed warily, feet stepping carefully and silently. The smoke pooled around his waist, still disbursing. It carried a sharp, tangy scent that set his mouth watering yet was too dry to be the result of cooking food.

Stepping through the doorway muffled the calls and crashes of the city as though that one step took him one hundred yards. He turned about to see the alleyway still ushering the tidal smoke away, which now contended with the energetic bodies of two young boys who had come to investigate. Around him now, hanging from the walls and cluttered on tables set too closely to walk between, books and pens, dice and bundles, pans and utensils, trinkets and still more books were stacked, piled, or strapped in a disorganized chaos of heaps.

Loriben twisted and shuffled his way through the treacherous terrain almost as fast as if he were walking, hands still stuffed in pockets. After guessing the route he’d taken, Tayl started off on his own, bumping tables and upsetting wares into miniature slumps and landslides. At one point, forced to tack and zag through the furniture, he neared a wall sconce that poured forth smoke like a fountain. The blue-black stuff gushed from several astronomical shaped holes in a manner that reminded him of pasta extruders going at full bore. Steeling a quick glance he thought he could see tightly packed bundles of leaves and herbs smoldering within, though the smoke precluded a positive fix.

Loriben reached a man at a workbench, and was already engaged in a quiet conversation when Tayl edged his way up. The man, as far as Tayl could tell, had not yet turned to see his guests. He hunkered down on a tall stool, hunched over a vice, fingers teasing and testing the air he scrutinized.

It wasn’t worth much, but it brought in enough to fix the wards around my house, Loriben said in his mumble-song before rapidly licking his lips and blinking his eyes twice. Not an impressive week, but I have no complaints. You?

The man deflated a sigh and let his hands fall away from their work. Tayl could see nothing in the grip of the vice, which was still open three inches. An annoyed shake of his head towards the empty spot, and the man finally swiveled on the stool to give Loriben his attention. A fluffy, black beard puffed about his face, an extension of the dark black eyes that peered out from above the lean, brown cheeks. Better than average, the smooth voice said. Strong and even, Tayl decided the voice fit the man’s hands more than the rest of his thin body. The long, smooth fingers looked not so much delicate as dexterous. Sold an entire anthology to some Deep Frontiersman, paid in gemstones, and acquired two rings, a dagger, and this, he flicked his thumb over his shoulder at the vice.

What is it? Loriben asked, crossing his arms tightly across his chest as he stood slightly stooped before the merchant.

Spreahstone, he said in a somewhat tired voice. About a quarter carat. Damned expensive stuff.

What does it do? Loriben frowned at the seemly empty vice, trying to spot the quarter carat stone.

It repels everything, for one, the man explained, clearly choosing the shortest answer. Has some sort of field that I can’t penetrate. Not with any mineral I’ve found, nor with considerable force. He glanced meaningfully at the broken parts of a larger vice that reposed to the left of Tayl’s feet. With a huge, bent crank and cracked grips, it looked to Tayl that the vice used to produce plenty of pressure.

Light gets through, Tayl pointed out, peering easily through the gap of the vice mounted on the table.

The man jumped as though startled, looking involuntarily at his workbench. For several seconds no-one spoke as volumes of ideas thundered through his head and he spent fruitless moments trying to capture and organize them. Then he scowled and grunted at the trespasser.

Arenmat, this is Tayl, Loriben introduced him with his insistent mumble.. Tayl, Arenmat.

Arenmat favored Tayl with another disdainful grunt, his own arms crossed now as he looked Tayl over. On the second pass his eyes oriented immediately on the crease in Tayl’s shirt where the crown was hiding. A massive shiver passed through his body and he reached to steady himself against the workbench. Khazak’s Skull, he rasped, eyes bulging, composure on probation. His voice trembled as he added what have you brought into my shop?

Cringing and glancing at the walls, Arenmat seemed to shrink when he shivered, as though trying to climb behind his own shadow. Quick, he nearly squeaked to Loriben. That cube on the brazier behind you! Throw it at the ceiling as hard as you can!

Flailing for a rod on his workbench, one that flaked and gleamed a dull green like tarnished copper, Arenmat pointed at Tayl. Dump one of the packets in that sconce! his long finger, trembling violently, flicked to a thickly smoking sconce on the wall much like the one Tayl had passed on his way across the workshop.

Not hesitating to ask questions, Tayl picked up on Arenmat’s panic and bounded the three steps it took to reach the sconce. A wall pocket hung beside the smoking attachment. Within there were about a half dozen leaf-wrappings. He plucked one out and popped it into the largest hole he could find in the sconce. Stepping away instinctively, he bumped against a tall, narrow table that tinkled and chimed when he hit it.

Spinning to shush the table, hands dexterously keeping the wares from toppling, Tayl recoiled from the blast of a thick thump that crashed through the room. Sounding dense and wet, the sensation was physical enough to Tayl, though the jingling table continued to quiet and settle and the timbers of the building groaned no protest. Loriben, wary and crouched, eyes alert and pose athletic, had an arm outstretched and leg forward as though he’d just thrown something.

Searing Cycron, Arenmat exclaimed, albeit more calmly. He stood now, still shaking, and watched Tayl. Who are you? he emphasized each word and frowned.

I came upon this by accident, Tayl explained instead, smoke soundlessly blasting its way out of the fixture. Yesterday during the rains. There was a man being chased by reptilian beasts. He died before he could tell me what it was, but asked me to take it. Believe me when I say I don’t know what it is and had no idea it would effect you so, or I would not have brought it here.

Arenmat turned a disapproving glare on Loriben, but then returned his gaze to Tayl. What is it?

Tayl returned to the workbench with deliberate, graceful movements, hand slipping into the cut of his shirt. As he emerged from the thickening haze he removed the crown, watching Arenmat’s wary eyes. There was no immediate recognition in the strange shop-keeper’s countenance as Tayl extended the gleaming artifact toward him.

Despite collapsing backwards as though Tayl were trying to force a burning coal on him, Arenmat gestured with his eyes that Tayl should place it on the workbench. Have you put it on?

No, Tayl shook his head slowly. I have hardly handled it except to inspect it.

Arenmat’s focus sharpened on the crown as he snuck up on it. Using the wand, which Tayl noticed now was in sections, Arenmat tentatively prodded the crown, turning it this way and that. The scent of incense became heavy, lacing itself into every breath. Have you seen it do anything?

I do not think so, Tayl said. I am not sure. When I first picked it up there was magic and it seemed to be interacting, but I don’t know enough about these things.

Arenmat continued to inspect the crown, dipping lower but keeping a noticeable distance from actual contact. Any time he touched the artifact, it was with the prod. This is no slight device of moderate power, Arenmat murmured. Someone is bound to be looking for it. Do you know what they’d do if they found I’d harbored it? He turned his head sideways, sour expression locked on Tayl. The blue-black smoke began to act like a fog, dampening sound as it blurred the definition of all objects within its embrace.

Sir, Tayl crossed his arms. I did not ask for this thing, nor would I have deliberately put you in danger. If you would like me to leave with it right now, I will do so. I happened across Loriben shortly after retrieving it, and he suggested that you might be able to tell us more. I will pay for any diagnostic services you render, but can not change that it is here.

Arenmat narrowed his eyes and hummed disapprovingly, but returned to his work. It is several items in one, Arenmat proclaimed after a pause. Already it has been diminished because one of its parts has been removed.

I have also handled it, Loriben admitted. When Tayl first showed it to me, I fiddled with it and found a few releases. They let the gems loose. There was a red gem like a ruby only not as clear.

Tayl produced it, setting it next to the crown. Arenmat looked at it a long time without moving, then chewed on his bottom lip, making his beard bristle above his chin. He reached for an eyepiece and a pair of tongs made of the same sectionalized copper-like material. Picking up the gem, Arenmat began to humph and cluck, focus going from stone to setting and back several times.

I am not going to be able to tell you much, he declared, looking up with the eye-piece still over his left eye. I suspect that the setting can hold different stones. The construction of the crown is such that whatever gems are placed in the settings, they operate through this focusing lens. Beyond that my opinion becomes even more speculative, based on instinct and experience with many artifacts.

Tayl nodded his understanding, fighting down the urge to fan the smoke away or to cough. Somehow his pricking skin realized that the smoke was doing something to obscure magical seekers much like it was affecting his own senses.

For some esoteric reason crowns are typically made when other objects are to be bound to its power, Arenmat narrowed his eyes and twisted his words to sound wry. Everyone wants to be a king. The magnifying lens perched over his left cheek grossly distorted Arenmat’s face. Tayl fought the urge to cough up a chuckle at how ridiculous the magi looked with the inspection tool in place.

This undoubtedly maintains some link with one, probably several other artifacts or creatures. If you put it on, I’ll bet you seventy stirectii that you can communicate with them and they with you. I’ll bet an additional seventy that, if unprepared, you will be overwhelmed by their power. Typically the crown is meant for the master, but they always seem to have the potential to backfire.

Arenmat looked back at the gem on the table. This is a near-perfect garnet, he identified it for Loriben, who stood over his shoulder with arms crossed, slouching again. "Its value is good for a semi-precious stone, but the magic within it is very powerful. As an artifact it may be priceless. What it does I couldn’t tell you, but there is a flexible, moving flaw within. The flaw moves very slowly, but I don’t know if that’s right now or if its behavior is constant.

I’m sure you have already severely crippled the magic of this thing. I recommend you leave it that way and consider removing the other gemstones and particularly the lens. It will undoubtedly reduce your risk of exposure, and if my guesses are right, I’d wager yet another seventy stirectii that whatever is theoretically tied to this device loses some of its power when the whole is broken down into its parts.

Why do you not touch it? Tayl asked curiously. Ben and I have handled it to no ill effect. Loriben shifted from one foot to another and let his gaze wander, as though losing interest.

Arenmat looked levelly at Tayl, finally removing the magnifying lens. I have a much greater sensitivity to magic than either of you. If you were even slightly tuned into the magic field or your own reservoirs, you’d not have touched it either. I run the very real risk of dumping my power into it, or having it sucked out by this thing. For all I know there’s something trapped within that needs just a little energy to come out.

Tayl now looked at the crown as though he’d like to leave it where it was and walk away.

I am practically a conductive conduit around these things, Arenmat continued.

Tayl felt he was overstating the matter, but didn’t feel like pressing it. Is there nothing more you can tell me, no other help? I have no idea what do to with it, and clearly you do not want to keep it.

Arenmat immediately shook his head. Not a chance. I’ve already given you my advice, but I might go even further. If I were you I’d not only take all the pieces apart, I’d find ways to hide them securely throughout the world. Make it difficult if not completely impossible to reassemble this tool.

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Flames leapt up from the grill as Tayl deftly shifted the large pan. A rolling crest of pasta, vegetables, and chunks of seafood flipped back onto the oiled surface. The usual occupants sprawled across the rooftop patio, enjoying the sea breeze that wafted into Tanjee’s early evening. Most of the building’s occupants lounged around tables, drank from tankards, chewed on hunks of bread.

It was not uncommon for this gathering to happen. Tayl had let a flat in the building for several tenths, and in the easy Tanjee climate he and the other tenants often cooked out on the rooftop. This was Tayl’s third pan of food, and most people had already eaten. The patio was small enough that everyone shared in the same conversation.

What I would like to know, Tayl continued, pausing to take a sip of his drink, is where I should go to get the best sword in the world.

You already have a good sword, his neighbor one door over pointed out. Tayl hadn’t brought it with him to the patio, but he had been seen with it often enough.

Tayl smiled. True, but someday I hope to get a better one.

How much money have you got? one of the brothers from the second floor snorted.

For conversation’s sake let us say it didn’t matter how expensive the sword was, only that I wanted the best.

That’s easy, Loriben stood stooped next to Tayl, hands in his pockets. Of the dozen or so people on the rooftop, he was one of two that did not live in the building. He’d been invited over many times as Tayl’s guest and enjoyed his status as a fountain of knowledge on Tanjee. Artorou’s over in the Hook. That is, if you want something forged exactly to your taste. There are those who like Fineri’s in the Park District, but he’s specifically a merchant. It depends on what’s come in recently. There were several grunts of agreement around the patio, and a small debate broke out concerning whether or not the Duke’s blacksmith might be better.

Tayl smiled and poured the contents of the pan onto four plates. I want to know the best swords in the world and I do not care how far I have to go or how long it is going to take.

Ben gave Tayl an uncertain frown.

Your solutions are all Tanjee-based. My question was more rhetorical. I want to know the best swords in the world, not just Tanjee. If the best sword in the world came to Fineri’s, what would it be?

A short pause was followed by, The klacs make the best smiths in the world, and the best of them can be found in Bûlt. Tayl watched the faces on the rooftop nod in unison. Even Léathol, with her perpetual frown etched into her fine, half-tehlian features, appeared to agree.

Bûlt? Tayl asked, selecting a plate and moving to a place where he could see Léathol clearly. Where is that?

Loriben followed Tayl with his own plate and sat down next to him. It’s a kingdom in Kem-Meign, northeast of here. It’s quite some way, though. I don’t doubt Fineri would order something for you, but it might take more than a cycle to get here.

Tayl looked past Léathol at the developing sunset. Gulls called out all around their rooftop, making the typical nuisance of themselves. They ventured not too close, for more than one had been cleverly snared to find itself part of the next day’s food instead of sharing in this one’s.

The conversation on the patio roved about for a while, turning to the news of the day. Several ghost-like creatures had been over-flying the city, their presence felt wherever they went. One of the women who lived on the ground