The Taleweaver
Gaz

They jumped. The strange sensation of nothingness followed by the shock of suddenly being elsewhere and Gring was certain they had arrived wherever their captors intended them to. A jump tower this time, but as they all looked the same it didn't reveal their destination. Then the smell, the all too well known smell. She was home again, home in Gaz. The thought carried little comfort, but also very little fear. She had done nothing to sully her honor. Someone had though, and she wanted to know who. She would know who.

Something new. Khraga plotting like oath breakers. Disturbing, but maybe not the machinations of a Khraga after all. There were others in power here in Gaz. Mages, some of them terrible, but not all, far from all. Most were true to their word, and someone would listen to her.

The treatment of the taleweaver embarrassed her. Such lack of honor displayed by one of her own. Things changing in ways she didn't approve of. Changes were inevitable of course, but they could at least be honorable.

Gring growled. Kharg behaved like an oath breaker. He was like an honor less man driven by something, or someone, no human should pay any heed. Gring couldn't understand how one of her own had sunk so low. It shouldn't happen.

What is it to be human if we start to behave like halfmen?

The question disturbed her even more, and she decided not to pursue it any further.

She sniffed. Scents were different here. The presence of golden halfmen strong. The short lived ones smelled different. That meant they had arrived at a palace rather than close to one of the large cities infested with dirt and disease.

Sweet whiffs of winter roses coated the air, and she knew they must have jumped far away from the outlying territories where humans ruled themselves almost independently and lived according to tradition. Here, in Gaz, they preferred some of the ways of the halfmen, at least those visible to prodding eyes. Mostly clothes and how to keep a house. Indeed the lure of a strange culture was what had once made her leave the village where she was born and move to Gaz. Now she wasn't so certain of the wisdom of her choice any longer, but she was since long oath-sworn to the empire.

During the time it took her to wander through her memories they were transported down from the jump tower they had arrived on. Gring threw a glance backwards at the slender construction rising into the air. Golden mage halfmen had made them a long time ago, and she knew of no more being constructed since. Maybe the knowledge was lost, or maybe they simply decided there was no need of any more. She didn't know.

They were led along a narrow road descending through a valley between low hills. Kharg and two of his warriors escorted them and one of the human jump mages, the latter being the one who had jumped them here.

Gring frowned at failing to recall his name. She ought to know the identity of a fellow mage, especially a human one.

The wind was funneled by the hillsides, and Gring briefly wondered if Arthur and Chaijrild were cold. Even though the thought of freezing in the mild climate appalled her, the two halfmen were still her responsibility, and so she had to be aware of their weaknesses. Now she had to protect them from the possibility of human weakness as well.

She glared at Kharg and made yet another attempt at feeling his reasons, but as earlier his mind was covered by a flexible yet strong blanket of power. She could read nothing more than his overt want for food and something to drink.

She had started to try reading his thoughts after he proved his own dishonor. Anything else would have cast a shadow on the honor of her own. She had failed thus far. The strands of power surrounding him were unfamiliar to her, inhuman and strange. It probably meant they were golden in origin. Normal halfmen magic she recognized by now. She'd encountered it often enough during raids into Braka and even during her training here in Gaz. Training years so far removed now she accepted she couldn't rely on her experience from them. She'd been far too unskilled at the time, and what she remembered might very well be mixed up with what her mind wanted her to remember from her youth. Only an idiot trusted childhood memories to be true representations of the time when they were formed. An idiot, or someone blinded by a fanatic belief in any ideal acquired to replace experience and decent traditions.

Gring willed herself to look away from Kharg. The thoughts coming to her mind were so strong he didn't have to be a Mindwalker to feel what she was thinking.

They struggled on in silence broken by winds and the chirping of small birds only heard near farmlands, or at least a mansion where the birds were fed.

Gring gazed ahead of them trying to see the first signs of fences, planted trees or any other visible sign of what kind of community they were finally going to arrive at, but the hillsides still obscured her sight, and she had to satisfy herself with a silent growl at one of their guards to vent her frustration. She received a disapproving stare in return from the warrior, but she didn't care and glared back.

All warriors were taught what Mind walkers could do to their minds if they scorned the weaker bodily strength of a mage. In war all weapons had to be respected, and more than one warrior had spent long nights plagued by constant nightmares to teach them proper manners. Shooting Kharg an angry glance she decided not all warriors learned enough.

The valley widened and she could see they were indeed heading for a country estate. The property of a wealthy golden halfman by the look of it. None of the sturdiness coming from the wish to make an impregnable fortress such as those the oath breakers preferred to live in. The golden were almost as trustworthy as humans, and maybe they didn't need to protect their lies as readily as other halfmen. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

A garden hid beneath a thin layer of snow with bare splotches where winter roses grew. Gring guessed it continued behind the mansion as well. Long rows of fruit trees grew as protection against the wind as much as for their more obvious use.

This was part of what she called home, yet it still was more strange to her than the plains and mountains where her brethren lived by their own laws. A discomforting thought. Disturbing in a way she hadn't expected. She growled in resignation. The visit to the human village had brought too many memories from childhood to her, and those memories made her homesick, longing for a way of living she'd chosen to discard. She was still growling when they were led inside and locked in.

Arthur hardly had time to take in what he saw as they were forced through halls, up a few stairs and into a room with bars but no panes in the only window. At first it seemed better than the cell where they'd been kept earlier, but he soon noticed there were no beds here and it was almost as cold inside as outdoors. Someone had brought straw too dirty to be left in a stable and the meaning was all too clear to him. They were less than creatures to their captors. A way to confer an insult he'd never encountered before, but he was too tired to care.

The continuous lack of food made him tired as well as cold, and he knew he slept much more than he would normally have done. Anything to conserve strength he guessed, but he didn't complain. Sleeping meant less time spent feeling miserable, and if there ever came a chance for escape they would need all the strength they had.

Arthur curled up in the straw and prepared to wander between waking dreams and an uneasy sleep when Chaijrild started crying. He turned away wishing she would stop, but as her sobbing continued he sighed and moved so he could see her.

"What is it?" he asked. He was surprised at how irritated he sounded.

"I'm cold."

Well, he wasn't the only one angry then. "So am I."

"And I'm hungry."

"I'm sorry, but I have no food."

"I don't want food."

"What do you want then?" Did I really ask that question?

Of course she wanted the same as he did. To be away from here and among friends again. Chaijrild just stared at him, and he almost expected her to slap him, but she just sunk back and looked down at her feet.

"I'm afraid. I want this to stop," she said in a small voice.

Suddenly at a loss for words Arthur caught himself feeling next to useless. He hadn't been able to do much since they were caught, and now Chaijrild expected him to make their problems vanish.

"If you have nothing more important to discuss I'm going to rest my gift now. It's draining and we need to be strong." Gring's voice. Always practical and always just a little bit too void of emotions for him to really understand. Now she'd managed to make him embarrassed. He didn't know her powers were taxing. She'd never told him -- he'd never bothered to ask.

He turned on the dirty straw and tried to sleep, but sleep didn't come to him. He was cold and miserable from long days of neglect. Wet as well. The damp excuse for a mattress didn't agree with him at all.

Chaijrild stirred beside him.

"What is it?" he whispered. De Vhatic was less awkward to use now.

"I'm afraid."

Arthur almost admitted he was afraid himself, but something told him she didn't need to hear that now.

"Come here. Everything will be fine." He didn't know what else to say.

Chaijrild crept closer and together they were warm enough to get some sleep.

Arthur dreamed. Home, in his winter cottage, and happy, and his wife beside him. They were strong together, always able to handle whatever life threw at them, and she was beautiful. He accepted his need for her, a need emotional as well as physical, and now it was definitely physical. His desire grew strong. He held her close, moving with her, caressing her to wake her passion as well. He rolled on top of her and pulled down his trousers. She smelled so good, so close. His need grew. When he felt her feet on his back he pushed forward and down. They moved together, rhythmically. He looked down and met her eyes, Chaijrild's eyes, not his wife's, but desire was too strong and he continued moving inside her until he was spent with release.

Arthur lowered himself, resting on his elbows. Too long, it had been too long since he'd been with a woman. Woman? The girl wasn't even half his age. At the moment it didn't matter, and he was content lying on top of her, still inside, listening to her breathing in his ear.

She was still hugging him close to her when he tried to roll over, afraid he was too heavy on the thin layer of damp straw. She rolled with him, apparently not satisfied yet, and with but a small pang of shame he lay with her again. It had truly been far too long since he last lay with a woman, and his needs were greater than his conscience.

I'll regret this, but not now. Once again he drifted into sleep, this time curled up in an embrace as if he was afraid of letting go.

Waking up was an embarrassment for them both. Arthur felt relaxed in a way he hadn't in years, but as revelation of what he had done washed over him shame filled him as well. He could see Chaijrild's eyes mirroring what he felt and turned away. Gods! What a thing to do. He could as well have raped her. Forcing himself on a sleeping child. What had he been thinking?

Not thinking at all, Arthur admitted sourly to himself.

"It took long enough for you to couple," Gring said suddenly, and when he looked at her he could swear he saw amusement in her eyes.

Arthur blushed violently, sharing the sudden coloring with Chaijrild. If Gring wanted them to feel warm she'd succeeded all too well.

"You heard?" Chaijrild gasped.

"How could I not? You skinless are not silent like decent humans."

Arthur knew he must be blushing enough for the red to show through the dirt in his face, and embarrassment competed with shame. No matter which feeling would win out in the end it was an internal struggle he was sure to lose.

"I didn't know she was in season," Gring continued unabashed. "She didn't smell as if in heat."

"Stop!" Chaijrild cried out.

Arthur cringed at her outburst, but silently he shared her sentiment.

"Honestly, I didn't." Gring persisted. "I'm very surprised. I usually never fail to smell when a female is ready for mating. Very odd."

Arthur glared at her with embarrassment slowly mixing with surprise. "Please, no more. We hum... halfmen don't have mating periods," he added as an explanation when he saw she was on the verge of saying something more.

Gring gave him a nonplussed look but kept her silence to his relief

They were fetched some time after that. How long after, Arthur didn't know. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep and he was no longer certain if days or hours had passed. Guards led them down the stairs they had climbed when they were brought here and then Arthur found himself in a hall that at first reminded him of an ancient cathedral. Columns of stone soared into the air supporting a roof impossibly high above them. The pillars should have been crushed under their own weight alone, but Arthur had seen impossibilities in Verd before. This was another place built with magic.

Magic, always magic instead of engineering. He wondered which was most efficient. Memories of roads and towns outside of Keen made him decide in favor of engineering. He didn't care if he was unfair. Hell, he wasn't bloody obliged to care. He was hungry and afraid, and being transported from place to place without a single word of explanation made him angry as well.

Arthur didn't even know why they were being held prisoners. Well, that wasn't really true, but they hadn't been told the real reason. Unless of course Gring wasn't some kind of traitor to the Khraga, but Arthur was more and more certain that the one named Kharg played a game of his own.

They were led across the grand hall, and as they walked it opened up even wider at the far end. Someone waited for them there, someone who looked human. They were still too far away for Arthur to see any distinct features. He grinned. Maybe now they would meet someone sensible. At least they'd get to know why they were here. Knowledge was one form of comfort, small as it may be, but Arthur desperately grasped for anything making their situation look a little brighter. He knew he was clinging to straws of hope, but he didn't care any longer.

The march over the floor lasted for an eternity, or so his tired legs tried to tell him as he sluggishly forced himself forward. He was so very tired, and now he slowly felt the last remains of dignity slipping away. Maybe that was what their captors had wanted all along. He was soon brought out of his indifference though. Struggling forward like an automaton he caught sight of the face watching them. Arthur stopped dead in shock. The man had yellow eyes like a cat, and there were lines in his face, silvery, like spider webbing, and strangely inhuman.

He bowed and spoke. "My name is Vailinin ad Rhigrat. I am a truth seer and a judge."

"I am Gring ghara Khat and I would know why we have been brought here." Gring took up position beside Arthur.

"You will, as will the one you follow and the other following him."

"He is Arthur Wallman, halfman taleweaver, and he's been treated dishonorably by Kharg dhara Braugdi, our captor."

Vailinin shot Kharg a quizzical look. "Is that so?"

"That's what she claims. I say the oath breaker is a mage and a trickster who's blinded her with his lies."

"You know that is not so. He Wove when you were present," Gring bristled, defiance radiating from her like an extra layer of donned armor.

"He played some pretty tricks, yes, but I don't know that he did indeed Weave," Kharg shot back.

"Have you no honor? You know that's not true."

"Interesting and disturbing. A lying Khraga. I didn't think that was possible," Vailinin interrupted.

Hell, does he never show an expression? He's not human, that's for certain.

"Kharg is the dishonorable one," Gring spat.

"That is beyond my knowledge. What I do know, however, is that you, Gring ghara Khat, is a renegade and a traitor," Vailinin responded.

Gring took a step forward as if to attack, but at the last moment she restrained herself. "I am not."

"But you are. Mindwalker, search your own mind for once. Use the powers given to you on yourself and you will find that what I say is true."

Uncertainty spread over her face, and in the end something that could only be a mixture of shock and despair.

"But he's a taleweaver. They are sacred to us. There can be nothing wrong in protecting one."

"Whether he is a taleweaver or not remains to be seen. Kharg claims he is not and you that he is. That is irrelevant though. If he is, you are right in what you say, but you are not merely protecting him."

"In order to protect him I had to..."

"No, you chose to. For a different reason as well. You had no right to follow him. He is not of us but of Keen, our shared enemy, no matter where he originally comes from."

Gring lowered her head in shame when Vailinin finished. There was no doubt whatever the yellow-eyed man had said somehow rang true to her. Arthur couldn't let it pass.

He coughed loudly to get the attention of all present. "If you excuse, but I'm not from Keen. I'm a visitor there as well as I am here."

"That is not true. Here you are a prisoner, not a visitor. As for Keen you ceased being a visitor when you decided to embark upon this journey of yours. If you search yourself do you not admit that returning to the world you claim as your own hasn't been of great importance to you."

Arthur could feel those eyes seeing straight through him.

"The caravan is a matter of importance to Keen, and your involvement in it makes you a matter of importance to Keen as well. Do you deny that?" Vailinin continued.

Arthur was silent. Technically Vailinin was right. Damn it, more than technically Arthur admitted to himself. He could hardly deny he understood there would have been no caravan at all if it hadn't been for his gold.

"My interest is economical. I'm an investor," he offered.

Vailinin smiled. "Now that is false as well as true. You may be an investor, but you have no interest at all in the money. Isn't that so?"

Arthur bit back a heated retort, but he realized there was no keeping the truth from the man he faced. It wasn't as if he knew what Arthur was thinking, only if what he said was true or not.

"My reasons are still personal. I don't care for Keen," Arthur sulked.

"That is true, but personal or not your reasons for your deeds don't make those deeds less a part of what Keen wants, and that makes you one of Keen. At least for now."

Arthur shivered involuntarily. A bloody politician who knew what he was talking about. This man was dangerous. Not in the way Kharg was. The Khraga was muscles, but this one was brains only. At least Arthur hoped it was brains only. Anything else would be too much.

"I'm a taleweaver though," he protested sullenly.

"Now, that is true."

Kharg protested, but Vailinin silenced him with an angry glare.

Vailinin turned his attention to Gring. "The punishment for treason is death, but as you never intended treachery you will not be stripped of honor."

"I thank you for your mercy," Gring answered, head still hanging in shame.

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing, but as he was about to cry out a protest Vailinin continued as if he had never noted Arthur's outrage. "As for you two things are more delicate. The woman is of little concern and will suffer the same fate as Gring, but you pose a problem."

Chaijrild sobbed loudly at the death sentence but Vailinin continued mercilessly. "No one may lay hands on a taleweaver," Arthur could hear Kharg growl in protest. "but it's Gring who's been proved a traitor, and thus I am forced to rule that she is the liar," Vailinin continued.

"I said so!" Kharg exclaimed jubilantly.

Vailinin whirled, rage streaming from his face like an icy wind. "Silence you dirty creature! Something foul covers your entire being. Nothing but great danger can come from threatening the taleweaver, and you know that as well as I do. He speaks the truth when he claims to be what he is, and yet the scent of rottenness that covers you prevents me from putting the lie to your filthy words!"

Kharg didn't answer. He radiated triumph. He wouldn't take any chances now when he had got what he wanted.

Gring spoke, and suddenly Arthur no longer understood what she said. He cursed inwardly, but there was no way he could force her to use her powers. He could only stand there and listen to an argument concerning him. Frustration at not knowing what it was about filled him until he forgot the graveness of their situation.

"If you talk about me you bloody well let me in on it!" he yelled.

It was like shouting at a wall, and Vailinin, Kharg and Gring continued their own shouting match as if he didn't even exist.

Eventually Gring fell silent with a grin that could almost have been a smug smile, and they were led away. Behind them Vailinin and Kharg continued shouting at each other. There was a feeling of finality to it, especially as Gring had withdrawn her magic during the end of the yelling. Maybe she was trying to spare him, or maybe it was for the benefit of Chaijrild. Arthur guessed the latter.

He could hear loud shouts in the distance, as if people were cheering. It was getting warmer as well. Unasked, visions of Earth came to his mind. A darker Earth, over a thousand years ago, when cruelty was still a tool in the hands of rulers. They had feared magic then, and hunted practitioners of the art. Witch hunts and fires. Somehow he knew he wasn't to die, but thoughts of watching Gring and Chaijrild in flames was almost worse than the prospect of sharing their fate.

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