The Harbor teemed with life during the shipping season. With mild weather and favorable winds accompanying the tide, this was a period in The Realm when anything coming or going would reach its destination as quickly as possible.
The one downside of so much traffic in and out of the docks was the amount of unsavory characters washed ashore.
The desperate cry rang off the stone walls in the alleyway. “Help! Somebody help me!” cried the young woman as she ran.
Behind her, the inebriated, lean pirate closed the distance between them. “Aww, c’mon love,” he slurred. “Giv’s a liddle kiss!”
“No!” The girl dove down a side street, but saw nothing but a blank stone wall with only a few crates stacked against it. There was no way out. She whirled around, hands and eyes frantically searching for something, anything she could use in her defense. “Stay away from me!”
The pirate advanced closer, his eyes narrowing as his grin spread. He had only a few more hours before his ship weighed anchor—that was plenty of time to get a bit of action before setting sail again.
“Now, don’t fight it, missy,” he crooned around a crooked jaw and yellowed teeth. He was nearly within arm’s reach now. “Just lay still and—“
“Leave now, and no one gets hurt.”
“There’s no one ‘ere,” he muttered to himself. “Now, where were we—“
“Let. Her. GO.”
The voice came more insistent, and this time, the pirate heard a footstep scrape the flagstones behind him. He whirled around, squinting hard.
“Awwright, who’s there?” He growled. “Show yerself!”
“Very well,” answered the voice, and in the space of a blink, the pirate found himself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes framed by white hair. In her hand she held a long knife... And the blade rested against his throat.
The white-haired woman held his gaze and repeated her command. “Let the girl go.”
The pirate allowed the tender wrist to slip from between his fingers, and heard the girl’s pitiful whimpers as she ran out of the alleyway and disappeared.
The knife withdrew, and the pirate took a deep and grateful breath. Then he scowled. “You shouldn’t meddle in someone else’s business,” he grumbled, reaching for his own knife.
The white-haired woman wagged her head. “Get back to your ship,” she said. “You have overstayed your welcome here—“
As she was speaking, the pirate spat, sending a wad of dirty saliva onto the woman’s boot. He heard the crunch of footsteps outside the alley, and the voices of his shipmates.
“You ain’t the law ‘round these parts, wench!” He hollered. “I do what I please, and I leave when I likes!”
He moved to push past her—and his hands sunk right through her body, as if it were made of air. When the pirate regained his balance and finished staring at his hands, the woman was gone.
“Cor...” He mumbled under his breath. “She’s one o’ them!”
In another corner, behind some plants, three more pirates had a young man pinned against the wall. He struggled, but the two brawny pirates held him fast as the third advanced toward him with a sword.
“Well, lad, what’s it going to be?” the third pirate demanded. “Are you going to show us how you did your little trick, or should we start chopping off fingers?”
The young man scowled. “You can try,” he said, “but that won’t work on me!”
“We’ll see about that!” the pirate roared, swinging for his hand.
The blade connected with his wrist, even scoring the wall around it just slightly, but when the pirate drew back the blade, the young man’s hand remained unscathed.
A burst of applause echoing all around them distracted the pirates. They stared left, right, and all around them as a voice laughed, “Oh bravo! You’ve landed one of the better ones. Just think how useful he would be to your captain!”
Gap-toothed and grimy grins spread among the three pirates, and the one with the sword signaled them to tie the boy up.
He writhed as hard as he could. “Let me go! You can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you!”
The pirates only took one step each before a lithe figure in a red cowl dropped in front of them.
“Too bad I can’t let you take him,” she said, her dark eyes gleaming.
The pirate curled his lip. “You and what army, missy?”
A smile broke over her features, and the pirates looked up to see a whole gang of mercenaries come crawling out from behind crates and around corners, surrounding the trio. “This army,” she declared, drawing her sword. “Now, unhand him and we won’t hurt you.”
The pirate glanced around at the multitude of leering faces. “I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here,” he growled. “See, this boy here, he might look human, but there’s summat wrong with him!” He swung his sword, slicing through the young man’s tunic, into his side. The boy cried out in pain... but when the pirate pulled aside the tear, his side appeared unscathed.
“See that?” the pirate roared. “‘Tain’t natural! ‘Tain’t human! Their kind don’t deserve to live here!”
“You speak treason!” growled the white-haired woman, as more people came out to join the crowd of curious onlookers. “You know as well as I do that the King himself is one of the Gifted, and that trafficking people, Gifted or unGifted, is prohibited in The Realm!”
The pirate’s face twisted into an awful sneer, and he drew his own sword. “Leave us be, and nobody gets hurt.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
The pirate’s posture shifted, and the crowd filled with dread as the pirate’s intention became clear. He swung his sword with a cry—but in the space of that motion, the red-caped woman vanished. Her companions converged on the pirate, just as one of the men holding the Gifted lad felt the sting of a knife blade bite his wrist. He released his hold, allowing the young man to wriggle free, while the white-haired woman swiftly incapacitated the buccaneer.
She engaged the other in a duel, pausing in a parry to catch the young man’s eye.
“Run,” she whispered. “Go east, to the Wilderness. There’s a camp where you’ll be safe. Go!”
The young man scurried away, while the woman made use of illusions and misdirects to take down the other miscreants.
A whistle sounded, and leather-garbed Harbor patrollers descended.
“THIS IS OFFICIAL HARBOR BUSINESS,” one announced with the use of a mechanical loudspeaker. “EVERYONE BE ON YOUR WAY.” Turning to the white-haired woman, the captain declared, “AURELLE DENAVIR, SURRENDER YOUR WEAPON AND SUBMIT TO OUR CUSTODY.”
She smiled at the grim sight of the bodies sprawled on the ground. She yielded her sword to the closest guard. “Good to see you, Hayden.” She nodded to the mix of male and female faces she saw amid the armored group. “Your response time is getting faster.”
A guard moved forward with cuffs. “Shut your mouth, Aurelle,” she barked. “The Guardian wants to see you.”
The white-haired Illusionist rolled her eyes. “Of course she does,” she muttered. The leather-clad guards surrounded her, and the whole group marched slowly up the road to the Harbor Guardian’s office.
Seated in a high-backed chair behind her desk, the young woman with a scar over her right eye stared at the prisoner slouching in the seat across from her.
Denahlia Firron ran a hand through her short-cropped dark hair and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Aurelle?”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Sunlight pierced the canopy overhead, dappling the ground with flecks of light. A young man in a cowl made his way through the deeper shadows, staying well away from the warmer, brighter spots. Beside his knees, a wolf padded silently, her pewter-grey fur gleaming and glittering in the odd snatches of sunlight. They reached a clearing, and the wolf stiffened, dropping into a crouch and almost melting into the shadows beside her.
The young man noticed, and bent his body into a crouch as well.
"Sable?" he whispered to the wolf. "What is it, girl?"
Sable didn't answer, but her eyes gleamed, and her nose pointed straight at a particular shrub. The young man leaned in, tilting his head to see deeper into the shadows behind the leaves. Something glinted! He slipped forward, every muscle in his body poised to jump back and slip away to safety, should anything decide to attack. He placed a hand on the bush, and though Sable let out a warning moan, nothing else happened.
The young man coughed. "Here goes nothing," he told his wolf, and plunged his hand inside the bush.
His fingertips connected with something hard and multi-faceted. Squinting curiously, the young man pulled the object free of its hiding place. It bore roughly the shape of the sweetmelons he'd seen growing in a neighbor's yard. He weighed it in his hands. It felt heavy enough to be made of stone, and it did look like the whole thing was encased in diamond--but what was it?
Sable slinked forward, every hair along her spine elevated in wariness. He offered her the object, and watched as the she-wolf took one whiff of the smooth, glistening surface, and immediately recoiled with her ears stretched back flat against her head; it was a gesture of fear and submission.
"What are you scared of?" chided the young man. "It's just a very interesting rock, isn't it?"
Though what would a crystal the size of a sweetmelon be doing way out here? The young man unfastened his cowl and used it to gently wrap the large, heavy object. Chief Velora would want to know about this, he was sure of it.
So engaged in his task was he that the young man failed to notice the gleaming golden eyes watching him from the deepest part of the shadows. A hand bearing a golden orb of light appeared under the eyes, and then all three points vanished, leaving the forest scene peaceful and undisturbed once more.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The sun was well past midday and heading toward the western horizon, and all who occupied the stone halls of the White Castle could detect the fantastic array of smells wafting from the kitchens.
Damaris grinned as he peeked inside the oven and saw the crackling char forming on the top of the roast. For the young fire-starter, three years meant the difference between setting things on fire and intentionally combining heat and spices to produce something delicious. His first day in the kitchen, he had set things ablaze so badly that the Princes felt it necessary to locate a water-Gifted person to come and help him, to be on hand should such an emergency happen again, when Beren wasn't there to extinguish it.
He was still watching as she turned around from the massive sink piled with dirty dishes and her green eyes bulged in horror.
"Damaris!" She squeaked. "Watch your hands!"
His hands? Oh right... the stove. Damaris looked down. "It's all right, the fire can't burn--"
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the pile of root vegetables set beside the stove, ready to boil. The entire pile had been reduced to blackened orbs. "Oops," Damaris backed away as Anahita filled a bowl with cold water from her hands and rushed over. "Sorry."
Anahita shook her head as one by one she dipped the scalding black spheres into the cold water, scraping away the outer layer to reveal the colorful flesh underneath.
"That's all right," she replied patiently. "They'll just be flash-roasted instead of boiled tonight, I suppose." She held up one bright-red beet and smiled. "We can serve them chilled with some fresh herbs and a vinaigrette sprinkled over them."
Tiny flames danced over his cheeks, and Damaris turned away to hide it from those glittering green eyes. She could always do that to him--he needed to be more careful!
"How is the bread?" Anahita's voice reached him in the midst of his musings.
Damaris blinked. "Bread? Oh!" Sitting in the cold oven, last he checked. He raced around the massive butcher's table in the middle of the kitchen, to the bank of closed ovens. Hauling open the one containing the proofed and waiting loaves, he sent tongues of flame around them, twiddling his fingers to let the flames grow, until the stiff brown crust began to form. "Almost done," he called to Anahita.
She had finished the root salad and moved on to the fruits, rinsing them with handfuls of cool water and chopping them with a sharp knife. "It's a good thing I came down when I did, then!" She teased. "Their Majesties might have gone hungry if it were all left up to you!"
Damaris scowled at the jibe. "It's not like I'm all by myself down here!" he retorted. "There are other cooks who make things!"
She wagged her head as she sliced a pear. "Yes, but you were supposed to take over and be in charge of things when the Head Cook left, but instead, you managed to--"
"Yes, I get it, Ana," Damaris grumbled. "I am clearly a failure when it comes to cooking! Sometimes I really do wish there was something else I could do... like take up smithing or something else that has to do with being around lots of fire!" He extended a hand in front of his face and sent a plume of flame up and swirling over his palm, in a perfect circle. Practicing the method of control Lizeth taught him, he maintained its strength, and slowly pulled it in smaller and smaller, until it vanished completely.
The moment it disappeared, something struck his hand and he found his fist encased in ice. He shot a glare in Ana's direction. She giggled in response.
"Yes, but they don't exactly need you smithing just now, they want you cooking," Anahita finished arranging the fruit on the platter. "It's good for you to focus your energies on something that might be slightly out of your element, yet holds plenty of benefit." She lifted her nose and sniffed. "I think the roast is done."
Damaris dove toward the large oven. "I've got it!" He said. He didn't even bother with any towels or tongs, reaching in with his bare hands to grasp the large pan holding the roast. He pulled it out and set it on the butcher block, his face flushed with heat and pride at the beautiful cut of meat. Even Anahita couldn't resist clapping her hands in delight.
"Well done, that looks perfect!"
Damaris helped her transfer it to a serving platter. They set the first course on the dumbwaiter and pulled the rope to send it up to the dining hall.
Damaris glanced over to find those green eyes studying him again. "The party is in three days," she reminded him. "You'll need every ounce of your focus to ensure that nothing goes wrong--for Prince Beren's sake, as much as Princess Zayra's." She pressed her lips and her face sobered a little. "Do you know, she told me today that all the treatment she endured at the hands of the wicked scientists damaged her memory so badly that she doesn't even remember ever having a birthday party. Can you believe it?"
Damaris stiffened in alarm. "Anahita, you didn't--"
She snorted. "No, of course not! There was someone else having a birthday in Wildhaven, and she made the remark offhand. There is no way she knows--the Queen has made sure of it!"
As if summoned by the mere mention of her, Damaris heard the familiar voice in his own head. We are on the way to the dining hall now.
He thought back in answer, Perfect timing. The first course is ready. He felt the rush of gratitude and grinned proudly.
Anahita nudged him in the ribs. "What are you smiling about?"
Damaris shrugged and sidled away to retrieve the rest of the meal and get the dishes lined up for the dinner service. "Nothing much; they've started eating."
Anahita gave a sigh of relief. "Good! I can start cleaning up the mess of our preparations, I suppose."
Damaris pulled the hot, crusty bread out of the oven and cut off several slices for the royal family above. Life in a castle full of Gifted people was always a party, whether they were celebrating anything or not!
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