The Shadow's Spear

4.1 The Great City

Rhal walked with Termon through the streets of Maeva, the Great City. As the largest city on the continent and second oldest, it boasted unrivaled population and atmosphere. In the outer sections of town, the stench and squalor were overwhelming, children and animals playing together in the streets. Those of their parents who found work were already gone and would return at dusk.

But for a city of its size, the slums were small. Maeva had been gifted with many riches, from a large supply of water to the south to fertile farmland and iron and silver in the hills. But its true riches came in traders from every nation on Ishtarillio. The Maevan Empire had once spanned the continent, but now the old empire was reduced instead to a nation first among equals.

Termon had volunteered to help Rhal find the house of his old friends from Wildgrass. Why? Why is he being so helpful? Rhal wondered. Those friends would give him a place to stay for a little while and help him settle in the city.

The air cleared as the two companions walked through the crowded streets away from the outer wall. Buildings and people lost their filth. To the left, Rhal peeked between two buildings to see the inner wall. Old Maeva, the original city inside that wall, was affluent and powerful, from the massive temple of Vorlo to the famed Twenty-Three Mansions. Termon explained all this to Rhal, who stared wide-eyed at the sensory deluge of the city: rainbows of clothing, juggling street entertainers, shouting merchants, and fragrant food cooked over open fires.

Termon talked about the castle. In the very center of the inner city, on top of a short hill, it rose above the city; people called it impenetrable. Within lived a royal family that stretched back 500 years. Rhal let the place enfold his senses, even the whiffs of sewage that came and went.

“You seem better, today,” Termon said.

“Fond memories of the city.”

“It seems like you need of them.”

“I do.” Rhal expected questions, but none came. They walked on. “I came here as a child, with my family. It was, perhaps, the happiest time of my life. Everything seems the same. Well, the same in a way that’s always changing, at least. If that makes sense.”

A group of priests walked by.

“Of the order of Ular,” Termon explained.

Most of them were Seaborn, short with dark skin and large ears. They seemed busy, and wealthy as well. Rhal stared at them. The only other time he’d seen a Seaborn was the last trip to this city.

In the back of his mind lay his burdens, but here, in this city, he glimpsed happiness. Maybe, he thought, happiness will only come in glimpses from now on.

“Thank you for last night,” Rhal said, then he laughed. “Even though things did not turn out as well as we’d hoped.”

Termon took a deep breath and smiled. “Indeed, indeed. Such is the life of a traveler.”

“What are you doing, here?”

“Oh, this and that. Entertaining, mostly. Maybe a few odd jobs here and there. I’ve been aiming for the Great City for some time, and I plan to stay here a few months before moving on.”

“Why Maeva?”

Termon looked around. “Need you ask?”

Rhal nodded. “And where after this?”

“Wherever the wind blows.”

Rhal laughed at the comment, secretly wishing he could live that life. But he was afraid. He needed a reliable place to sleep and three meals a day. That’s why a city like Maeva seemed the best place to start his new life. Gran could talk all he wanted about wandering the world, but the whole village knew that when the old priest prophesied and pronounced, nine times out of ten, he got it wrong.

The famed town center came into view. A large circle of stone buildings surrounded them. These were the first major structures built in the outer city. Hundreds of people, on foot and in carriage, rich and poor, ran to and fro. The stone paving the ground matched the buildings, and in the center, a statue of a man stood holding aloft a sword. A rising whirlpool of stone surrounded him to the stomach, leaving his smooth chest bare.

“All praise the great Vorlo, provider of the blessings of this city,” Termon said, reading the inscription at the base.

Rhal looked up at the statue. “Vorlo, eh? My village follows Isil. I can’t say I know much about him.”

Rhal refreshed the legends of the Taner in his mind. In the beginning, they created Kanel and each of the races. Humans they made together, then each a race of his own. There were six: Isil, caretaker and protector of nature and growing things. He created the Ker, an elusive people who avoided most civilization. Falas of the light and Vorlo the dark Taner kept balance of those two forces. Falas created the Chaban, a peace-loving and innocent people. Vorlo created the beast races, such as orcs and goblins. Ular, the playful master of the seas and water, created the Seaborn, an adventurous race never at home far from the ocean. Pelori kept the skies and air and created the Yelme, a long-lived and contemplative race. Faenturi, angry and impulsive master of fire, made the Kabito, a strong, nomadic people with blazing hair.

Rhal sat on a low, stone wall at the edge of the square with his hands on his knees.

A voice called from across the square. “Excuse me!”

The two turned to see a tall human man in dark, embroidered robes. He seemed about thirty and had a head of black hair. He stood with noble bearing and a big smile.

“Here at last,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Termon asked.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“For us?” Rhal questioned.

Termon seemed perplexed. “For what reason? I do not believe we’ve met before.”

“No, we have not. Sorry to startle you. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pelan Tamoth. You are...”

“This is Rhal of Wildgrass. My name is Termon. Why are you waiting for us?”

“Oh, forgive me. One week ago, a sprit came to me in a dream and told me that I would meet a man in this square with black marks on his hands. Rhal, may I see your hands more closely?”

Rhal shoved his hands behind his back.

“Please, I mean you no harm. The spirit told me to welcome the person with the mark.”

Reluctantly, Rhal gave his hands to Pelan, who traced his finger along the palms. “Yes, this is the mark. You are the man.”

 “Me... that man? Do you know, then—that is—do you know why?”

“We’ll get to that in time.”

Rhal looked at the man. Wealthy, by all appearances. This had to be related to the spear. Perhaps Isil had sent this bit of fortune to him after so much evil. “Thank you,” Rhal said. “But I friends I plan to stay with tonight. I want to greet them before I do anything else.”

“Then please, do so! But come and visit me, afterwards.”

He gave told them directions to his home then handed them a small metal token and left, smiling all the while.

As they continued along the path, Termon spoke. “That’s quite the gift. It says it’s a pass to enter the Twenty-three Mansions.”

“He looked like a rich man. I think I’ve found a good friend,” Rhal said, smiling.

Termon nodded. “Yes... is there any reason for a priest of Vorlo to be so interested in you?”

“He was a priest of Vorlo?”

“Yes. I don’t trust him.”

Isil, Vorlo, what did it matter? Rhal was just glad to have a benefactor.

The two finally found the house. The family from Wildgrass invited Rhal and Termon in for dinner. Just like home. He gladly would have stayed with them but for Pelan’s invitation. When he mentioned the man, the family gawked that Pelan, the Pelan, had taken notice of him. Their son worked as a temple servant, and they certainly knew the name of Pelan.