The Heir of Jeragoth

“Happy birthday small one,” Iliard said as he handed Alana a flat, intricately carved wooden box.

Alana made a sound of exasperation as she took the box, “I’m not a little girl anymore, Uncle Iliard.”

Iliard smiled a bit wistfully as he watched his now fourteen-year-old niece open her gift. “That I know.” She was perched on the deep sill of her bedroom window and the morning sun was shining softly on her face. She was indeed turning into a lovely young woman—every bit as beautiful as her mother. Her long brunette hair had a hint of red in it and her large brown eyes had intriguing flecks of green in them. Her face had thinned out and her body had begun to show the signs of blossoming womanhood. He sighed inwardly. Time was slipping away much too quickly for his liking. His reverie was interrupted by a gasp from Alana.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. Alana held up the brightly polished dagger. Then she turned it over and saw the runes etched on the blade. Alana’s eyes widened with amazement. “It’s magical,” she breathed. She jumped down from the window seat, stopped and carefully put the dagger back in its box, then ran and threw her arms around Iliard’s neck. “Thank you.”

Iliard chuckled and returned her hug. “You’re welcome. I’m just sorry it’s so late in coming. I had to take care of a friend who had been badly injured. It took longer than I expected to help her.”

Alana drew away from him, “I know, Martea told me. Thank you for sending her. I like her.”

“It was the least I could do. I hated that I had to miss your birthday celebration.”

“It’s all right, Uncle Illy. I really do understand. You’re a Wielder now. Besides,” she went on, “It’s better that you’re here now. Papa is away at the Baron’s Council and…well, you know how Mother is.”

“Yes,” Iliard answered succinctly. “Which brings me to my second gift.”

Alana’s eyes lit up. “Second gift?” she asked excitedly, “Is it a long sword?”

Iliard smiled and shook his head. “Not yet. Perhaps for your next birthday.”

Alana’s face fell. “What is it then?”

“I am taking you to Narsacalius today.”

Alana’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Yes really,” he answered.

Alana flung her arms around Iliard’s neck again. “Thank you, Uncle Illy. I’ve wanted to go there forever.”

“I know,” he replied with a laugh as he tried to steady himself after her enthusiastic embrace. “I think you’re old enough now to go there.”

“Old enough?” Alana looked at him in askance as she took a step back from him. “How can you not be old enough to go to a city? Surely the people there have children.”

“Of course they do,” Iliard replied. He paused for a moment. “You see,” he went on, “you have said on a number of occasions that you want to be a Ranger and someday perhaps a Novadi warrior. Those two vocations carry a greater responsibility than most.”

“But I know that already,” Alana interrupted indignantly. “And besides, what has that got to do with going to Narsacalius?”

“Everything,” he answered a bit sternly, “If you will let me finish.” Alana stared at him wide-eyed and nodded. “If you are to make an informed decision about whether or not you want to be a Ranger, you need to know some of the things that happen in the world that, up to this point, you have never been exposed to.” He paused a moment. “There are many safe, friendly and even beautiful places in Narsacalius—places where anyone, young or old, can go without fear. However, there are other places where terrible things happen. It is to some of those places that we are going today. I wanted you to be older because I want you to understand what it is you are seeing and what it means to you should you decide to become a Ranger. So,” he went on with a half smile, “if you still want to go to Narsacalius after all of this gloomy talk of responsibility, then go get your traveling clothes on.”

“Of course I want to go,” she said. She smiled and put her hands on her hips, “You won’t scare me that easily Uncle Gloomy.”

Iliard threw back his head and laughed, “You are incorrigible, Alana Candril. Now go change.” Alana giggled and ran off into her dressing room—the room that had once been her nursery. A moment later she came running back, grabbed her new dagger from the window sill and ran out again. “And wear a light cloak,” Iliard called out, “It’s too hot in Narsacalius for your long coat.”

#

Narsacalius was the second largest and second most populous city on Gorthus. It stretched four hundred miles along the Northwest coast of the Bay of Bethere, and two hundred miles westward. Hundreds of thousands of people visited the city throughout the year, but the number was barely noticeable in a population of ninety million souls.

The olive-skinned, black-haired Narsacalians were often called “flatlanders” because the city and surrounding landscape stretched out perfectly flat as far as the eye could see. Over the centuries the term became synonymous with the unique mix of Gorthians that populated the city.

All classes of society could be found somewhere in the city, and where there was affluence, there was magic. The amount of magic and money dictated the architecture. Some districts were home to hundred-foot-tall crystal castles and thousand room palaces. Some districts were filled with a sea of one-room shacks with mud and muck for roofs and roads.

Anything that could be bought could be found in Narsacalius if the price was right, or so the saying went. It was home to the largest sea port on Gorthus, and many of the largest markets. The trade traffic from the port to the portals was heavy and unending.

The morning air in Narsacalius was cool but still humid. The tangy salt smell of the bay filled Alana’s nostrils. She and Iliard stood outside a large livery watching people go by while they waited for the horses they hired to be brought out. “Why do we have to hire horses?” she asked.

“Narsacalius is much too large to travel on foot—at least to the places we’re going.”

“Then why didn’t we just teleport our horses with us?” she asked.

“Most horses don’t take well to teleporting,” Iliard answered. “I didn’t want to put Wind Dancer through that.”

“But he’s teleported before,” Alana responded, “Remember on that drive when Bert got hurt?”

“Yes,” he replied, “And he was skittish for a month afterward.”

“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “Poor Dancer.”

As they talked, a man approached them. He was a fairly good-looking man who seemed to be in his early forties. From his fair skin and light brown hair, Alana guessed he was not Narsacalian. She also noted that he was wearing a short sword and two daggers on his belt. He looked Alana up and down for few moments. Then he turned to Iliard and asked, “She for sale?”

Alana was so surprised at his question that she just stared at the man open-mouthed. Iliard frowned and answered, “She is my niece.”

The man smiled unpleasantly and said, “Yeah, I know. We all got nieces. So she’s not for sale. Then how about I give you five gold pieces for an hour with her.”

Alana saw Iliard stiffen and out of the corner of her eye she saw him clench his fist. “I told you before,” he said tersely, “this young lady is my niece.”

The man made a sound of impatience. “What do I care if you lay with your own niece? Is that supposed to make her worth more? Look, I’ll give you ten gold, that’s my final offer. Is it a deal or not?”

Alana barely saw her uncle move, but in the next instant the man hit the ground. Iliard looked down at the stranger and growled, “Not.”

The owner of the livery, who had just arrived leading two horses, exclaimed, “Lord Candril what happened? Was he disturbing you?”

“You could say that,” Iliard answered curtly.

“I am so sorry, Lord Candril.”

“It’s all right Sarak, I took care of it.” Iliard took hold of the reins of both horses and then handed one set to Alana. “We’ll be back by sunset,” he said as they mounted the horses.

Alana glanced over at Iliard as they rode down towards the docks and saw that he still looked angry. “Uncle Iliard?” she began tentatively. “Why did that man think he could buy me? And why would he want to lay with me anyway? He’s so much older than I am. And why did he think that you and I were…” her mouth twisted a little. “That’s…it’s disgusting.”

Iliard stared at Alana in stunned surprise. “Where did you learn all this?”

“Grandma Kate,” she answered.

Iliard’s eyebrows rose, “My mother told you all this? When did that happen?”

Alana shrugged, “A couple of months ago. Right after my birthday, actually.

“And what brought this on?” he asked.

Alana blushed when she answered. “Well, I guess it was two things really.” She looked down at her hands and said, “Papa caught me kissing Kalan Neraso.”

“You kissed Baron Neraso’s son? Why in the world would you do that?”

Alana straightened up and said a bit defensively, “Because he asked me to and he was very nice. I didn’t see any reason not to.”

“Oh, I can think of about a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t have,” Iliard replied vehemently.

“Now you sound just like Papa,” she said with a pout.

Iliard opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He took a deep breath and asked with some trepidation, “And what, may I ask, was the second thing?”

Alana’s face turned even redder. “I…one day I didn’t feel well and I…well…something happened.” She looked down at her hands again and her blush deepened.

Iliard frowned, puzzled about what Alana was trying not to say. Then his eyes widened in understanding and he said, “Oh, I see. And so your father asked Grandma Kate to talk to you about it.” Alana nodded. “But,” he went on, “it sounds to me like she talked to you about a lot more than those two things.”

Alana looked over at him and nodded. “She told me lots things I didn’t know. Some of it was really strange and some of it was really disgusting.”

Iliard rolled his eyes. “That figures. What was the most important thing she told you?” he asked, hoping that his mother had given her a long talk about abstinence.

“She told me the most important thing was that I be the one to choose who I…lay with.”

Iliard ground his teeth in frustration. “Did she also tell you that it’s best to make these kinds of decisions when you are older and more mature?”

Alana nodded. “We talked about that. She said it was a good idea for me to wait until I was old enough to know the right time and the right person.” She smiled impishly at Iliard. “Don’t worry Uncle Illy, I know I’m not old enough yet.”

Iliard looked over at his niece. The changes he had seen in her when he had arrived that morning after a five month absence were deeper than he realized. A feeling of unease momentarily filled him. He had little time to examine the source of his disquiet because Alana let out an exclamation of wonder as the Narsacalian harbor came into full view.

A web of roads fed the docks. Even to call them “the docks” didn’t do justice to the hundred mile waterfront, with too many piers to number. An endless row of ships stretched out in the early morning mist. As they rode past the last row of heavily painted buildings eastward towards the bay, the landscape abruptly opened up into a three hundred foot wide open area. “Wide,” in this case, was straight ahead of them, because “long” was out of sight to either side.

Iliard and Alana stopped in the middle of the early morning hustle. All the people and crates parted around them on their way from the docks up the road they had just come down. Alana thought the laborers might not even see them, so intent were they on their work.

“Is it always like this so early in the morning?” Alana asked as she patted her edgy horse’s neck to calm her. Crates and people were coming at them from all directions.

“Not every morning, no,” Iliard replied as he scanned up and down the docks once. “Orbis and Telan are in conjunction so there’s a pretty high tide heading out just before midday. Many of these ships will leave on it.”

“How many ships are there?” Alana asked.

“Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands,” Iliard replied. “We could ride steady for a full day in either direction and not see the end of it. We avoided Portal Road coming here but we’ll take it leaving. By late morning the traffic on that road should have died down enough so we won’t get run over.” He turned his horse southward and Alana joined him.

As the mist burned off, Alana could see out into the bay, which disappeared over the horizon. She had never seen a body of water as large.

Iliard noticed her craning to see the distant shore. “From where we are the bay is about a hundred miles across. It gets much wider as it opens up to the North Eheron Ocean.”

“Where do they all come from?” Alana asked as she noticed the ever changing ship design, sail pattern and flag heraldry. The sailors on their ships were just as diverse. The dock workers, though, were Narsacalian through and through.

“Almost everywhere,” Iliard answered. They had to pause while a train of branth pack animals trundled past, contentedly chewing from their ear draped feed bags, oblivious to the heavy sacks they carried. “Only the more northern ports on Entrovalia sail to Nel Burath. All the rest of Gorthus sails to Narsacalius.

“What about the other portal cities,” Alana asked, “or even the smaller cities?”

“Well, nobody sails to Relothere unless they are insane or running,” Iliard replied. Alana was only half paying attention to him as she watched a very large crate pass by. It was filled with small silver-blue birds whose feathers shimmered as their owners shook them. “Not too many people sail to Arkanna,” he continued, “because the city doesn’t have a deep port. Winlodar has a deep port and some from Abrafal do sail to it, but not as many since the accident.”

“The accident?” Alana asked as she watched this one very good looking young dock worker who looked back at her and smiled. She had noticed him right away because he was the only dockworker she had seen who clearly was not Narsacalian.

“About fifty years ago, Winlodar tried to deepen its port to promote sea trade when Nel Burath raised its portal tax,” Iliard said.

Alana looked at him at the mention of the tax. She laughed. “How do you tax a portal?” She had an image of a three hundred foot tall tax collector beating the hundred foot tall portal with a really long cane.

Iliard smiled at her question. “You tax the people who want to go through the portal. It’s a long story, but the upshot of it is, Winlodar decided to try to compete with Nel Burath for Entrovalia’s business. They hired a team of very competent, very powerful alchemists to deepen and widen the port. Unfortunately, the result was too wide and too deep. The explosions took out about three square miles of the city. It took the city five years just to sort out the mess and start building again.”

As they rode on south and Iliard continued describing the people they saw and the cargo coming and going, Alana found herself growing numb at the immensity and diversity of it. Her mind wandered back to the handsome young dockworker.

“Alana,” Iliard said more forcefully.

“What?” Alana came out of her reverie and looked around. Iliard had stopped a few feet back. Alana stopped and turned her horse around to walk back to him. “I’m sorry uncle, what were you saying?”

He smiled slightly, looked at her for a moment, and then said, “Dockstare.” She looked at him quizzically. He continued, “If you look straight ahead down the length of the dock it will put you into a trance. It’s called dockstare, and it’s something thieves look for.” He nodded over to the side of a warehouse building fifty feet to the west. As Alana turned her head to follow his gaze, the men leaning up against the building immediately tried to look like they were busy in a different direction.

Alana nodded and murmured “Sorry, Uncle Iliard.” She smiled to herself just a little because she knew it was not the docks she had been staring at.

“It’s all right this time because I’m here with you,” he responded. “Just remember it for the future.”

“I will,” she replied.

He looked up at the sun, which was moving towards its midday point and said, “We should be able to go up Portal Road now,” and turned his horse’s head back west.

They reached Portal Road by late morning, a good ten miles south from where they had entered the docks. Iliard steered them close to the buildings at the north side of the causeway to prevent them from getting caught in the crush of people, wagons and caravans.

The three hundred foot wide road was divided into three sections. The largest, center section was strictly for traffic going between the portals and the docks. The two side sections were reserved for everyone else. Alana’s senses were bombarded with a myriad of sights, sounds and smells coming from Portal Road. The outer edges of the roadway were lined with storefront shops where everything from the exotic to the mundane was sold. The wide inner roadway was lined with stalls that sold food, trinkets and hosted pleasant diversions to occupy weary travelers during their long wait.

The nearest portal was visible as soon as they turned the corner onto Portal Road. Alana gazed at the portal arches in amazement. She had only ever seen paintings of them. The real thing was far more impressive. The twenty foot square bases of each end of the arch tapered upward to the hundred foot peak. The whole structure didn’t look like it could support itself. However, like the buildings in the Novadi stronghold, the arches looked like they had literally risen out of the ground fully formed. They were fashioned of a flat black stone that Alana had never seen before. Legends held that the portals had been in existence for twelve thousand years, made by an ancient magic. Magic users over the millennia had only ever been able to make pale copies of the originals. The imitations could only teleport and you couldn’t see through them to where you were going like you could with the portals. Through these portals, Alana saw four completely different cities—the four other portal cities of Ranwar.

The ivory white towers and abundance of well-groomed foliage directly in front of them had to be the university and resort city of Winlodar. Two hundred feet beyond lay the still winter-locked barren city streets of Relothere, its many warriors leaning into the bitter wind. No heat, or any other weather, from Narsacalius went through the portal to warm them.

The more sedate, lazily arranged buildings of Arkanna, in its gentle Spring state, came into view to their right as they rode to the center of the four portals. Alana was surprised to see about fifty city guards standing around the portal to Arkanna. She wondered if they were looking for someone or something. She turned last to face Nel Burath with its dreary buildings huddled together against its bone chilling, damp spring. She shivered slightly despite the warmth of Narsacalius at the memory of her trip. Uncle Iliard said once you visited Nel Burath you never got the chill out of your bones. The people moving in that portal hurried about their city just as they did in Relothere.

She pretended to listen to her uncle explain how the portals worked and how they differed from teleportation arches. She was actually looking at a group of slaves in chains coming from the docks, headed towards the Relothere portal with nothing more than rags on their backs. As they passed through, she wondered if they would make it to where they were going.

“Alana, are you listening?” Iliard asked.

“Uh, yes, the portals don’t allow weather to pass through, and, uh…what else did you say? Alana hadn’t been listening. She felt bad, but not because she was found out. She looked down at her saddle horn.

“Alana, what’s troubling you?” Iliard knew it was more than just being caught being inattentive.

She pointed at the group of slaves and asked, “Are they prisoners?”

“No,” he answered with a slight shake of his head, “they’re slaves.”

Alana looked puzzled. “But why are they wearing chains?”

Iliard turned and looked at her for a long moment. Finally he said, “Follow me.” He turned down a side street just beyond the magnificent portals. They followed a steady stream of people, most of whom were on foot. The long street gradually opened out to a large square. It could have been any market square in any city except that the wares for sale were human beings. All around the square stood pens, each containing a small group of chained slaves. In the center of the market stood a three foot high, ten foot wide platform which was empty at the moment. The air reeked of unwashed bodies and human waste. The misery of the slaves was palpable. “What is this place?” Alana asked in horror.

“This is a slave market,” Iliard answered. “This is where slaves are bought and sold.”

“But...I don’t understand. This place is horrible.”

“Where did you think slaves came from?” Iliard asked.

“I…didn’t know,” she answered softly.

“Yes, I know,” Iliard replied. “That’s why we are here.” He pointed to the pens where the groups of slaves were chained. “Those slaves are sold in lots for a set price.” He turned his attention to the platform in the middle of the square. “That is where the unusual or highly valuable slaves are auctioned to the highest bidder.”

Alana started to feel slightly ill. “Auctioned? You mean like cattle?”

Iliard nodded, “Yes.”

Alana looked over at the auction platform. “What would make a slave more valuable?”

“An unusually strong man, an exceptionally beautiful woman or,” he said, motioning to the platform as man came to the front of it with a young girl in tow, “a young virgin.”

Alana turned her head sharply back to face him. “Why a virgin?”

“For any number of reasons,” Iliard answered. “Some men prefer young girls and they especially like virgins.”

“You mean like that man at the livery?” she asked with a slight shudder. Iliard nodded. Her eyes widened slightly. “Is that why you and Papa didn’t want me to ride with Francis?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Oh.” She stared at her hands thoughtfully. “But,” she went on after a little while, “you said there might be other reasons someone would want to buy a virgin.”

Iliard scanned the square before he answered. For a moment he stopped and focused his gaze on a point just to the left of the auction platform, to a set of gold robes adorned with white trim. A deep frown creased his brow and his lips compressed to a thin line. Somewhat alarmed, Alana whispered, “Uncle, what’s wrong?”

“There’s a Priest of Arnitath here,” he growled. Alana was about to turn to look, but Iliard put his hand on her arm and stopped her. “Do not draw attention to yourself,” he said in a low voice.

“What…?” she began, but he interrupted her.

“He’s one of the other reasons virgins are valuable.”

“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

“Around this time of year,” he began, “the temples of Arnitath hold a special ceremony. A young virgin is brought to the altar. Instead of being sacrificed right away, she is ritually raped by the chief Priest of the temple and then by all the other Priests.” A look of disgust crossed his face. “She is then penetrated with an object of torture that is supposed to represent a conjugal union with Arnitath. After all that, she is then eviscerated in the traditional manner.”

Now Alana really felt sick to her stomach. She looked back over at the auction platform. The auctioneer was already taking bids for the girl. She turned back to Iliard, her eyes wide. “How can they let this happen? Isn’t there some way to prevent him from buying her? I can’t believe they would want that to happen to her.”

“Which ‘they’ do you mean?” Iliard asked. “Do you mean the auctioneer or the owner who is selling her? Neither of those people even thinks of her as human. They certainly don’t care what happens to her once they have their money. In fact, I’m sure she was brought here specifically because of the time of year. The Priests of Arnitath pay a high price for virgin girls who have just showed signs of womanhood.”

“You can’t let him have her,” she whispered fiercely. “You have to stop it.”

Iliard turned his horse so he could face Alana full on. “What,” he asked quietly, “do you think I should do to stop this?”

“You’re a Wielder,” she answered heatedly. “You could take this whole market down in a few minutes.” She stopped for a moment, then looked at him, her eyes accusing and said softly, “You took an oath not to let any injustice go unanswered.”

Iliard closed his eyes and smiled slightly, remembering a similar conversation between himself and Grandmaster Philip many years earlier. He opened his mind for a moment and allowed the misery and pain that permeated the market to envelope his psyche. He then reached out his thoughts a little further and found what he was looking for. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at his niece and said softly, “I could live a thousand years and still not end slavery on Ranwar.” With a sad smile he went on, “Those are the words of Grandmaster Philip. He said that to me more than forty years ago. I have since come to learn the awful truth of his words.” He looked around the slave market then back at Alana. “I could indeed destroy this place and free all of the slaves here, but there are a hundred other markets just like this in Narsacalius and thousands more all over Ranwar. Should I destroy them all? And then what? The markets would be rebuilt in a day and more slaves would be brought to them. And where would the freed slaves go? They are all marked, just as the slaves in Seldonia are marked. The only place a slave can go from here is Arkanna—and you saw how many guards they have around that portal. There are other city-states that have outlawed slavery, but they are fewer in number than the city-states that allow it. And what about the slaves in your father’s castle? What should I do about them? What about Lily, Brom, Martin and Caleen?”

“But,” Alana protested, “They’re not treated badly. They’re my friends. They’re like part of the family.”

“Are they?” Iliard asked. “Which of your family members was bought in a market and is marked for life?” He watched Alana’s face register the truth of his statement before he went on. “It’s certainly true that your father takes better care of his slaves than most other barons, but the fact remains—they are still slaves and can be sold at any time it suits the purpose of the business of the barony.”

Alana just stared at him aghast as she absorbed everything he had just said. Iliard’s position in front of her shielded her from the spectacle on the auction block, but she could hear the bidding for the young virgin escalating furiously. A chill ran down her spine. Something like this was happening all over the city and all over Ranwar. Even if they saved this girl, a thousand other girls like her would suffer and die in the temples of Arnitath. She thought about the slaves in the pens waiting to be sold to a new master and she imagined the same scene happening all over Ranwar. Her heart clenched with the pain of helplessness as the magnitude of the problem came crashing down on her. In her effort to make order out of the chaos of her thoughts, she focused on a single purpose. “Uncle,” she said hoarsely, “What is to be done?” She stopped and swallowed hard as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “That girl…she’s going to…” She looked up at him her eyes filled with tears and said, “That could be me.”

Iliard moved closer and took her hand. “Although it’s true that the Priests of Arnitath do not limit their search for sacrifices to slaves, you are very well protected.” He glanced over at the auction platform. The bidding had come down to two people—the Priest of Arnitath and a dissolute looking man dressed in a garishly ornate, bright blue tunic and gold pantaloons. “And today so is she.”

“What do you mean,” Alana asked.

Iliard turned his horse so Alana could see the platform. “Do you see that man in the ugly blue tunic?” When Alana nodded, he went on, “He is an agent of Asaeria. There are men and women like him all over Ranwar right now working to thwart the followers of Arnitath. We work tirelessly to end Arnitath’s hold on Ranwar—partly in the hope that it will also bring about an end to slavery.”

“SOLD!” the auctioneer shouted triumphantly. “Sold to the gentleman in blue for two thousand gold.”

Iliard smiled. “She will be safe now.”

The pair watched as the girl was led from the platform down to her new owner. The man in blue smiled lasciviously and rubbed his hands together gleefully. The young girl cringed a bit when he reached out to touch her, but submitted to his caress as her station in life commanded. Alana wrinkled her nose in disgust then turned to Iliard and asked, “Are you sure he’s an agent of Asaeria?”

Iliard raised an eyebrow and answered, “Of course. He is also a very good actor. It’s very important that agents of Asaeria remain anonymous and hidden. The temple of Arnitath hunts down and kills anyone who tries to get in the way of their rituals.”

“But then won’t that Priest go after the man in blue?”

“He will try no doubt, but he will find that the man evades him. There are also Priests of Asaeria nearby. They will make sure that he is not disturbed.”

Alana gazed at her uncle silently for a long time. Finally she said very softly, “That’s what you do, isn’t it? All those times you’re away for months—you’re fighting against Arnitath.”

Iliard frowned slightly and replied, “We shouldn’t speak of this here. It isn’t safe.” He urged his horse forward and said, “We’ve seen enough here. There’s one more place I’d like to show you. Then we’ll go to this tavern I know and have some lunch.

Alana followed Iliard away from the slave market, but the sights, sounds, and smells of it stayed with her as they went. How could she have ever thought that slavery was just a matter of course? The misery of the slaves locked in pens waiting to be sold was permanently imprinted on her psyche. For a brief moment while she was there, she thought she could actually feel what they were feeling.

Alana’s thoughts were so full of the slave market and all that it represented, she barely noticed her surroundings. Then she started to become aware of the putrid smell and thought that they had come to another slave market. She looked up and found instead that they were traveling down a narrow street lined on either side by ramshackle houses, some barely standing. The street itself was running with filth and human waste. The people on the streets were dressed in dirty, ragged clothing. Never in her life had she seen such poverty and squalor.

A thin, pale woman surrounded by four young children stood on the corner of the street and an alleyway with her hand out. The oldest child, a girl, looked to be no more than eight years old and the youngest was probably less than two years old. At this point Iliard stopped and got off his horse. Alana was about to follow him, but he motioned for her to stay where she was.

Iliard went over to the woman, who stared at him wide-eyed as he approached her. She curtseyed and then lowered her head and murmured something to which Iliard shook his head. He laid his hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes. The woman got a look of stunned surprise on her face that was very soon replaced by sheer joy. Tears started flowing down her dirty cheeks and she grasped Iliard’s hand in both of hers and showered it with grateful kisses. Iliard touched her face and then pressed something into her hand. He then walked with her over to what looked like a bakers’ shop and opened the door for her and her children.

When he came back and mounted his horse, he was smiling. “What did you do?” Alana asked him as they continued their journey.

“She was dying,” Iliard answered. “I took away the disease that was killing her.”

“But,” she replied in confusion, “I thought Novadi could only heal wounds.”

“That is true for most Novadi. Wielders, however, are granted special healing abilities. We can heal diseases of the body that are not caused by magic. This is to remind us that we must also tend to those who do not adventure. All people are worthy of our attention.”

Alana nodded silently, remembering the seraph at this installation. “She seemed frightened of you at first,” she said finally.

“I know,” Iliard replied. “She believed that I thought she was a prostitute. She even offered herself to me.” He saw a look of distaste on Alana’s face and said, “Don’t be so quick to judge. Desperation causes people to do things they normally wouldn’t do. She knew she was dying and she was willing to do anything to feed her children for as long as she could.”

“What would have happened to her children if you hadn’t healed her?”

“Any number of things,” Iliard answered, “But most likely, the older ones would have wandered the streets looking for food. That would have lasted for a little while until someone realized they were alone. Then they would have been picked up by one of the many predators on the street. The girl would have been forced into prostitution and the boy would have been sold to a thieves’ guild. The two younger ones would have died of starvation.”

Alana stared at him in horror. “But they’re just babies. That girl...how could someone do that to a little girl? How could people let the little ones die like that?”

“Look around you Alana,” he responded. “The people here are only barely surviving. They couldn’t possibly provide for someone else’s children. In addition to that, not all evil people are adventurers. Much evil is done in places like this.”

Alana looked behind her even though the woman and her children were long gone. “What will happen to her now?” she asked.

Iliard closed his eyes briefly and smiled. “Life will be much kinder to her now.” Then he frowned and a worried look crossed his face.

“Is something wrong?” Alana asked.

Iliard shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” He fell silent and closed his eyes again. Finally he said, “It’s time to get some lunch. I know a place not far from here that has some of the best food on Ranwar.”

#

The gold robed Priest bowed deeply before Warder Meterius. “You’re Excellency he is here, as you divined, but he is not alone. He is in the company of several dozen Ranger Lords and two other Novadi warriors.”

“Rangers are of no concern to me and my warriors will deal with the Novadi,” Meterius responded. “You have done well Consecrant Redimar. Summon the Captain of my guard.”

Consecrant Redimar bowed deeply again. “Yes your Excellency,” and left to do his master’s bidding.

After Redimar was gone, Meterius sat for a long time staring at the statue of Arnitath at the far end of the room. Today the destruction of the temples of his god would cease. Today’s victory would be the beginning of the end of the High Priest Sharantar Ventinimas.