Chronicles of Vyrdos Ch. 01

Ramis woke up staring down the haft of a pitchfork. Behind the pitchfork was a patiently furious farmer.

He blinked, then reflexively yawned and started to stretch in the hay. This earned him a jab with the pitchfork across the forearm

"Wait! You don't want to do that." Was what came out after an undignified yelp.

This elicited no response from the weathered, clean shaven face staring down at him, although to Ramis' eyes the knotted knuckles eased up slightly on the pitchfork haft.

Ramis switched to Merchant's Glot, the auctioneer-like language of bartering.

"I have good citrine available for eggs, milk, meat, leather. Citrine good for those. Citrine, citrine, milk, meat, eggs..."

"Oh, shut it and get up. I'll know what yeh're doing on my land, sir."

The farmer relaxed his grip on the pitchfork and set the butt in the hay.

Ramis stood up carefully and brushed the hay off his clothing. He was a tall man, towering over the farmer by over a foot. His face was young, but tanned and starting to show weathering from the elements. He had light brown eyes and a mop of raven black hair which currently looked like a bird's nest, complete with straw.

"No sir needed here. I'm no nobility. Just a traveler."

The farmer eyed his black travelling garments with the silver clasps and snorted. "Well, you helped yerself to me and mine's like nobility, that's for sure."

More hay came out of Ramis' black, disheveled hair. "Right. I can understand the hostility now. I was just getting around to visiting. And paying."

The farmer snorted again. "Were you now? A vagrant with manners. That's so nice to hear."

"Well, we got in just after midnight last night. I'm sure you wouldn't have reacted any better to strange men pounding at your door?"

The farmer paused... "S'pose not. You've got me there. Should be more careful, though, I warrant.

"I've been told that before."

"I suppose you'll be wanting barter now? A man who speaks the Glot so fluently will want trade, in my experience."

"After one thing." Ramis extended his hand "Ramis, of the merchant clan Craggis, at your service."

The farmer's snort actually erupted into a single "ha", and he clasped hands roughly.

"Well, you've got some stones on ya, I'll give you that. Almost get skewered by a manure fork, and now trying to charm the skirts off me. Ha. I'll buy that you're a merchant, all right. Sam Little, at your service, merchantman."

"That I am. Let's set up shop and see"

"One moment."

Sam used his pitchfork to turn over the black cloak Ramis had been using as a blanket until he had seen the reverse side. Ramis' mouth twitched at the thought of what was touching his cloak, but he said nothing. When he was done, Sam threw the pitchfork aside into an adjacent stall.

"Right. I s'pose apologies are in order. It was that fancy, black cloak that almost got you skewered. The Cult of the Yellow Lotus gears up in those to go raiding. I figured you might be a scout, or a holdover or somesuch. Between them and the Fae raidin for children, the whole countryside's on edge."

"The Fae? Really? You have them come this close to the capital?"

"It's a high summer, lad. The Lonwoods come into bloom, and the Fae start to take notice of humankind."

Ramis nodded, and shook the rest of the hay from his boots and shirt.

"So, you've got cultists and the Fey, and a stranger dressed in black shows up in your stables. I understand your reaction."

Ramis followed Sam into the farmhouse, where a young boy of twelve or so sat. More introductions, as Sam's grandson Jason had many questions about cultists after being reassured that Ramis was not one after all. Ramis nodded gravely after seeing who was holed up in the farmhouse. "He's at that age".

"That he is. The Troubles will be upon him soon enough. I've taught him well, and Gods be good he'll pass by just fine. But both the cults and the Fey take a special interest in a boy his age. Especially a boy his age. I keep telling him, best thing to do is see no evil. Boy, if you do see a cultist, much less one of the Fey, you run. Not badger them with questions, run, you hear me?"

Jason nodded solemnly, as one who has heard a great truth for the hundredth time will.

The bartering passed smoothly, with some grumbling on Sam's part about Ramis not using "real" citrines. He had the imperial copper coinage representing a citrine crystal instead. It was only a generation since the empire had introduced coinage as a proxy for actual crystals, being much easier to store and count than even citrine dust. There was constant fear that the coins were all a trick, and occasional runs on the imperial bank at the capital city of Maron for actual crystals. Merchants loved the coins, though, for their portability. Using the coins seemed to only cement Ramis' status in Sam's mind as the archetypal merchant. The closer one got to the capital the more likely it was that a coin would be accepted on a one to one basis for a crystal.

Ramis ended up with some dried beef jerky, apple preserves, and best of all, a basket of oranges. They would fetch a good price at the capital. He parted with some iron nails and five citrine coins. He suspected the farmer felt remorse over the pitchfork incident, or he may not have brought the oranges to the table. He even suspected the farmer liked him, in a grudging not-my-kind sort of way. He wasn't surprised. Most people liked Ramis. Eventually.

As he was saying his farewells, Sam brought up the prospect of transport. He was keen, by way of acting reluctant, to trade an old plow horse for use as a pack animal. Ramis dashed his hidden hopes by simply nodding up the road, where a packhorse was being led by a small, tan figure.

"My assistant."

"Where has he been all this time?"

"Being his usual, valorous self."

Sam could see that Ramis' assistant was an older man in a wide brimmed floppy travelling hat, with a salt-and-pepper mustache, tan skin weathered by the sun.

"Now, there's a man I wouldn't have mistaken for a cultist."

"It's true. None of them would have him."

This prompted one of Sam's snorts that almost turned into a "ha", but not quite.

The figure and horse drew close.

"Meet my assistant, Jasper."

Jasper was a short man, clad in brown and tan with a floppy travelling cap on head. He sported a salt and pepper mustache and the beginnings of a gut peeking out under his shirt.

"A pleasure. Master Ramis, I was foraging for berries and found some news".

"News that there was imminent danger? Funny how you always seem to miss it."

"Danger? Here? Not that I'm aware of, master Ramis. It seems the fey have taken an interest in these parts and cultists are about in the countryside."

"Save it. Our host has apprised me of the surroundings."

"Indeed, sir." Jasper betrayed no chagrin at the news he had missed earlier events

"You know, you're an interesting type of apprentice. You are aware that you're supposed to be underfoot while I'm trading? Apprenticing? In any case, we'd best be on our way."

After a tip of his hat to Sam, who was standing by amused by their banter, they loaded the goods onto the horses and were on their way.

The high summer was living up to its name, the sun a fiery yellow blaze in the sky. The two merchants stopped to share the shade of a lone crabapple by the side of the road, letting the horses graze on the sparse vegetation in the vicinity of the tree.

After a lunch of steamed buns and fruits, Jasper eyed the top of the crabapple tree. "I suppose you'll be wanting some time, master?"

"Definitely. Now more than ever."

"Right. One moment, please."

With a deftness that stood at odds with his unimposing build, Jasper scaled the ancient crabapple up to the top. "All clear for miles around, sir". Called down from the top of the tree.

Ramis nodded his head and started stripping down out of his shirt. His physique was toned and lithe, the body of a fighter or a swimmer. He went to his horse and pulled out a dagger and short sword from under one of the blankets.

The sword was thick all the way through and curved at the end, emphasizing stoutness, heft and cutting surface over reach. It had a single cutting edge and a straight back, and a guard that wrapped all the way down the hilt. The dagger was unremarkable except for the curved quillions at the crossguard, designed to trap an opponent's blade.

The exercises began. He extended both arms parallel to his shoulders, the sword in his right hand and dagger in his left.

My body is a windmill.

In his mind, he realized that his arms and legs were not straight lines extending from his torso. They were circles.

Windmill blades. Machines. They want to take care of me.

He held his visualization for as long as he could, until his arms began to tremble from exhaustion. Then he opened his mind further. He visualized that the trembling in his shoulders and arms was not a tremble, but multicolored waves of force.

This was the beginning. Opening his mind further, he realized that the waves were not plural but a wave. Across his shoulders. Down his equally trembling bent knees. He felt the burning cold sensation of his face tingling with numbness, and knew this was a good sign. He was leaving his body behind, and letting it take care of him.

My mind is the wind.

He sometimes called it opening the window. The difference between seeing and feeling.

He knew the next step was the hardest. He visualized that the waves were not waves at all, but one connected circle or loop extending through his whole body. This confused his senses, for he had already instructed his mind that they were waves. He was not sure why this was so, but the confusion was a vital part of the next step.

His mind had to come up with the answer to this paradox on its own.

Suddenly, all the lines in his mind's eye making up the wave of his right arm went from rainbow to black. His body sprang into motion at last, just his right arm springing out while his torso pivoted across his body.

His mind realized that the lines couldn't be black. They weren't lines, they were waves and circles, weren't they?

The paradox collapsed the vision in on itself, and his wide open eyes started to see the world again. He was staring directly at the tree trunk, which had a large gash in it from his sword. However, the tree was several yards away, just as it had been at the start. And the sword was still in his hand.

His vision flashed multicolored, then threatened to go black again. A steadying hand was laid on his arm, and he realized he was exhausted. The sun was now high overhead. It was past noon. Jasper said in a low voice "people coming".

The people turned out to be a family of four, headed to Maron for the imperial tournament just like them. Ramis and Jasper watched as the horse drawn carriage came and went over the hill like the white clouds sailing across the summer sky.

"Master, that was spectacular. Perhaps your best rendition of Windmill Blades yet. Might I suggest not repeating that feat until after we're done at the capital? I am not the only spotter on the road."

Ramis looked at the tree trunk and fingered the splintered gash in it. He nodded, weary with exhaustion. "That will have to do."

"You get better at projecting your aura almost daily. I relish seeing the look on those hidebound clerics' faces when an unknown displays that sort of mastery."

"I would have thought you'd relish me bringing home glory and riches."

"That too, master. But you don't know these sorts like I do. I hope the balconies in the capital city are built well, because the weight of all that ego in one place may threaten their structural stability."

Ramis took some water from his flask and bathed a bandanna in it before collapsing in the shade of the tree he had just sliced. "From what I've heard of the imperial city, there will be no shortage of pomp and grandeur. Emperor Thyreas has been busy building up its profile for the better of two decades now. It makes little sense. It's already the largest city on the continent by a large margin, and all he does is work to expand it. Word has it that there are whole quarters uninhabited he still expends labor to enhance."

Jasper went about the business of packing up and saddling the horses as he spoke. "Most cities are like trees. They expand organically to suit their needs. Growth might be haphazard at times, but it always responds to the population. The Empire is more like a weed. It expands because it can. People were laughing at Thyreas' ambition 20 years ago when he declared himself Emperor. Emperor of what, they said. Now he controls trade all throughout the northwestern part of the continent, and his influence expands daily. Something this fighting tournament is a part of, I'm sure. The man does not make innocent moves."

Ramis nodded from the shade of the crabapple, his quivering muscles resting against its bark. "It always struck me as odd that despite the continent being in very little need of governance that has not dissuaded Thyreas from attempting to do just that. It's hard to argue with results, but still. He's clearly up to something."

Jasper cinched the last strap tight, and patted his bay mare on the flank as he mounted. "You mean a man who has declared himself emperor of a continent might have an agenda? Master, your insight astounds."

Ramis grinned. "No rest for the weary. Shut it, old man."

The remaining trip to the capital was unremarkable. It took two and a half more days travelling the imperial highway in the unrelenting high summer heat to make the outskirts of the capital city of Maron. This time, they were sure to spend their remaining two nights at proper inns along the way.

The outskirts were mostly farms and family holdfasts, trending towards imperial style of granite blocks, columns and balconies as they travelled to the imperial gates. They arrived at the Gate of the Morning, the fabled eastern gate which spanned 100 feet high at the apex of the walls, the main gate for processing new arrivals into the city.

Ramis' merchant credentials got them through the gates in under an hour. He was hard pressed to hold onto his worldly demeanor once through the gates. The scale of the city was simply breathtaking. Despite the continent's population remaining more or less steady for generations, the city was built to grow. Thyreas clearly lived by the motto of creating a thing and then relying on people to realize they needed it.

The two made their way through new cobblestone streets, the sounds of masonry and construction all about them in the boulevards who already bore plinths set to contain statues of future imperial heroes.

"Jasper, why is he doing it? This whole empire business? The city state of Maron was already the most prosperous sea port on the continent. This is just... almost grotesque, in its grandeur. Half the mansions on this street are uninhabited, but still he builds more."

"Ramis, the man invented money. It may be that he's doing it because he can. Hopefully you're not too repulsed, because should you win tomorrow, you will be a part of this. The emperor's first imperial fighting tourney is hardly the best place to express anti-imperial sentiments, for a would-be imperial champion."

"Oh, I'm not anti-imperial. I guess I don't know what I am. It's hard to see all this activity, all these gears turning and the industry it's brought to the Northwest not to be impressed. With all that motion, it's also impossible not to wonder where it's going."

Jasper paused and pursed his lips in thought "Ramis, you may have hit the nail on the proverbial head there. To answer the question of where it's all going, you'd have to have access to the mind of the man at the helm. And access to Thryreas' thoughts is a privilege only one person has."

Ramis nodded his head, recognizing rare praise when it occured, and not wanting to double down with additional commentary.

The two travelers reached their destination within forty minutes of entry to the city. The headquarters of the imperial guild of merchants, with their golden scale emblem hanging large from the grand balcony out front. It was a grand structure, much older than the new construction at the city's outskirts. Marble columns and steps followed the old Maronian style, dating before the imperial age. The merchants had been initial adopters of the imperial innovation of coinage, and had seen their star rise accordingly along with the fortunes of the imperial city.

Ramis left Jasper to tend to the horses while he went inside. The inside of the mansion, usually calm and staid with its dark mahogany and brass interior lobby, was a bustle of commotion as merchants of all descriptions and specialties jostled for position at the various converted licensing desks. He made his way past the throng in the foyer towards the back offices. A young woman manning the reception desk tried to accost him for paperwork, but was interrupted by a roar that rose far above the din in the lobby.

"Ramis Du Page! As I live and breathe, GET IN HERE, boy!"

Ramis turned with a huge smile on his face to see a fiercely bearded face pushing towards him through the crowd. His uncle Gammroh was a medium sized man, but seemed larger in person. He had a flowing mane of thinning blonde hair that reached his shoulders and a fiery red beard for which he was famous which reached his breastbone. He crushed Ramis in a bone crushing embrace. Ramis winced as his torso was crushed into the hard, poking surface of the man's many baubles and accessories of office, the golden scales of merchant primarch of Maron among them.

Gammroh took him by the shoulders and warmly steered him past the lines, which tended to give way before his larger-than-life presence and voice. He steered Ramis up the carpeted marble staircase and to the merchant offices with a right hand which was missing its thumb and forefinger, the result of an incident during his Time of Troubles. His grip was both warm and vicelike with his three remaining fingers.

"You'll kill me yet. Arriving the day before the tourney, having somehow LOST your spotter."

"Uncle, worry not. Jasper isn't so short that I've lost him. He's securing lodging for the horses downstairs. We got delayed by weather crossing the Delyat. It was flooded, no fording it for 5 days. We're lucky to have made it as quickly as we did."

"Hmmph. I thought you might be playing games. Trying to escape notice with a late arrival. This tourney marks the first time the Merchant's Guild establishes its fighting style in the imperial annals, and you have no idea how much negotiating went into guaranteeing us a slot. We had no backup in town, you understand."

"I know. Uncle, I was not going to let this opportunity slip by unmet. This represents two decades of hard work for me."

"So it does. I remember thinking you had entered the Troubles early seeing you shadow caravan guards at age eight, shadowing their movements and listening to the wind for hours."

"It consumed me when I was younger. My recent years have largely been spent rounding out, learning to live in the world again."

His uncle sat in the chair behind his oaken desk with an "umph."

"True. Talking to you when you were younger was like speaking to the Fey. Certain relatives I will not name were certain that you were a changeling."

"If so, I'm still waiting for contact."

Gammroh's face darkened slightly, and Ramis knew he had gone too far with his levity, even for his wild uncle.

"Such things do not bear jesting." He waved his hand as if to clear the air, clearly in no mood to chastise his prodigal nephew now that he was present.